Ghetto Life

In the Collectivo we drive with warm breeze coming from outside to Mapocho, turn at the church and pass Artesano, where Enrique is already selling his peaches at the market. 'There he is,' says my sister, but we're already at the traffic light, intersection of Avenida La Paz, which takes us further to the destination. With all our bags, it would have taken us hours and probably 18 breaks, although Mapocho can be easily reached on foot in 20 minutes. We continue straight ahead, past the second church, and now we are in Independencia. The name does not honor the neighborhood, because independence is anything but present here.

When we turn again, left, shortly afterwards right, it becomes clear why. We are driving into the neighboring Barrio that is adjacent to Mapocho and it is no less than its neighboring one.

The only difference is that there are high-rise buildings here, which alternately dominate the ambiance with the typical ground-level stone houses.

The sun is burning in the sky, it is noon, just before siesta. People sit and stand on the street, the energy of poverty, which is present here and flutters in the heat-filled air, is clearly perceptible. The lives of the people here, on the other hand, are dominated by a single aspect: the acquisition and consumption of drugs of all kinds. Everyone lives here, Peruvians, Colombians, Puerto Ricans, Cubans, Chileans, the least of all.

When the Collectivo stops in front of a huge high-rise building, which has at least 10 floors, my sister tells the driver to wait for a moment and asks me to take care of the luggage. In the time it takes her to wave to the doorman and pass the gate and go to the entrance of the high-rise, I stand in front of the car and smoke a cigarette. The driver is very relaxed because the clock keeps ticking.

After about 7 minutes, I see my sister coming towards me with a thumbs up. 'Si, vamos'

We take the luggage out of the trunk and I follow her. Past the doormen, into the house and past more of them, we stand with 5 other people in front of three elevator doors.

The behavior of the doormen and their overly friendly greetings, their way too accommodating attitudes towards my sister, tell me at a glance the level of commitment their connection carries and for what purpose it is so openly revealed.

When we get off the elevator on the 4th floor and walk down the long hallway from the elevator to the door at the back, music is already echoing from there, somewhere you can hear an argument.

To shorten the story: I stay with my sister and two women for the next 10 days, whose apartment is the drug exchange point in this neighborhood. Music is playing almost continuously, turned up loud, which doesn't seem to bother anyone here. People come and go, close friends are allowed to stay and are even cooked for after 3 am. Nonstop party.

Everything takes place in the small living room, adjacent to the Cocina americana, open kitchen. On good days the doorbell rings constantly, everyone is taken care of, even the doorman, day and night.

We have a 1.20 bed for the two of us in a room that is not much wider. The door barely dampens the sound of the music.

It is rarely quiet at night, because when the music is off, you can hear gunshots and the lives of the people above us, always loudly, for hours on end, which also have no offline mode.

An alcoholic couple, whose scene of the previous evening or the one two nights ago repeats itself every other evening.

The gun lying on the couch as I go out onto the small balcony in the morning to smoke is part of the inventory. I'm sure the shots heard at night were also fired with it.

The two women who were introduced to me as sisters are a couple. Everyone knows it, but no one says it out loud.

What is interesting is what they have in abundance and sell, drugs until you drop.

There is little sleep here, so in the morning I go out, sell peaches with Enrique, walk through Patronato, climb Cerro San Cristobal, and come back when it gets dark. Outside, the rule is no jewelry, no phones, as inconspicuous as possible, above all, no money, only the essentials to buy bread or a drink. Once we bring Enrique his laundry and some food. It is well past 12:00 a.m., we stay with him for a while, he has a warehouse made of newspapers in a side street, no more and no less. We sit on boxes and smoke.

When we leave again, two men approach us on the other side. We stop at the intersection of Avenida La Paz and Artesano, the two guys are standing on the other side at the traffic light. Enrique says that shortly before we arrived, they had robbed someone with a knife. When the light turns green, a man from the left comes towards us, pulls Enrique aside and gives him something. The two men walk past us, apparently the drug courier has more influence on them than they would like. Lucky break.

After 10 days, I continue to La Serena, back to the sea, where I already lived with the circus people in the beginning. My sister stays in Santiago. I'm looking forward to seeing the two girls I met on Easter Island and who invited me.