Sejas / Faces

Eliass. Viņam ir četrpadsmit. Lielas acis, viltīgs smaids, ilga klusēšana un gari, taisni mati līdz lāpstiņām. Viņš šeit, pie mums ir katru dienu. Lenss saka, ka tā jau ir trešo gadu. Katru dienu, līdz vienpadsmitiem vakarā, un pat ilgāk. Līdz pēdējam cilvēkam. Viņš negrib iet mājās, jo viņu tur nekas labs negaida. Viņš mēdz caurām naktīm dzīvoties ārā, spēlējot futbolu ar citiem puikām vai vienkārši klīstot pa pilsētu. Viņa mīļākais priekšmets ir angļu valoda. Un viņš burtiski dievina Lensu.

Matias. Mēs satikāmies baznīcā. Viņš ir viens no mūsu labākajiem draugiem šeit. Viņš saka, ka viņa mājas durvis mums vienmēr ir atvērtas. Matiass ir tas, pateicoties kuram es tagad savā starpkultūru pieredzes CV varu ierakstīt, ka esmu ēdusi vaļa gaļu. Piecdesmitgadīgs vīrs, kurš pirms pāris gadiem pārcieta sirdstrieku. Viņš runā un kustās ar grūtībām, bet ir dzīvesprieka un enerģijas iemiesojums. Viņam nav darba, un viņa vienīgā ģimene ir viņa mamma. Matias mūs sestdien vedīs makšķerēt.

Anagasa. Tas nav viņas vārds, bet visi viņu tā sauc – „vecmāmiņa”. Matiasa mamma. Viņas seja ir krunkaina un bezgala mīļa. Kad viņa smejas, tad acu vietā ir šauras strīpiņas. Viņa ir maza un kustās ar grūtībām, taču komandē savu dēlu un, neskatoties uz to, ka neko nesaprotam, runā ar mums grenlandiski. Kad mēs bijām pie viņas dziedāt, viņa tā vienkārši sēdēja krēslā un dungoja līdzi. Nezinot ne vārdus, ne melodiju. Viņas otrs dēls gāja bojā desmit gadu vecumā – viņu netīšām nošāva. Viņa roņādas zābaciņus Anagasa vēl joprojām glabā istabā, redzamā vietā, pie klavierēm.

Frederiks. Man šķiet, ka viņam nav pat divdesmit. Viņš šeit ir katru otro dienu, un arī viņš gandrīz vai dievina Lensu. Man sākumā šķita, ka Frederiks ir viens no tiem klusajiem ūdeņiem, bet vakar es atklāju, ka nav viss. Viņam patīk runāt. Viņu ir grūti apklusināt. Un tas, par ko viņš runā visvairāk, ir medīšana. Viņa vectēvs ir mednieks. Viņa tētis ir mednieks. Viņš mācās vidusskolā, bet sirdī ir… mednieks. Viņš zina, kā medīja vaļus agrāk, un kā tos medī tagad. Viņš zina, kur un kā nomedīt ziemeļbriedi. Roņus viņš vairs neskaita. Mednieka dzīve Grenlandē ir smaga, neparedzama un ar neregulāriem ienākumiem, bet tas ir tas, ko Frederiks grib darīt. Dzīve tad iegūst citu garšu.

Anettja. Sprigans un mirdzošs skatiens, īsi, sarkani mati un pīrsings mēlē. Platas drēbes un tās pašas šaurās acis. Viņa nerunā gandrīz nemaz, tikai smaida un rauc uzacis (uzacu paraušana uz augšu šeit nozīmē “jā”). Kaut kas viņā ir ļoti dumpiniecisks un tomēr tik trausls. Kaut kas viņā ir ļoti salauzts. Viņa tikai turas pie sava Deivida (viņas draugs, paranormāli runīgs dāņu-grenlandiešu puisis, kura angļu valoda ir labāka par manējo) rokas un atkārto katru viņa kustību. Bērns, kurš meklē sevi.

Rebeka. Grenlandiešu princese. Izturīga un skaista. Jauna. Trīs bērnu māmiņa. Ar vīru – musulmani no Tuvajiem austrumiem. Viņa daudz smejas un viņas vaibsti nedaudz atgādina Japānu. Viņa audzina bērnus, rūpējas par savām mājām un kopā ar Birti un Sāru vada draudzi. Un meklē Dievu, un cer, ka pēc pāris gadiem varēs pārcelties dzīvot uz Dāniju.

Tie ir tikai daži no stāstiem, kurus esmu dzirdējusi. Daži no tiem, kurus es gribu pastāstīt. Grenlandiešiem patīk stāstīt stāstus, un man patīk tos pierakstīt un nodot tālāk. Otrā pasaules malā. Perfect match, isn’t it?

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Eliass. He is fourteen. Big eyes, shifty smile, few words and long, straight, black hair. He comes here every day. Lance says, that this is already third year in the row. Every day. Until 11pm, sometimes even later. Until the last person goes to sleep. He doesn’t want to go home, because there is nothing good for him there. Sometimes he stays outside all night long, playing football with other boys or just wandering around the town. His favorite class in school is English. And he literally adores Lance.

Matias. We met in the church. And he is one of our best friends here. He says that doors of his house are always open for us. He is the one thanks to whom I can say that I have eaten whale meet. Fifty year old man who had a stroke few years ago. Even though he has some difficulties to move and talk, he is still very joyful and full of energy. He doesn’t have a job, and his only family is his mother. Matias is taking us ice-fishing on Saturday.

Anagasa. That is not her real name, but everyone keeps calling her like that – “the grandma”. Matias’ mom. Her face is wrinkled and lovely. When she laughs, her eyes turn into small narrow lines. She is so tiny and cute, and moves very slowly, but still bosses around her son and talks to us in Greenlandic even though we don’t understand a word. When we were at their place to sing, she just sat in the chair and very silently sang along. Without knowing words or melody. The other son of her died when he was ten – he was accidentally shot. She still keeps his sealskin boots in a very visible place in her room, next to a piano.

Frederic. It seems he is not even twenty. He hangs out in here ever other day, and he is also one of those who almost adores Lance. At the very beginning it seemed that he is one of those silent waters, but yesterday I discovered that… he is not. If he starts to talk, it is very hard to quiet him down. The thing he loves to talk the most about is hunting. His grandpa is a hunter. His dad is a hunter. He goes to high school but in his heart he is a … hunter. He knows how they hunted vales in old times, and how to do it nowadays. He knows where and how you can hunt a reindeer. He doesn’t count seals anymore. It is very hard and unpredictable life that a hunter has here in Greenland and you can never be sure hen you will have money and when you will not. But that’s a life that Frederic wants to have. A life that has a different taste and feeling.

Annetja. Lively and starry look, short, red hair and piercing in the tongue. Baggy clothes and same narrow eyes. She doesn’t talk much, just smiles and pulls her eyebrows up (which in Greenlandic culture means “yes”) all the time. There is something very rebellious and yet so fragile about her. There is something very broken in her, and it seems it would take a lifetime to figure out what exactly. She just keeps on holding David’s (her boyfriend, who is abnormally talkative Greenlandic-Danish guy whose English is better than mine) hand and repeats his every move. She is a kid who is trying to find herself.

Rebecca. The Greenlandic princess. Tough and beautiful. Young. A mom for three lovely kids. A wife for a Muslim guy from Middle East. She laughs all the time and her face reminds me of Japan a little bit. She takes care of her kids, her home and, together with Birte and Sarah, her church. She seeks for God and hopes, that one day in the next years her family will move to Denmark.

These are just couple of stories that I have heard. Just a couple of those I want to tell you. They – Greenlanders – love to tell stories. And I love to write them down and pass them on to the other side of the world. Perfect match, isn’t it?