By Beth Bento – The day began with the high stakes of a long-awaited interview. After nearly a month in Altamira, Pará, I finally felt more connected to the land and to the women involved in cacao production and chocolate making, as I explored their perceptions of cacao’s transformative impact in their lives and in the Amazonian region. One of the unique benefits of ethnographic research is the ability to connect with people and have a small taste of what it is like to live in their shoes. However, sometimes it takes a while to adjust and feel like you can reach out and insert yourself in their lives. After weeks of back-and-forth and of building courage, I’d finally secured an appointment with a participant, and I was determined to make the most of it before my anxiety convinced me otherwise. My alarm rang early so I could prepare and catch one of the first buses, a 90-kilometer journey along the Trans-Amazonian Highway. I knew an early bus would spare me the worst of the day’s heat, but arriving three hours too soon would be awkward in most Brazilian contexts, so I planned instead to have a relaxed breakfast with my hosts, seasoned anthropologists and linguists who had spent decades working in the region. Their stories of past challenges always provided perspective, and I felt both grounded and inspired as I set out, unaware that sometimes even the most carefully planned days could unravel in the most unexpected ways.
The sky was clear and I was hopeful that things would go great, but that hope faded when the bus didn’t appear. After half an hour, a station worker casually mentioned that a protest was blocking the highway and the schedule was uncertain. Anxiety began to creep in. An hour later, the bus finally arrived and I tried to relax, watching the Amazonian scenery roll by, lush greenery, red earth, and I let myself believe for a moment that the worst was over. But suddenly, the bus jerked to a stop. The protest was still blocking the road. We were told the delay would be another hour, only now we had to wait in the sun. Passengers grumbled about the heat and politics, debating the necessity of such drastic actions. I messaged my contact, hoping my phone would find a signal, apologizing and warning her that my arrival was now uncertain.
Finally, we were moving again. The driver, perhaps distracted by the morning’s chaos, kept forgetting the door was open as we drove, letting in bursts of hot, humid air and the dust and roar of the highway. It was an unsettling quirk that added to the day’s growing list of frustrations. Just two kilometers from my destination, the driver announced that he would go no further. We were instructed to transfer to a second bus, which, ironically, had left the station after ours. The new driver agreed to drop me off at the chocolate factory as originally planned, but first, he was taking his lunch break. Despite advice against it, I considered walking the remaining distance, but the heat in the shade was already oppressive, so I patiently waited.
After a long hour, the new driver returned and we resumed the journey. I reminded him of my stop before I boarded and made sure he understood it was not far away. But as the chocolate factory came into view, he didn’t slow down. Panic rising, I rushed to the front and alerted him. He stopped a few hundred meters past the factory, then turned to lecture me about not speaking up. At this point, three hours behind schedule, hot, hungry, and frustrated, I simply asked to be let out rather than insist I had spoken up multiple times.
The walk back to the factory in the blazing sun felt endless. Battling frustration and the urge to cry, I focused on breathing and putting one foot in front of the other. By the time the factory was in sight, I’d managed to compose myself. I took another few deep breaths, plastered on a smile, and knocked on the door, hoping I could pull off the illusion that everything was perfectly fine.
Miraculously, the interviews went very well. Another person I’d hoped to meet happened to visit, and I managed two interviews back-to-back. The arduous journey had ultimately paid off, and the illusion of calm was replaced by genuine relief and the quiet confidence that things would work out despite the struggles. Afterward, I got a ride to the bus stop and waited for the last bus. The driver was someone I’d met weeks before, familiarity that felt reassuring. I settled in, finally able to unwind as the bus made its slow, familiar stops along the highway.
Then, abruptly, another stop. We’d just passed a busy pick-up point, and I wondered if the driver had forgotten something or missed someone. Instead, he flung open both doors, shouting, “Leave! Fire!” Smoke billowed from the engine. The halfway point was six kilometers away, and I still had another hour’s journey remaining for me to reach the city. With no help coming, the driver simply tossed his water bottle onto the engine and announced we’d try to continue, since it was getting dark. He reasoned it was safer to risk another fire than be stranded on the highway in the Amazon, vulnerable to passing trucks or wild animals. Hesitantly, we all re-boarded.
Upon reaching the next town, I debated whether to risk the rest of the trip or try to stay there but decided against it, even as the driver continued to douse the engine with water and hope for the best. As the sun abruptly set, plunging the rural highway into pitch blackness, I realized how dangerous it would have been to wait for help. I made it to the city without further incident and walked the last few blocks to my hosts’ house, once again pasting on a smile. Beyond the setbacks and challenges that can come up during a day of fieldwork, sometimes persistence and patience allows you to see the small victories that make all the struggles worthwhile. Not giving up and understanding that you can’t really plan for the unexpected can eventually bring peace. It had been a relentlessly challenging day, but now, finally, everything truly was fine.
Beth Bento is an alimna of the master program Social and Cultural Anthropology at the VU.
Love that story!