A Lion in a Raspberry Patch

On a quiet, sunshiny afternoon, while picking raspberries on the outskirts of Jocotepec, I heard a lion roar! Terrified, I grabbed hold of my friend. Her face was ghostly white — she had heard it too. Then it came again. It felt closer this time. We clung to each other, momentarily frozen. Then, dropping our buckets, we ran for the car, jumped in and sped away. Relieved to reach the main road, we saw a young boy calmly driving a hand-painted sign into the dirt. It read, “CIRCO — 1 km “

At the one-kilometer mark and feeling safe again, we followed an arrow pointing to a dusty, dirt road laced with lopsided raspberry bushes. The road twisted and turned through the bushes and soon we were almost back to where we heard the lion roar. Then, nearly hidden from sight, we saw a shiny blue and white striped tent shimmering in the heat. In front of the tent, a circle of wide-eyed children stood, totally captivated by an elegant, elderly lioness stretched out in her brightly painted cage. Her name plate read “Ramona.” One enormous paw hung through the bars; her tail flicked lazily, and she snored with the untroubled confidence of someone who knew she was adored. Later I was told she was the only animal in the circus, and rather spoiled.

While we waited for the doors to open – and Ramona slept – a young boy on stilts hobbled over and told us it would be another half hour before the show would begin. A soft chorus of disappointed sighs rippled through the children. A few shuffled their feet. One boy pressed closer to the cage, as if willing Ramona to wake up.

Seeing the kids’ disappointment, I remembered the stash of used tennis balls in the trunk of my car. I walked over and got them. As we tossed the balls across the concrete pad, the children’s faces lit up. Their shouts of glee awakened the sleepy Ramona. Her eyes fluttered open and she did one long, leisurely stretch, and then sauntered toward the children as if heading center stage for a solo. She eased herself down, unhurried, basking in her own magnificence. Then she rolled onto her back and resumed her snoring without missing a beat. I was convinced I had just witnessed one of the greatest scene-stealing divas of all time.

Moments after Ramona’s grand performance (which led to another luxurious nap), the circus kids and their moms came to us and asked if they might have some tennis balls too. They explained how they could use them for rehearsals, and we gladly handed over every ball we had. Those kids hung onto those used tennis balls as if they were gold. Talking with them, we learned the kids ranged in age from three to eighteen, and every one of them were very curious about us. In our slightly broken Spanish, we told them we were professional dancers. Before we knew it, we were teaching them the Macarena. They absolutely loved it! They shrieked, laughed and shook their hips like seasoned pros.

Interrupting our dance class, the moms rushed over to us, beaming and shouting, “Showtime!” They ushered us into the tent and seated us in the front row – no doubt an honor and a professional courtesy. The lights came up; a hush swept through the tent, and the show began.

Pepe, a precocious three-year old dressed in a sequined shirt, and purple knickers, led Ramona across the ring, stopping precisely on the center mark. The big lioness sat right down, gazed serenely at the audience, shook her head and joggled her muzzle. Then she opened her mouth and let out a tremendous roar – just like the one we heard in the raspberry patch! Raising one paw in a ‘high five’, she turned around, and took a dramatic and well-deserved bow, clearly enjoying the applause. Pepe led her off, returning in a flash to take his encore. He summersaulted across the ring, snapped off a perfect salute, and bowed like a seasoned trooper.

Just like little Pepe, the cast all performed in spotless handmade costumes, darned tights and well-worn shoes. They all smiled broadly while performing with unmistakable pride. Their energy was over-the-top; the routines were sharp and polished, and their timing was impeccable. But clearly the grand master of the show was the kid’s father, Beto, the clown. He was downright hilarious. I could imagine Emmett Kelly, the world-famous clown, watching him and giving him two enthusiastic thumbs up.

After Beto’s performance, we thought the show was over and we started to leave. But a sudden drum roll caught our attention, and we sat back down. The lights dimmed, and a single spotlight swept across a far corner of the ring. Slowly the music rose and standing there in the spotlight was Beto, dressed in jeans, a tee shirt, and full clown make-up. He began to sing Pagliacci in a voice so rich and enchanting that even Caruso would have stopped to applaud. We were absolutely spellbound.

I sat there in awe, full of wonder and, at the same time, quietly ashamed. I realized that they had so little, yet they gave all of what they had. Their circumstances were so much harder than mine, their resources far fewer. And still they offered their talent freely and completely, without hesitation. I suddenly felt drained, and out of nowhere, I began to cry. Something shifted inside me – a deep awareness of how much I had been given, and how easily I had taken it for granted. Witnessing their drive and dedication stirred in me a resolve to give back more fully, to be more mindful and more deserving of the life I’ve been so fortunate to live.

Thanks to that little circus, tucked among the raspberries, I was reminded of the person and the performer I always wanted to be.