Shrimps and Shrimps
Throughout our lives, we encounter many people. Some come and go, leaving little more than a fleeting memory, while others make an indelible mark on us. My friend Juliano is one of those people who doesn’t just pass through your life—he stays. I could spend countless lines recounting our friendship, but since I know Juliano prefers to remain somewhat anonymous (or at least reserved), I’ll spare you the details. Instead, I’ll focus on a remarkable story from our time studying International Relations, a story that perfectly captures the essence of our relationship.
Juliano, in addition to his efficiency, attentiveness, and dedication, is undoubtedly a man with a good heart and a unique innocence. I highly doubt he’s capable of any malice. Over the years in the public service realm of international relations, I was often tasked with a variety of duties. One of the more regular ones was to receive foreign dignitaries and international authorities visiting our Ministry. It was a straightforward task—greet them at the entrance, escort them to the meeting room or the Minister’s office, take note of the meeting’s details, and offer suggestions or comments as needed.
For reasons that remain unclear to me, there was one particular day when I couldn’t carry out my duties and asked Juliano to step in for me. I briefed him on the procedure—there was no way this could go wrong. But, of course, it did.
Juliano went to the main entrance, and as luck would have it, he saw a black car pulling up to the building. Naturally, he thought, “Ah, the Ambassador is here! I’ll greet him and take him straight to the Minister’s office.” The man got out of the car, and without a second thought, Juliano guided him into the private elevator, not bothering to check his identity (a standard procedure, but hey, I had briefed him on the basics already, right?). He escorted the man into the Minister’s office, let him sit comfortably on the sofa, and went off to inform the rest of the team about the upcoming meeting.
It wasn’t long before Juliano walked into another room where all the officials were gathered for the meeting. As soon as our boss saw him, he froze. “Who is that man you just escorted to the Minister’s office?” he asked, clearly perplexed. Without missing a beat, Juliano confidently replied, “He’s the Ambassador of Cameroon!”
Our boss stared at him, wide-eyed. “He might be anything, but he is not the Ambassador of Cameroon—he’s already in the room with us!”
At that moment, it dawned on Juliano that he had mistakenly escorted a completely different man—a private sector visitor, likely someone who had never received such a grand reception from the Minister, and most probably someone the Minister had no interest in meeting in the first place. Realizing the magnitude of the faux pas he had made, Juliano sprinted back to the Minister’s office and somehow managed to undo the diplomatic disaster he’d nearly created—though not without leaving a small sweat stain behind.
A few days ago, I was reminiscing about this incident with Juliano, and I couldn't help but ask, “So, Juliano, what’s up with the Cameroon thing?” He replied, without missing a beat, “Oh, Rui, the restaurant is amazing. It’s an all-you-can-eat shrimp place. You sit down and enjoy various kinds of shrimp with whiskey, sesame seeds, fried ones…”
I had to stop him right there. “My friend, I’m talking about the country, Cameroon!”