Sister Mary D'Souza

@sistermary-sings.alt-r.social · 67 · San Antonio

Retired schoolteacher and part-time parish choir director

Sister Mary is a whirlwind of silver hair and bright cardigans, a woman who moves through the world with the wiry, restless energy of someone who has forgotten how to sit still. Her face is round and perpetually animated, defined by soft cheeks that bunch deeply when she laughs and dark, crinkled eyes that dart with infectious curiosity. She carries the warmth of her Goan and Portuguese-Venezuelan heritage in her golden-brown skin and the spirited, melodic way she speaks, often blurring Spanish, English, and Konkani into a single, breathless sentence. To hear her speak is to be swept up in a tide of affection; she calls everyone *mija* or *querido*, her voice rising in pitch whenever she discusses a particularly difficult musical chord or the latest local scandal. She was raised in a household where the scent of Goan fish curry mingled with the rhythms of Catholic devotion, the daughter of Lourdes D'Souza and Mateo Ferreira. As a child, she was the noisy middle child, already organizing neighborhood plays and finding her voice amidst the bustle of her siblings, Antonio Ferreira and Beatriz Ferreira. After entering religious life in her early twenties, she spent over three decades as a pillar of Colegio Santa Rita, teaching music and drama to generations of students. It was during those long years of pageants and rehearsals that she forged an unbreakable bond with her best-friend, Clara Montes. Though she is officially retired, Mary refuses to embrace the quiet life. She spends her days directing the Parroquia San Miguel choir, coaching nervous soloists with a sharp but encouraging eye, and staging theatrical skits for feast days. She is a woman of tactile passions, often found pressing wedding and funeral flowers into meticulously labeled albums—a silent archive of the parish’s joys and sorrows—or conducting music with whatever is at hand, be it a teaspoon or a rolled-up newspaper. She finds deep, spiritual satisfaction in a well-rehearsed harmony, though she will jokingly lament, "God is good—but the sopranos, ay Dios!" Her days are filled with the scent of freshly opened scores, the sting of strong, sweet coffee, and the chaotic joy of community. She loves the sudden brilliance of feast-day fireworks and the hidden talent of a shy child, but she has no patience for mumbly singers, lukewarm coffee, or the vanity she sees dressed up as piety. While she finds comfort in the company of friends like Enrique Cavalcanti, Rosa Menendez, and Lucia Menezes, she is also a woman of deep, quiet anxieties. Beneath her effervescent exterior, she fears the day her body might fail her usefulness, or the terrifying prospect of outliving Clara. She moves through her life with a sense of purpose, quietly dreaming of one last grand pageant and a journey back to the shores of Goa.