This past Sunday was the championship match of the FIFA-Confederation Cup between the U.S.A. and Brazil in South Africa. This is the tournament which serves as a prelude to the World Cup next year. At halftime, the U.S.A. was winning 2-0, which was incredibly surprising, since earlier in the tournament, Brazil beat the U.S. 3-0. I filmed my hosts/friends at half-time. You can tell how surprised and anxious they are about the game.
But in the second half, Brazil scored two goals very quickly. Then they scored a 3rd goal which wasn't counted because the referees really messed up--it was quite clear in the replay that Brazil scored. (I guess they don't have a slow-mo replay challenge rule in soccer.) Now everyone was really mad, because Brazil SHOULD have been ahead, but they were only tied. Finally, with only a few minutes left in the game, Brazil scored again. The film tells the story about how happy my friends were. In fact, they were in my face for the rest of the day, and the neighborhood made miming gestures of me crying for the next day or so. A good time was had by all!
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
A moment of sublime absurdity
A quick post: I just discovered that for the last two months I've been using the word for "recipe" as the word for "receipt." So every time I've gone to the store to buy materials for Quilombo Zeferina, and hired workers for jobs at QZ, I've asked them for recipes instead of receipts. If that's not sublime absurdity, I don't know what is! :-0
Friday, June 26, 2009
Michael Jackson dies and Pirajá burns
These events aren't related, of course. And, to tell the truth, Pirajá isn't burning, but there were many bonfires up and down the street the other night to celebrate the São João holiday. If asthmatics exist in Brazil, they probably were all in the hospital this week.
São João (Saint John the Baptist) is probably the most celebrated holiday in the northeast outside of Carnaval. I don't know if it's bigger than Christmas, but I think it is. Officially, São João lasts 2 days -- the 23rd and 24th of June. In practice, the celebrating geared up last Thursday (June 18th) and putters along until the end of this weekend (June 28th). In other words, a week without much work! School is closed all week. Stores are mostly closed. It seems to be the goal of many people to drink beer continuously for a solid week, with a break on Tuesday and Wednesday, when they drink many of the special fruit liquors distilled for the occasion instead.
The city newspaper's website had a survey asking what São João traditions were most important. Number 1 was making a trip to the interior (anywhere outside of Salvador), where people REALLY party and dance all night, and by day pretend their farmers or cowboys. William and Claudio (Fabricio's brothers) spent one whole day on a horse ride of about 20 miles. The number 2 tradition (a close second) was drinking many different types of fruit liquors--tamarindo, jenipapo, cajá, pitanga, jaboticaba, abacaxi, banana, murici, cambuí, umbu and others, including mint and chocolate (source: http://www.estancia-se.com.br/noticia.asp?cod=447&aspid=).
The required foods for the holiday include steamed or boiled peanuts (in their shells), roasted corn on the cob, and an endless variety of snacks and sweets made out of corn, tapioca, or cassava. Besides food and drink, you see lots of people dressed up like "country folks" with straw hats or frilly shirts. Basically, imagine a holiday based around Country and Western music and you get the idea.
Michael Jackson's passing spread like wildfire after I first announced it to my hosts last night. Everyone LOVES his music here, and they've been playing it all day on stereos and on TV. As if they needed another excuse, Fabricio said that when someone famous dies, nobody goes to work! LOL :-D
São João (Saint John the Baptist) is probably the most celebrated holiday in the northeast outside of Carnaval. I don't know if it's bigger than Christmas, but I think it is. Officially, São João lasts 2 days -- the 23rd and 24th of June. In practice, the celebrating geared up last Thursday (June 18th) and putters along until the end of this weekend (June 28th). In other words, a week without much work! School is closed all week. Stores are mostly closed. It seems to be the goal of many people to drink beer continuously for a solid week, with a break on Tuesday and Wednesday, when they drink many of the special fruit liquors distilled for the occasion instead.
The city newspaper's website had a survey asking what São João traditions were most important. Number 1 was making a trip to the interior (anywhere outside of Salvador), where people REALLY party and dance all night, and by day pretend their farmers or cowboys. William and Claudio (Fabricio's brothers) spent one whole day on a horse ride of about 20 miles. The number 2 tradition (a close second) was drinking many different types of fruit liquors--tamarindo, jenipapo, cajá, pitanga, jaboticaba, abacaxi, banana, murici, cambuí, umbu and others, including mint and chocolate (source: http://www.estancia-se.com.br/noticia.asp?cod=447&aspid=).
The required foods for the holiday include steamed or boiled peanuts (in their shells), roasted corn on the cob, and an endless variety of snacks and sweets made out of corn, tapioca, or cassava. Besides food and drink, you see lots of people dressed up like "country folks" with straw hats or frilly shirts. Basically, imagine a holiday based around Country and Western music and you get the idea.
Michael Jackson's passing spread like wildfire after I first announced it to my hosts last night. Everyone LOVES his music here, and they've been playing it all day on stereos and on TV. As if they needed another excuse, Fabricio said that when someone famous dies, nobody goes to work! LOL :-D
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Building Momentum
A few people back home heard me griping last week about the powerful force of inertia here in Pirajá. I was complaining that nothing seemed to be getting done. Mind you, this wasn’t necessarily any one person’s fault, but rather was a combination of circumstances, bureaucracy, procrastination, and vagaries of the calendar. I had moved out here on May 29th, and the power and water were supposed to be installed by the end of the weekend, May 31. 
Here it was, the middle of June, and still the Quilombo didn’t have power or water, and to top it off, the whole community was partying on Thursday because it was a holiday (Corpus Christi), Friday, because it was a holiday (Lover’s Day), and Saturday, because it was Antônia’s birthday. To tell the truth, I was starting to get a little bit frustrated, and went to work at the Quilombo by myself on Friday.
When I returned to the house, Antônia’s oldest daughter, Theresa, had arrived for a surprise visit from Juazeiro. She’s a history teacher there, and seems to have a lot of experience in dealing with administration. She was sitting on the back porch with several of her sisters (Paulinha, Christina, Georgina, and others) drinking beer and chatting. I came in and someone asked where I had been. I said I was working at the Quilombo, and they immediately looked shocked—it seemed unfathomable to them that someone would work alone. This prompted them to invite me to sit down and join them, and I guess I vented a little bit about my frustration with things.
What followed was a 5 hour conversation about the Quilombo and what it could and should do, how it should be run, what needed to be done to jump-start work on it, and how the community might be able to maintain it in perpetuity. Jocelita came in about an hour into the conversation and vented a little of her own, but soon we were all in agreement: it was time to take the bull by the horns and get something done!
Since then, things have moved forward by leaps and bounds. Even during the HUGE 13 hour party on Saturday with 50 family members present (15 of them under 18) consuming about 8-10 cases of beer, lots of the conversation was about the Quilombo. Isabel seemed to be energized to volunteer more, and had a conversation with Leonide (an in-law) about plastering. Christina said she wanted to get involved and promised to organize a meeting. Theresa was facilitating things with her knowledge of administrative structures. I was pleased that despite the fact that this was a party and that everyone was drinking (heavily), they still had the Quilombo on their minds.
On Monday, the water system was miraculously installed, including moving the water tank to the roof, and installing the supply line to the street (but not connected to the supply yet). Nadson worked all day chiseling a furrow in cinderblock for plumbing in the second bathroom. Fabricio and I went for a meeting with Marlene, Eli, and Marilene at ITEBA in the evening. Afterward, on the bus, Fabricio and I had an amazing discussion about ideology versus practicality with regard to feminism. This, of course, was stimulated by Marlene’s strong feminist ideals.
Tuesday, a bunch of people showed up to break furrows in the bricks for the wiring conduits in the upper floor, including Isabel and Jamele!! This was not an easy job. It required lots of pounding with hammer and chisel to break through the mortor, and was dirty and dusty. Casilda’s boys, Tio and Morillo, helped out more than they usually do. Fabricio was in high gear. He constructed the rebar frame for the power post out front. (I had given him a hard time the day before, because he had been promising to do this for two weeks.)
Wednesday, Sergio Sr. and Fabricio worked all day on the post, while Naia worked on cleaning out the water tank.
Joselita, Casilda, Nilzete, and Isabel had a conversation early in the morning, basically initiating a coup d’état attempt to get control of the Quilombo out of Marlene's hands once and for all. I’m still unclear on the details of all this, but am glad that they haven’t involved me. It would be awkward because it would put me in a position of opposition to Marlene. I fully support the efforts of the women of this community to have control over what is rightfully theirs, but also support Marlene in all her work with ITEBA, YAMI, and, historically, Quilombo Zerferina.
I typed up a to-do list for Fabricio, which scared him a little because it was so long. He is just like me in that he says “yes” to everything and is always offering ideas or help, but forgets to follow through. He is now diligently working his way through the list. He just told me a couple of hours ago how anxious he is for the Mutirão to be begin and for the American’s to arrive. Everyone is really excited about the soccer game AND the American football game. They’ve contracted a policeman to be present so no one gives us trouble. (I jokingly accused him of expecting violence from the Americans when they lose!)
Momentum is really building, which is good because a huge holiday (São João) arrives next week, and we need to have everything in line before that begins. I have no doubt that the Mutirão is going to be a great experience for both the North Americans and the Brazilians, and that the Brazilians will use it as the springboard to a fully functional Quilombo.
Here it was, the middle of June, and still the Quilombo didn’t have power or water, and to top it off, the whole community was partying on Thursday because it was a holiday (Corpus Christi), Friday, because it was a holiday (Lover’s Day), and Saturday, because it was Antônia’s birthday. To tell the truth, I was starting to get a little bit frustrated, and went to work at the Quilombo by myself on Friday.When I returned to the house, Antônia’s oldest daughter, Theresa, had arrived for a surprise visit from Juazeiro. She’s a history teacher there, and seems to have a lot of experience in dealing with administration. She was sitting on the back porch with several of her sisters (Paulinha, Christina, Georgina, and others) drinking beer and chatting. I came in and someone asked where I had been. I said I was working at the Quilombo, and they immediately looked shocked—it seemed unfathomable to them that someone would work alone. This prompted them to invite me to sit down and join them, and I guess I vented a little bit about my frustration with things.
What followed was a 5 hour conversation about the Quilombo and what it could and should do, how it should be run, what needed to be done to jump-start work on it, and how the community might be able to maintain it in perpetuity. Jocelita came in about an hour into the conversation and vented a little of her own, but soon we were all in agreement: it was time to take the bull by the horns and get something done!
Since then, things have moved forward by leaps and bounds. Even during the HUGE 13 hour party on Saturday with 50 family members present (15 of them under 18) consuming about 8-10 cases of beer, lots of the conversation was about the Quilombo. Isabel seemed to be energized to volunteer more, and had a conversation with Leonide (an in-law) about plastering. Christina said she wanted to get involved and promised to organize a meeting. Theresa was facilitating things with her knowledge of administrative structures. I was pleased that despite the fact that this was a party and that everyone was drinking (heavily), they still had the Quilombo on their minds.
On Monday, the water system was miraculously installed, including moving the water tank to the roof, and installing the supply line to the street (but not connected to the supply yet). Nadson worked all day chiseling a furrow in cinderblock for plumbing in the second bathroom. Fabricio and I went for a meeting with Marlene, Eli, and Marilene at ITEBA in the evening. Afterward, on the bus, Fabricio and I had an amazing discussion about ideology versus practicality with regard to feminism. This, of course, was stimulated by Marlene’s strong feminist ideals.Tuesday, a bunch of people showed up to break furrows in the bricks for the wiring conduits in the upper floor, including Isabel and Jamele!! This was not an easy job. It required lots of pounding with hammer and chisel to break through the mortor, and was dirty and dusty. Casilda’s boys, Tio and Morillo, helped out more than they usually do. Fabricio was in high gear. He constructed the rebar frame for the power post out front. (I had given him a hard time the day before, because he had been promising to do this for two weeks.)
Wednesday, Sergio Sr. and Fabricio worked all day on the post, while Naia worked on cleaning out the water tank.
Joselita, Casilda, Nilzete, and Isabel had a conversation early in the morning, basically initiating a coup d’état attempt to get control of the Quilombo out of Marlene's hands once and for all. I’m still unclear on the details of all this, but am glad that they haven’t involved me. It would be awkward because it would put me in a position of opposition to Marlene. I fully support the efforts of the women of this community to have control over what is rightfully theirs, but also support Marlene in all her work with ITEBA, YAMI, and, historically, Quilombo Zerferina.I typed up a to-do list for Fabricio, which scared him a little because it was so long. He is just like me in that he says “yes” to everything and is always offering ideas or help, but forgets to follow through. He is now diligently working his way through the list. He just told me a couple of hours ago how anxious he is for the Mutirão to be begin and for the American’s to arrive. Everyone is really excited about the soccer game AND the American football game. They’ve contracted a policeman to be present so no one gives us trouble. (I jokingly accused him of expecting violence from the Americans when they lose!)
Momentum is really building, which is good because a huge holiday (São João) arrives next week, and we need to have everything in line before that begins. I have no doubt that the Mutirão is going to be a great experience for both the North Americans and the Brazilians, and that the Brazilians will use it as the springboard to a fully functional Quilombo.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Needs and Desires
Living in Pirajá has shown me the stark difference between needs and desires. It seems that, often, needs go unnoticed because people have become accustomed to living without. At the same time, their desires burn hotly in their minds and fantasies. So, for example, when Fabricio learned that he could buy a computer on eBay for very little, he obsessed about it until he (we) won an auction. But he neglects to contact Tanya about the simple matter of obtaining medicine for his lupus condition. He has come to believe that a computer will open the doors to prosperity for him, but has learned to live with his lesions.There are lots of things that people desire—TVs, stereo systems, cell phones with all the bells and whistles, nice hair, nice clothes.
Their desires mirror the desires of the more financially fortunate people of the world. And the flame of these desires is fanned by TV advertising and other media outlets, just as it is in the U.S. In other words, a consumer culture exists here in Brazil, but with a huge segment of the population unable to participate without making serious sacrifices in fulfilling their basic needs. And, because they are accustomed to their unfulfilled needs, they are willing to continue sacrificing them to their consumer desires. This impacts our work with Quilombo Zeferina directly.We’ve encountered a roadblock in our pursuit of autonomy and continuity at Quilombo Zeferina because only one of the women involved, Jocelita, has a “clean” name at the bank. This means that all the others are in debt seriously enough to prohibit them from sharing in the role as financial caretakers of the Quilombo. Two people from different families are required by law in order to access a bank account of the type established for Quilombo Zeferina. Thus, the money is inaccessible without the direct involvement of Marlene at ITEBA.
One might say—so what’s the problem? Just let Marlene help access the money. Marlene, however, is strongly focused on her feminist ideology and the implementation of her ideology. She has her own ideas of what the women in Pirajá need, and that may be in conflict with the actual, realistic needs of the women in Pirajá. Also, it may conflict with what the women in Pirajá think they need, which sometimes is really just what they desire.Ultimately , the women in Pirajá feel they can't fulfill what Marlene thinks are the necessary steps to be administrators of the Quilombo. To satisfy her, they would need to take classes at ITEBA and adopt her feminist ideology, which is unlikely to happen, both practically (transportation issues and family responsibilities) and philosophically. A meeting is needed between the women of Pirajá and Marlene to settle some of these questions.
In the meantime, we Americans, as supporters of ITEBA and Quilombo Zeferina are left with a conundrum. Do we pressure Marlene to moderate her views in order to move forward with the Quilombo? Or do we support Marlene’s vision without question, hoping the women of Pirajá see the light? I have found myself walking a fine line between supporting the women of Pirajá and supporting Marlene’s vision. I am currently in a position where I am the go-between; the one who must seek compromise and creative solutions to give the women of Pirajá some hope of momentum, while at the same time living within the boundaries of the Quilombo’s constitution as written by Marlene. God give me wisdom and strength!
Friday, June 12, 2009
Holidays and R.I.P.
The São João Festival is fast approaching, and people are already gearing up for it. Two "warm-up" holidays are "Dia de Namorado" (their equivalent to Valentine's Day) on June 12, and "Dia de Corpus Christi" on June 11. Yesterday was also Paulinho's birthday (14yo), and tomorrow is Antônia's birthday (78yo). One of Antônia's daughters arrived yesterday on a surprise visit from Juazeira. Lots of her other kids and grandkids who I don't see too often have been around the house, as well. This weekend promises to be one long party! (And little work done on the Quilombo :-(
On a sadder note, the other night Fabricio, Monalisa, Naia and I were reminiscing about past Mutirões, looking at pictures from 2000 and 2002 in my computer, when we came across the picture at left. It turns out that Tio, the fellow seated on the right, was stabbed to death at his birthday party about a year ago. He is the first person I've been acquainted with to die a violent death. Rest in peace, Tio.
On a sadder note, the other night Fabricio, Monalisa, Naia and I were reminiscing about past Mutirões, looking at pictures from 2000 and 2002 in my computer, when we came across the picture at left. It turns out that Tio, the fellow seated on the right, was stabbed to death at his birthday party about a year ago. He is the first person I've been acquainted with to die a violent death. Rest in peace, Tio.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Pataxó Hã-Hã-Hã
(written about June 4-7, 2009; 30th-33rd days in Brazil)
This past Thursday through Sunday I went with a group of women to southern Bahia for a seminar called “Women of the Northeast in Search of Justice and Economic Solidarity and Autonomy” with the Pataxó Hã-Hã-Hãe indigenous group (indígenos).
Unlike the indígenos of the Amazon region, who have received a lot of attention from the international press and subsequent support for the continuation of their cultures by the Brazilian government, the Pataxó lands were assimilated and converted to agricultural centuries ago. Thus, the Pataxó people live in a twilight zone between cultures. They work hard to try and preserve their indigenous heritage, but can’t fully return to the way of life that served them for hundreds (thousands?) of years because their land has been completely transformed into grazing land or cacao farms. Thus, they are forced to live in an economy that gives them few opportunities unless they decide to abandon their homes, families, and way of life.
Sergio drove us in his microbus, picking me up on the side of the freeway as he passed near Pirajá (unlike in the U.S., people can stand and wait on the side of the highways here). Most of the trip, about eight hours, was on a two-lane, heavily trafficked road similar to a U.S. route like route 40 or 19. Except for 5 or 6 small towns, it was rural driving all the way. There were lots of “rest stops”—churrascarias, roadside stands selling food or crafts, pousadas (b&bs)—that reminded me of what American highways were like before the 50s and the interstate highway system. Quite a pleasant trip, all in all.
After 8 hours, we turned on a smaller two-lane road winding into the mountains to the small town of Pau Brasil, which is nominally the home of the Pataxó. In reality, they live out in the country on about 53,000 hectares of land (about 200 square miles). This is where things got interesting! The sun had gone down, and some guys from the community were waiting for us in town to guide us out to the location of the meeting. We turned onto a dirt (mud) road and spent the next two hours bumping and sliding our way to the farm and community center of the Agua Vermelha branch of the Pataxó. At one point, we got stuck going up a hill. We all got out to push, but our feet had no traction in the mud (not that it would have done any good trying to push a bus!). We ended up having to dig a little before the bus could maneuver its way backwards away from the ditch that was precariously close to causing the bus to tip over. While we were stopped, someone came out of a house nearby and asked the guys who were guiding us if they would take a girl to the hospital, they carried her out to the car in agony. I have no idea what she had—dengue, malaria, tetanus—but she looked like she would die of pain any moment. They turned around and went back to town, and we relied on Patricia, a young Pataxó indígena who was accompanying us from Salvador, to guide us the rest of the way.
Once we arrived , (I thought) all the women went inside the house while Sergio and I waited on the porch.
He had a few smokes and drank some wine to recover from the harrowing trip. (He wasn’t told he would have to maneuver a dirt road.) What I didn’t realize was that the women weren’t in the house, they were on their way to the farm, which was another kilometer away. In about ½ an hour, a few women (with candles set in pots held on their side to serve as flashlights) showed up to escort Sergio and me to where we would ultimately sleep for the next couple of days. We couldn’t really see where we were stepping, so we stumbled through the mud, waded across a swollen river, and finally made it to the cultural center.
Despite all the hassle of getting there, it was really great to be out in the country. The sounds of nature—frogs and other critters in the dark, running water, wind, and the relative silence of the country—always help me relax. It’s funny. I have no trouble sleeping on a concrete surface if its out in the woods. The living conditions on this trip weren’t all that different from being on the Appalachian Trail, which suited me just fine.
Things got started the next morning really early. We had breakfast in the kitchen in the house next to the community center, which I learned belonged to Maura, the matriarch, and her family. Her son, Paulo, is the leader of the Agua Vermelha branch of the Pataxó. His brother, Luiz, is a representative of the Pataxó to the federal government. (He was in Brasilia when this event started and didn’t arrive home until Saturday night after the seminar was over.)
Living in the house as well were son Marcio and his 5 children. The house back up the trail on the road had more relatives. I couldn’t begin to keep track of everyone. Although the house was small for the number of people who lived there, it was very pleasant. There were beautiful plants next to the house, and the veranda was a great place to hang out and enjoy the day. The kitchen was large, and had both a gas stove as well as an open wood fire stove. Their refrigerator was mostly empty, but it worked, and someone had bought soft drinks for the occasion. There’s nothing like the smell of coffee on a rainy morning at 7:00am.
I didn’t expect to see any Pataxó ritual while I was there. I don’t know why—perhaps because it was a seminar being led by Marlene and ITEBA. But the seminar began with a ritual blessing by Paulo, accompanied by dancing and singing. Dancing and singing were a key element of the whole weekend, with five extended periods of ritual, starting and ending each day and an extra one at night to teach the young people the songs. Instead of describing it in detail, I’m including two clips of video. The first one took place in the evening of the first day, and started as a youth activity to teach the younger kids the songs. But as time passed, others joined in. This clip is about halfway through the hour ritual, and has some nice moments. The second clip (further down in this blog entry) is the morning of the second day, and includes a pretty intense segment of Paulo going into trance.
Briefly, I would describe the music and dance as a typical variant of almost all indigenous American music. They used rattles to keep a beat, and marched in short steps two to a beat. The songs were all quite melodious, and usually had a simple A-B form. The lyrics were a combination of Portuguese and Pataxó languages with periods of vocables. There was a little bit of call-response between men and women. As the ritual progressed, the dancing became more energetic, and the tonal center modulated upward until the men really had to strain to hit the notes. They didn’t use any falsetto like one would find among the Plains Indians of North America.
Attending the seminar were women from several Pataxó communities. Some had walked 40 kilometers (about 25 miles) to get there.
Several of those were in their 70s or 80s. About 25 women were in attendance at the seminar. Almost all wore traditional Pataxó dress, which included decorative headbands and clothes made entirely of grass/tree fibers, including braziers. Many used special face- or body-paint in patterns. Several of the men had feather headdresses. The seminar started with the women joining in an “ice-breaker” song simulating the sifting of farinha flour (a staple starch made from manioc that they add in great quantities to beans and soup). Their behavior resembled children singing children’s songs. 
My impression is that women in this culture are typically so home-bound and sheltered (repressed), they have little interaction outside the family. The whole idea of this seminar, where they were encouraged to find voices to talk about their needs and problems in a safe and supportive environment, was probably a bit intimidating for them. Their participation in the song showed this moderate discomfort in that it resembled children having to perform in public—somewhat hesitant, mannered, shy.
Over the three sessions, the women were to come up with some concrete ways to find sovereignty over their own lives, both in their health needs and economic autonomy. In the first session, they were divided into three groups, and were told to make an inventory of ways they didn’t have autonomy or solidarity in their lives. The second session was devoted to identifying one thing from all the groups’ lists that was common and would be most likely to affect change. This turned out to be the creation of an association that would meet regularly and would represent women to the outside and to other organizations (some indigenous, some not). There was disagreement over the viability of creating an association. After all, how many women could take time from their responsibilities in the home to make the trek to a meeting place? What if women who weren’t at the seminar wanted to participate? What if different communities had different ideas or disagreements? The second session ended with things very much up in the air.
The next morning began with ritual, but this is when Paulo found his orixá (with the help of the substance he was smoking, which wasn’t marijuana or tobacco, but definitely had the effect of a drug) and spoke with the authority of god and ancestors to everyone gathered, including observers such as Sergio and me. His messages to a particular few were evident, despite the fact that his supernatural tongue was unintelligible. He took Patricia out of the circle for a special admonishment to remember her roots and respect her elders. He told me to take the story of his people back to America. He wept upon reaching his younger brother, who has 5 children and has a hard life. And when he reached one of the elderly indigenous women who was sick, he drew out the sickness, gagging as though it had transferred from her to him. At this point, Maura brought him more smoke. The process of going into trance and coming out of trance was painful, and a bit excruciating to watch. Like I said, it was intense!
After the special visit from the orixá, the women found common ground and consensus, and agreed to the formation of an association for the betterment of their constituency. Tears were shed by Patricia as she addressed Maura, the matriarch, directly. Tears were shed by Maura in return. Everyone from ITEBA made a speech, including me (yikes!—public speaking in a language different from one’s own is definitely a scary experience). Then several men decided that since I, as a man, was given a chance to speak, then they, too, needed to speak. They all had nice things to say in support of women and their efforts, though I wonder when it comes to brass tacks whether they will be as supportive.
Because things ran long, Sergio decided we should stay another night rather than drive after dark, which is dangerous because of highway bandits. All of the people from other communities departed, leaving only Maura and her large family (four sons were there by this time), some of the neighbors, and us. Sergio disappeared in the middle of the afternoon, going to town with one of the guys in their car to buy stuff for the night’s requisite festivities. Some of the teenagers were hanging around on the veranda drinking cachaça and singing songs accompanied by makeshift percussion instruments.
I spent quite a bit of time hanging out with the younger kids, who wanted to practice their English with me. I taught them a few words, and we had fun. The adult men found me rather amusing, and liked to tease me. They tried playing a trick on me by getting me to eat some pimenta (VERY hot pickled peppers). I knew better, but took a tiny bite anyway. Of course, I love spicy stuff, so I told them how much I liked it. They found this hilarious. Then they gave me the raw pepper from which the pimenta was made, called biri-birí. It wasn’t hot at all, but was very sour. I liked it a lot, too, since I like sour stuff, and asked for a second one. They found this even more hilarious. Then they offered some cachaça to wash it down with, and I drank it straight from the bottle without touching the bottle to my mouth. This took the cake, because not only did I not spill the cachaça, I also didn’t give a glimmer of a wince at the kick of this strong liquor. From this moment on, I think they were offering cachaça to me every 5 minutes, including at breakfast the next morning.
After trekking out to the bus, Sergio managed to get it stuck in the mud again while trying to turn around in the small space, and it took the whole tribe about two hours to dig it out. I think Sergio was a bit embarrassed and mad at being stuck, so he did most of the digging. The Pataxó guys weren’t too thrilled to have to work so hard at 8:00am, wearing clean clothes and sporting hangovers.
Even eight guys pushing behind a bus can’t make it move when all they have for traction is mud the texture of pudding. We ended up removing the large fence post on one side of the gate (three guys for this job) and bringing in about 50 ceramic roof tiles (three guys) which we broke and put under the wheels and on the tracks to help with traction. Finally freed, a few of the Pataxó joined us for the trip to Pau Brasil. We stopped one time and met Paulo’s father, who for some reason doesn’t live with Maura, but rather a couple of miles down the road in a VERY simple thatched homemade house.
I could go on for days describing what I saw, speculating about the culture and family dynamics, and commenting on the various attitudes towards their native culture, but I’ll let the pictures speak for me, and my speculation/impressions probably aren’t accurate enough to be in print, anyway.
This past Thursday through Sunday I went with a group of women to southern Bahia for a seminar called “Women of the Northeast in Search of Justice and Economic Solidarity and Autonomy” with the Pataxó Hã-Hã-Hãe indigenous group (indígenos).
Unlike the indígenos of the Amazon region, who have received a lot of attention from the international press and subsequent support for the continuation of their cultures by the Brazilian government, the Pataxó lands were assimilated and converted to agricultural centuries ago. Thus, the Pataxó people live in a twilight zone between cultures. They work hard to try and preserve their indigenous heritage, but can’t fully return to the way of life that served them for hundreds (thousands?) of years because their land has been completely transformed into grazing land or cacao farms. Thus, they are forced to live in an economy that gives them few opportunities unless they decide to abandon their homes, families, and way of life.
Sergio drove us in his microbus, picking me up on the side of the freeway as he passed near Pirajá (unlike in the U.S., people can stand and wait on the side of the highways here). Most of the trip, about eight hours, was on a two-lane, heavily trafficked road similar to a U.S. route like route 40 or 19. Except for 5 or 6 small towns, it was rural driving all the way. There were lots of “rest stops”—churrascarias, roadside stands selling food or crafts, pousadas (b&bs)—that reminded me of what American highways were like before the 50s and the interstate highway system. Quite a pleasant trip, all in all.After 8 hours, we turned on a smaller two-lane road winding into the mountains to the small town of Pau Brasil, which is nominally the home of the Pataxó. In reality, they live out in the country on about 53,000 hectares of land (about 200 square miles). This is where things got interesting! The sun had gone down, and some guys from the community were waiting for us in town to guide us out to the location of the meeting. We turned onto a dirt (mud) road and spent the next two hours bumping and sliding our way to the farm and community center of the Agua Vermelha branch of the Pataxó. At one point, we got stuck going up a hill. We all got out to push, but our feet had no traction in the mud (not that it would have done any good trying to push a bus!). We ended up having to dig a little before the bus could maneuver its way backwards away from the ditch that was precariously close to causing the bus to tip over. While we were stopped, someone came out of a house nearby and asked the guys who were guiding us if they would take a girl to the hospital, they carried her out to the car in agony. I have no idea what she had—dengue, malaria, tetanus—but she looked like she would die of pain any moment. They turned around and went back to town, and we relied on Patricia, a young Pataxó indígena who was accompanying us from Salvador, to guide us the rest of the way.
Once we arrived , (I thought) all the women went inside the house while Sergio and I waited on the porch.
He had a few smokes and drank some wine to recover from the harrowing trip. (He wasn’t told he would have to maneuver a dirt road.) What I didn’t realize was that the women weren’t in the house, they were on their way to the farm, which was another kilometer away. In about ½ an hour, a few women (with candles set in pots held on their side to serve as flashlights) showed up to escort Sergio and me to where we would ultimately sleep for the next couple of days. We couldn’t really see where we were stepping, so we stumbled through the mud, waded across a swollen river, and finally made it to the cultural center.
Despite all the hassle of getting there, it was really great to be out in the country. The sounds of nature—frogs and other critters in the dark, running water, wind, and the relative silence of the country—always help me relax. It’s funny. I have no trouble sleeping on a concrete surface if its out in the woods. The living conditions on this trip weren’t all that different from being on the Appalachian Trail, which suited me just fine.Things got started the next morning really early. We had breakfast in the kitchen in the house next to the community center, which I learned belonged to Maura, the matriarch, and her family. Her son, Paulo, is the leader of the Agua Vermelha branch of the Pataxó. His brother, Luiz, is a representative of the Pataxó to the federal government. (He was in Brasilia when this event started and didn’t arrive home until Saturday night after the seminar was over.)
Living in the house as well were son Marcio and his 5 children. The house back up the trail on the road had more relatives. I couldn’t begin to keep track of everyone. Although the house was small for the number of people who lived there, it was very pleasant. There were beautiful plants next to the house, and the veranda was a great place to hang out and enjoy the day. The kitchen was large, and had both a gas stove as well as an open wood fire stove. Their refrigerator was mostly empty, but it worked, and someone had bought soft drinks for the occasion. There’s nothing like the smell of coffee on a rainy morning at 7:00am.I didn’t expect to see any Pataxó ritual while I was there. I don’t know why—perhaps because it was a seminar being led by Marlene and ITEBA. But the seminar began with a ritual blessing by Paulo, accompanied by dancing and singing. Dancing and singing were a key element of the whole weekend, with five extended periods of ritual, starting and ending each day and an extra one at night to teach the young people the songs. Instead of describing it in detail, I’m including two clips of video. The first one took place in the evening of the first day, and started as a youth activity to teach the younger kids the songs. But as time passed, others joined in. This clip is about halfway through the hour ritual, and has some nice moments. The second clip (further down in this blog entry) is the morning of the second day, and includes a pretty intense segment of Paulo going into trance.
Briefly, I would describe the music and dance as a typical variant of almost all indigenous American music. They used rattles to keep a beat, and marched in short steps two to a beat. The songs were all quite melodious, and usually had a simple A-B form. The lyrics were a combination of Portuguese and Pataxó languages with periods of vocables. There was a little bit of call-response between men and women. As the ritual progressed, the dancing became more energetic, and the tonal center modulated upward until the men really had to strain to hit the notes. They didn’t use any falsetto like one would find among the Plains Indians of North America.
Attending the seminar were women from several Pataxó communities. Some had walked 40 kilometers (about 25 miles) to get there.
Several of those were in their 70s or 80s. About 25 women were in attendance at the seminar. Almost all wore traditional Pataxó dress, which included decorative headbands and clothes made entirely of grass/tree fibers, including braziers. Many used special face- or body-paint in patterns. Several of the men had feather headdresses. The seminar started with the women joining in an “ice-breaker” song simulating the sifting of farinha flour (a staple starch made from manioc that they add in great quantities to beans and soup). Their behavior resembled children singing children’s songs. 
My impression is that women in this culture are typically so home-bound and sheltered (repressed), they have little interaction outside the family. The whole idea of this seminar, where they were encouraged to find voices to talk about their needs and problems in a safe and supportive environment, was probably a bit intimidating for them. Their participation in the song showed this moderate discomfort in that it resembled children having to perform in public—somewhat hesitant, mannered, shy.Over the three sessions, the women were to come up with some concrete ways to find sovereignty over their own lives, both in their health needs and economic autonomy. In the first session, they were divided into three groups, and were told to make an inventory of ways they didn’t have autonomy or solidarity in their lives. The second session was devoted to identifying one thing from all the groups’ lists that was common and would be most likely to affect change. This turned out to be the creation of an association that would meet regularly and would represent women to the outside and to other organizations (some indigenous, some not). There was disagreement over the viability of creating an association. After all, how many women could take time from their responsibilities in the home to make the trek to a meeting place? What if women who weren’t at the seminar wanted to participate? What if different communities had different ideas or disagreements? The second session ended with things very much up in the air.
The next morning began with ritual, but this is when Paulo found his orixá (with the help of the substance he was smoking, which wasn’t marijuana or tobacco, but definitely had the effect of a drug) and spoke with the authority of god and ancestors to everyone gathered, including observers such as Sergio and me. His messages to a particular few were evident, despite the fact that his supernatural tongue was unintelligible. He took Patricia out of the circle for a special admonishment to remember her roots and respect her elders. He told me to take the story of his people back to America. He wept upon reaching his younger brother, who has 5 children and has a hard life. And when he reached one of the elderly indigenous women who was sick, he drew out the sickness, gagging as though it had transferred from her to him. At this point, Maura brought him more smoke. The process of going into trance and coming out of trance was painful, and a bit excruciating to watch. Like I said, it was intense!
After the special visit from the orixá, the women found common ground and consensus, and agreed to the formation of an association for the betterment of their constituency. Tears were shed by Patricia as she addressed Maura, the matriarch, directly. Tears were shed by Maura in return. Everyone from ITEBA made a speech, including me (yikes!—public speaking in a language different from one’s own is definitely a scary experience). Then several men decided that since I, as a man, was given a chance to speak, then they, too, needed to speak. They all had nice things to say in support of women and their efforts, though I wonder when it comes to brass tacks whether they will be as supportive.
Because things ran long, Sergio decided we should stay another night rather than drive after dark, which is dangerous because of highway bandits. All of the people from other communities departed, leaving only Maura and her large family (four sons were there by this time), some of the neighbors, and us. Sergio disappeared in the middle of the afternoon, going to town with one of the guys in their car to buy stuff for the night’s requisite festivities. Some of the teenagers were hanging around on the veranda drinking cachaça and singing songs accompanied by makeshift percussion instruments.
I spent quite a bit of time hanging out with the younger kids, who wanted to practice their English with me. I taught them a few words, and we had fun. The adult men found me rather amusing, and liked to tease me. They tried playing a trick on me by getting me to eat some pimenta (VERY hot pickled peppers). I knew better, but took a tiny bite anyway. Of course, I love spicy stuff, so I told them how much I liked it. They found this hilarious. Then they gave me the raw pepper from which the pimenta was made, called biri-birí. It wasn’t hot at all, but was very sour. I liked it a lot, too, since I like sour stuff, and asked for a second one. They found this even more hilarious. Then they offered some cachaça to wash it down with, and I drank it straight from the bottle without touching the bottle to my mouth. This took the cake, because not only did I not spill the cachaça, I also didn’t give a glimmer of a wince at the kick of this strong liquor. From this moment on, I think they were offering cachaça to me every 5 minutes, including at breakfast the next morning.After trekking out to the bus, Sergio managed to get it stuck in the mud again while trying to turn around in the small space, and it took the whole tribe about two hours to dig it out. I think Sergio was a bit embarrassed and mad at being stuck, so he did most of the digging. The Pataxó guys weren’t too thrilled to have to work so hard at 8:00am, wearing clean clothes and sporting hangovers.
Even eight guys pushing behind a bus can’t make it move when all they have for traction is mud the texture of pudding. We ended up removing the large fence post on one side of the gate (three guys for this job) and bringing in about 50 ceramic roof tiles (three guys) which we broke and put under the wheels and on the tracks to help with traction. Finally freed, a few of the Pataxó joined us for the trip to Pau Brasil. We stopped one time and met Paulo’s father, who for some reason doesn’t live with Maura, but rather a couple of miles down the road in a VERY simple thatched homemade house.I could go on for days describing what I saw, speculating about the culture and family dynamics, and commenting on the various attitudes towards their native culture, but I’ll let the pictures speak for me, and my speculation/impressions probably aren’t accurate enough to be in print, anyway.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Parable of the Cracked Roads -- Pirajá
(29th day in Brazil)
The "Parable of the Cracked Roads" [a story used at the FPC mission meeting last Sunday] is, actually, quite literally applicable to Pirajá and to the city of Salvador as a whole after the recent heavy rains. Major arteries are pock-marked with huge potholes. Traffic on these major arteries, which normally travels at about 40 miles per hour, must crawl across these holes at slower than a walking pace. This has caused horrible traffic jams, and a bus trip that would normally take 45 minutes takes two hours.
The picture at left is of the street directly in front of the Quilombo. At least this hole is on the side of the street—there are lots of others right in the middle. Some cars and truck trying to get up the street are unable to do so, because the street is so steep they need a running start, but can’t maintain their speed over these holes.
The people of Pirajá are poor (in our eyes), but they aren’t stupid. They are the ones who face problems day to day, and they find solutions to those problems. However, just like us, they are sometimes blinded by Mother Culture (as presented in Daniel Quinn's book Ishmael), and can’t see the forest for the trees. The truth is, they proceed through life mostly relying on the “quick and easy” physical solutions to their problems. It keeps people employed, after all. Short-term fixes mean having to do the work over and over again. Sometimes this is the only job security people have. Have we ever thought about the possibility that by coming here and doing physical work, are we taking work away from people who need it?
Just in case you think this is a deficiency unique to Brazil, think about these examples in the U.S.:
• Why is it that every year PennDot has to set out orange cones on the freeway? Why must they dig up the road foundations so often? Why can’t they find a permanent solution to the problem? Is there anything WE can do to fix this problem? If so, how difficult would the process be? Do you think it would be any different in Brazil, easier or harder?
• Why is it that appliances and cars seem to fail just after the warranty expires? To what degree is “strategically planned obsolescence” a part of our everyday life? How purposeful is it? If things were to last as long as we wanted (forever), then how many people would be out of a job? (This scenario is treated humorously in TV ads for Maytag and chewing gum.)
Although the quick fix is often used, people here recognize the value of longer-term solutions. A solution for holes in the road that lasted two or three years or more would be considered quite acceptable. But Nature, after all, is a formidable foe, and there simply may not be any “permanent” solutions available. A “warm and fuzzy” solution, developed in concert with local residents, is perhaps the best we can expect for a mission trip. Working with local residents is a must, because “warm and fuzzy” solutions required more money, prep time, and follow-up. How can we, as we try to enable social justice, be the financiers of these projects without being patronizing or demeaning to the people here? How do we prevent our mission from becoming “donor-driven,” since tangible, physical results are contingent first and foremost on money?
The most important thing we need to do in addressing the deeper needs of the residents of Pirajá is to understand how Mother Culture blinds them to certain aspects of their lives, just as Mother Culture blinds US to certain aspects of our lives. For example, Americans live in a consumer society where buying power is the most important thing in our lives. We consume for the sake of consuming, not because we need things. We eat for the sake of eating, not for nourishment. If you watch the commercials for the evening news, you’ll see ads for cholesterol drugs, diabetes meters, weight loss programs, depression and anxiety, and in between those, ads for fast food, devices like the Blackberry that enable us to work more, and all manner of machines that automate our lives and keep us from exercising our bodies and interacting with others face to face. Mother Culture blinds us to the fact that the only thing we need to do to be healthy is physical work and have a healthy diet. She tells us that we should eat what we want, to indulge ourselves because “we deserve it,” and then tells us to buy drugs to treat the symptoms of our behavior.
In Pirajá, Mother Culture tells another story which blinds residents to what might be obvious to us, being outsiders to their culture. For example, rubbish of all sorts is constantly in the street. They have trash pickup, but it is sorely ineffective because they would need shovels to collect it all. No one has a trash can; no one has garbage bags. Garbage bags take money, so they just use little grocery bags, which are free when you buy groceries. Dogs and cats, some stray and others belonging to people, roam the streets and tear open these bags, strewing the garbage all over the street. This is normal, everyday life. They don’t consider it a problem. What is Mother Culture telling them about how to deal with waste that blinds them to the unsanitary and unsightly reality of garbage?
Another example: all those dogs and cats have their sexual organs intact. They breed at will. There is no awareness nor desire to spay and neuter their pets. What is Mother Culture saying to them about the place of dogs and cats in their lives? What does Mother Culture say to them about sexuality and birth control, whether animal or human? We see over-population, teen-age mothers and fathers, and feral animals. These problems could be fixed by simply using birth control and by spaying and neutering pets. They KNOW this, yet don’t do anything about it—Why?
It is only after studying and understanding what culture has implanted in the minds of the people here that we can begin to address the long-term, deeper needs of the people. And even then, we can’t just preach to them the value of clean streets and birth control. We have educate them in a non-patronizing way about why they might consider changing.
Quilombo Zeferina is named after a great Afro-Brazilian warrior woman of the 18th century. She was part of the Urubu quilombo, which had its settlement in what is now the preserve next to Pirajá. Quilombos were, and are, communities of people (escaped slaves in the past) who seek autonomy, self-suffiency, and rule over their own lives. Quilombo Zeferina could become an institution that helps the people here have more control over their own lives by providing education and needed services. With education and community solidarity comes the ability to change the system and affect the government. We must remember, however, that ultimately it is THEIR priorities that will win in the end. We can only bring our humble impressions and observations, and our own experiences, to help them get a bigger picture of the culture of which they are a part. If done right, they will also help us see a bigger picture of our own cultural disposition.
Not everyone who goes on a mission trip is meant to become a long-term player in the search for social justice. Many will (and should) content themselves with “warm and fuzzy” service. There is nothing wrong with this. But those who really want to bring social justice to Pirajá should realize that it is a long-term commitment based PRIMARILY on establishing relationships with the people here. Not just pats on the back, but real relationships. Doing this requires communication, and our language barrier makes it difficult. But it is not impossible. A lot can be communicated through non-verbal means, and, luckily, what is in one’s heart is communicated very easily (I would say almost involuntarily :-)
The "Parable of the Cracked Roads" [a story used at the FPC mission meeting last Sunday] is, actually, quite literally applicable to Pirajá and to the city of Salvador as a whole after the recent heavy rains. Major arteries are pock-marked with huge potholes. Traffic on these major arteries, which normally travels at about 40 miles per hour, must crawl across these holes at slower than a walking pace. This has caused horrible traffic jams, and a bus trip that would normally take 45 minutes takes two hours.
The picture at left is of the street directly in front of the Quilombo. At least this hole is on the side of the street—there are lots of others right in the middle. Some cars and truck trying to get up the street are unable to do so, because the street is so steep they need a running start, but can’t maintain their speed over these holes.The people of Pirajá are poor (in our eyes), but they aren’t stupid. They are the ones who face problems day to day, and they find solutions to those problems. However, just like us, they are sometimes blinded by Mother Culture (as presented in Daniel Quinn's book Ishmael), and can’t see the forest for the trees. The truth is, they proceed through life mostly relying on the “quick and easy” physical solutions to their problems. It keeps people employed, after all. Short-term fixes mean having to do the work over and over again. Sometimes this is the only job security people have. Have we ever thought about the possibility that by coming here and doing physical work, are we taking work away from people who need it?
Just in case you think this is a deficiency unique to Brazil, think about these examples in the U.S.:
• Why is it that every year PennDot has to set out orange cones on the freeway? Why must they dig up the road foundations so often? Why can’t they find a permanent solution to the problem? Is there anything WE can do to fix this problem? If so, how difficult would the process be? Do you think it would be any different in Brazil, easier or harder?
• Why is it that appliances and cars seem to fail just after the warranty expires? To what degree is “strategically planned obsolescence” a part of our everyday life? How purposeful is it? If things were to last as long as we wanted (forever), then how many people would be out of a job? (This scenario is treated humorously in TV ads for Maytag and chewing gum.)
Although the quick fix is often used, people here recognize the value of longer-term solutions. A solution for holes in the road that lasted two or three years or more would be considered quite acceptable. But Nature, after all, is a formidable foe, and there simply may not be any “permanent” solutions available. A “warm and fuzzy” solution, developed in concert with local residents, is perhaps the best we can expect for a mission trip. Working with local residents is a must, because “warm and fuzzy” solutions required more money, prep time, and follow-up. How can we, as we try to enable social justice, be the financiers of these projects without being patronizing or demeaning to the people here? How do we prevent our mission from becoming “donor-driven,” since tangible, physical results are contingent first and foremost on money?
The most important thing we need to do in addressing the deeper needs of the residents of Pirajá is to understand how Mother Culture blinds them to certain aspects of their lives, just as Mother Culture blinds US to certain aspects of our lives. For example, Americans live in a consumer society where buying power is the most important thing in our lives. We consume for the sake of consuming, not because we need things. We eat for the sake of eating, not for nourishment. If you watch the commercials for the evening news, you’ll see ads for cholesterol drugs, diabetes meters, weight loss programs, depression and anxiety, and in between those, ads for fast food, devices like the Blackberry that enable us to work more, and all manner of machines that automate our lives and keep us from exercising our bodies and interacting with others face to face. Mother Culture blinds us to the fact that the only thing we need to do to be healthy is physical work and have a healthy diet. She tells us that we should eat what we want, to indulge ourselves because “we deserve it,” and then tells us to buy drugs to treat the symptoms of our behavior.
In Pirajá, Mother Culture tells another story which blinds residents to what might be obvious to us, being outsiders to their culture. For example, rubbish of all sorts is constantly in the street. They have trash pickup, but it is sorely ineffective because they would need shovels to collect it all. No one has a trash can; no one has garbage bags. Garbage bags take money, so they just use little grocery bags, which are free when you buy groceries. Dogs and cats, some stray and others belonging to people, roam the streets and tear open these bags, strewing the garbage all over the street. This is normal, everyday life. They don’t consider it a problem. What is Mother Culture telling them about how to deal with waste that blinds them to the unsanitary and unsightly reality of garbage?
Another example: all those dogs and cats have their sexual organs intact. They breed at will. There is no awareness nor desire to spay and neuter their pets. What is Mother Culture saying to them about the place of dogs and cats in their lives? What does Mother Culture say to them about sexuality and birth control, whether animal or human? We see over-population, teen-age mothers and fathers, and feral animals. These problems could be fixed by simply using birth control and by spaying and neutering pets. They KNOW this, yet don’t do anything about it—Why?
It is only after studying and understanding what culture has implanted in the minds of the people here that we can begin to address the long-term, deeper needs of the people. And even then, we can’t just preach to them the value of clean streets and birth control. We have educate them in a non-patronizing way about why they might consider changing.
Quilombo Zeferina is named after a great Afro-Brazilian warrior woman of the 18th century. She was part of the Urubu quilombo, which had its settlement in what is now the preserve next to Pirajá. Quilombos were, and are, communities of people (escaped slaves in the past) who seek autonomy, self-suffiency, and rule over their own lives. Quilombo Zeferina could become an institution that helps the people here have more control over their own lives by providing education and needed services. With education and community solidarity comes the ability to change the system and affect the government. We must remember, however, that ultimately it is THEIR priorities that will win in the end. We can only bring our humble impressions and observations, and our own experiences, to help them get a bigger picture of the culture of which they are a part. If done right, they will also help us see a bigger picture of our own cultural disposition.
Not everyone who goes on a mission trip is meant to become a long-term player in the search for social justice. Many will (and should) content themselves with “warm and fuzzy” service. There is nothing wrong with this. But those who really want to bring social justice to Pirajá should realize that it is a long-term commitment based PRIMARILY on establishing relationships with the people here. Not just pats on the back, but real relationships. Doing this requires communication, and our language barrier makes it difficult. But it is not impossible. A lot can be communicated through non-verbal means, and, luckily, what is in one’s heart is communicated very easily (I would say almost involuntarily :-)
Impressions of Pirajá
(written June 2, 2009, 28th day in Brazil)
I moved into Senhora Antônia’s house almost a week ago. It has been a fascinating experience living among my friends here.
First, a little bit about Fabricio’s family. I learned that Antônia, who is in her mid-70s, had 12 children, 8 of whom still live here in Pirajá. These include Isabel, Jocelita, Wilma, Adami, and Paulinha, all of whom I know. She has 32 grandchildren, and about 15 great-grandchildren already. This family tree explains the clan-like social fabric of the neighborhood. It isn’t just that Fabricio knows everyone, he is also related to many of the people I have met. And if you count the husbands and wives, and ex-husbands and ex-wives, of these relatives, I have met a LOT of people!
Antônia’s son, Adami, a bit younger than Isabel, is single and lives in a room just in back of Antônia’s house. He has taken over the role of “man of the house” since her husband’s death. The relationship between Adami and his mother, Antônia is similar to that of my great-uncle Lee with my great-grandmother Sarah Ward, or my great-uncle Bill with his mother Hazel, or my uncle Keith with my grandmother June. It seems that if you are a part of an extended clan, the single (perhaps unambitious) men get to stay at home and care for their mothers. In this case, it has also turned him into an alcoholic, so he goes on binges that lasts for days.
Antônia’s 2nd to youngest daughter, Paulinha, who just turned 28, is married to our old friend Bola, who was our “bodyguard” in 2002. They have a son, Iago. They live, as best I can tell, in a newer house built in the backyard. I say “as best I can tell” because it seems that everyone in the clan makes themselves at home in many different locations. For example, Antônia’s grandson, Paulinho, lives in the room next to mine. But while I’m staying here, Fabricio is taking his room and he is staying at Jocelita’s house. I woke up one morning to find Jocelita’s son Naia sleeping on the couch, and another morning to find Paulinho on the couch. (If they happen to wake up in the middle of the night and want to sleep on the couch, it’s about half a kilometer up the steep hill from Jocelita’s to Antônia’s.) Fabricio’s sister, Monique, sleeps at her father’s house, but during the day and evening, hangs out at with Isabel. Claudio, Fabricio’s brother, lives with his grandmother (on his father’s side) down the street. Even Madonna, the dog, makes herself at home at both Isabel’s and Antônia’s.
Personal note: The longer I live here the more embarrassed I am that I can’t remember everyone’s name. It’s just that the family is so big!!!
Interpersonal relationships extend beyond the family, of course. My social schedule is a testament to that! The day I arrived, we were invited to Joelma’s birthday party, which took place at the bottom of the canyon between old and new Pirajá. I’m not sure why it was there, but the bar next to the stream was the provider of drinks. Guests brought salgados (hors d’ouvres). Joelma and one of her friends were strutting their stuff, dancing to the popular arrocha style. I actually joined them on a couple of tunes, which was quite a source of amazement and amusement for them, since they didn’t expect me to be able to dance.
Thursday night was a night with the boys. Luciano, two of his neighbors, Lukas and Lukas, and I, played dominos on their “porch” while yet another birthday party took place next door. Out in the alley, Hugo and some other kids about his age (4yo) were having a great time mooching cake and Guaraná off party guests, and were being casually watched by Patricia (Pate, pronounced Pah-chee), a beautiful young woman who lives alone with her baby in the house next to Fabricio’s. Hugo has no sleep schedule. He stays up as late as he wants. On this particular night, he was out until 12:30am.
Saturday night, we went to a big concert in a neighborhood nearby featuring the well-known arrocha artist Silvano Salles (see video below) and local pagode group that has hit the big time, No Styllo. Fabricio introduced me to about 100 people. He knew the guys in No Styllo, he knew the security guys (everyone entering was patted down for weapons), he knew the bartenders, and he knew a lot of females. The young ladies are quite affectionate with Fabricio! The first opening band went on about 10:00pm, the second band, Nossa Africa, went on about 11:15pm, Silvano Salles started at 12:30am, and we left before No Styllo could start. According to Bola, they finished around 4:00am. Almost noone was there for the first band, but by the time Silvano Salles started, the place was full, perhaps 2000 people, almost all dancing and drinking. I only saw one person hustled out in a headlock by security.
Sunday night, there was a big festa at the old historic square between old and new Pirajá (This square has a very old, small church, and a memorial to the battle of Pirajá between the Brazilians and the Portuguese in 1822, and the tomb of famous General Labatut.) It was really a fair, with rides for all ages, trampolines, etc. I’d say roughly 1000 people were there. Lots of food and drink stands were set up, and little groups would stake out spaces for their friends. Jocelita and Nadson showed up, as did Willian and Fabricio’s cousin. It was a fun time, but Fabricio was a little upset because his ex was supposed to show up with Marcello and didn’t. During the two hours we were there, there was only one fight. The general mood was extremely friendly but not wild or chaotic in the least. I was on the lookout for people with weapons or people who looked like they were selling drugs, but I didn’t see any.
One of the most intriguing aspects of living in Pirajá is the street life. To give you a sense of what it’s like, I decided to count the number of people walking or hanging around on the street along the road in old Pirajá while passing by on the bus. Roughly, it was 600 people! Only a very few people out here have cars, and a few more have motorcycles (preferred by young people). The vast majority walk to the bus stop or to the store or to the bar. To socialize, one only needs to step outside the house to meet friends and acquaintances passing by. When Fabricio walks up the street, he’s stopped at least two or three times by various people wanting to discuss something or other. The street seems to be where most “meetings” or “business” takes place, similar to the impromptu meetings faculty have while walking through campus. For example, it was on the street where Fabricio learned that a painting partner “friend” had run off to the interior with his payment (R$250) for a job they done together.
Sometimes it is impossible for me to tell the difference between street life and work. Most of the work I see happening is contruction. It seems that almost every building up and down Avenida Elisio Mesquita is under constant construction, adding second or third floors, plastering walls, or setting tiles. There currently is also work being done in the street itself. A deep hole (4 meters) has been dug through the street along the big building on the corner. I’m not sure if this is for sewer or water—I didn’t see any pipes at the bottom of the trench. In addition to construction, you also see a lot of people doing things that we North Americans allow machines to do. A great deal of time is used for hand-washing clothes, and hanging them up to dry, usually under a porch since it rains so much (lately). Groceries are bought daily. The bakery next to where I live always has a line late in the afternoon of people buying their daily bread. Fruit and vegetables are always bought fresh and ripe at stands along the street. It seems that many, if not most, of the people in the neighborhood make their living providing goods or services for their neighbors: fresh produce, candy, beer and liquor, hairdressing, masonry work, painting, washing cars and motorcycles (Casilda’s kids), recharging phone cards, making and selling snacks or acarajé, among many other things. It seems that next to every bar is a church, almost all of them pentecostal. Since most churches hold services at least twice a day, you always see churchgoers mixed in with the workers and drinkers as they pass through the streets.
Music is everywhere. And it’s almost always played loudly on nice stereo systems. Silvano Salles is the current favorite, but is mixed with pagode and a little forró, especially now that we are approaching the São João holiday. (São João is strongly associated with tradition and the country life of the interior, and forró is the Brazilian version of country music.) But it is not just recordings one hears in the neighborhood. At any given moment, you can find someone sitting on their porch playing violão (guitar) or cavaquinho (ukelele). The rumbling sounds of drums often roll across the neighborhood from rehearsals of bloco afro groups.
All in all, I’d say that this is a better life in many ways than what we lead in the U.S. Certainly, it affirms the ideas of Daniel Quinn in his Ishmael books that “there is no single correct way to live.” The neighborhood functions differently, but it functions nonetheless. I’m not sure I would even say the people here are poor. They have what they need, and if they don’t, their neighbors share. No one goes hungry. No one sleeps on the street. No one is naked. If the people of Pirajá are victims, it is only because there is a government (city, state, and federal) and other institutions (banks, schools) that “interfere” in their lives. This interference isn’t direct, but is what I would call passive aggressive. The city says it is responsible for infrastructure, but then does nothing to fix or improve infrastructure in the neighborhood, yet at the same times, prohibits residents from fixing these things themselves. Bills must always be paid in person at the office of the utility. Banking must be done in person at the bank. To accomplish these things means taking a bus, and whenever you have to take a bus anywhere, you can pretty much guarantee that your whole day is consumed. The account for Quilombo Zeferina is at a Bradesco Bank in Garcia, a 1 ½ hour bus ride away. The line at this particular Bradesco, which I experienced trying to cash a check given to me by Marlene, was 40 people long, being serviced by three tellers. I stood in line for 1 ½ hours. Mind you, this was not at peak banking time, but rather the middle of the afternoon.
The "deep" mission work of our church here is important because it might eventually help people find a way through this tangle of bureaucracy.
I moved into Senhora Antônia’s house almost a week ago. It has been a fascinating experience living among my friends here.
First, a little bit about Fabricio’s family. I learned that Antônia, who is in her mid-70s, had 12 children, 8 of whom still live here in Pirajá. These include Isabel, Jocelita, Wilma, Adami, and Paulinha, all of whom I know. She has 32 grandchildren, and about 15 great-grandchildren already. This family tree explains the clan-like social fabric of the neighborhood. It isn’t just that Fabricio knows everyone, he is also related to many of the people I have met. And if you count the husbands and wives, and ex-husbands and ex-wives, of these relatives, I have met a LOT of people!
Antônia’s son, Adami, a bit younger than Isabel, is single and lives in a room just in back of Antônia’s house. He has taken over the role of “man of the house” since her husband’s death. The relationship between Adami and his mother, Antônia is similar to that of my great-uncle Lee with my great-grandmother Sarah Ward, or my great-uncle Bill with his mother Hazel, or my uncle Keith with my grandmother June. It seems that if you are a part of an extended clan, the single (perhaps unambitious) men get to stay at home and care for their mothers. In this case, it has also turned him into an alcoholic, so he goes on binges that lasts for days.
Antônia’s 2nd to youngest daughter, Paulinha, who just turned 28, is married to our old friend Bola, who was our “bodyguard” in 2002. They have a son, Iago. They live, as best I can tell, in a newer house built in the backyard. I say “as best I can tell” because it seems that everyone in the clan makes themselves at home in many different locations. For example, Antônia’s grandson, Paulinho, lives in the room next to mine. But while I’m staying here, Fabricio is taking his room and he is staying at Jocelita’s house. I woke up one morning to find Jocelita’s son Naia sleeping on the couch, and another morning to find Paulinho on the couch. (If they happen to wake up in the middle of the night and want to sleep on the couch, it’s about half a kilometer up the steep hill from Jocelita’s to Antônia’s.) Fabricio’s sister, Monique, sleeps at her father’s house, but during the day and evening, hangs out at with Isabel. Claudio, Fabricio’s brother, lives with his grandmother (on his father’s side) down the street. Even Madonna, the dog, makes herself at home at both Isabel’s and Antônia’s.
Personal note: The longer I live here the more embarrassed I am that I can’t remember everyone’s name. It’s just that the family is so big!!!
Interpersonal relationships extend beyond the family, of course. My social schedule is a testament to that! The day I arrived, we were invited to Joelma’s birthday party, which took place at the bottom of the canyon between old and new Pirajá. I’m not sure why it was there, but the bar next to the stream was the provider of drinks. Guests brought salgados (hors d’ouvres). Joelma and one of her friends were strutting their stuff, dancing to the popular arrocha style. I actually joined them on a couple of tunes, which was quite a source of amazement and amusement for them, since they didn’t expect me to be able to dance.
Thursday night was a night with the boys. Luciano, two of his neighbors, Lukas and Lukas, and I, played dominos on their “porch” while yet another birthday party took place next door. Out in the alley, Hugo and some other kids about his age (4yo) were having a great time mooching cake and Guaraná off party guests, and were being casually watched by Patricia (Pate, pronounced Pah-chee), a beautiful young woman who lives alone with her baby in the house next to Fabricio’s. Hugo has no sleep schedule. He stays up as late as he wants. On this particular night, he was out until 12:30am.
Saturday night, we went to a big concert in a neighborhood nearby featuring the well-known arrocha artist Silvano Salles (see video below) and local pagode group that has hit the big time, No Styllo. Fabricio introduced me to about 100 people. He knew the guys in No Styllo, he knew the security guys (everyone entering was patted down for weapons), he knew the bartenders, and he knew a lot of females. The young ladies are quite affectionate with Fabricio! The first opening band went on about 10:00pm, the second band, Nossa Africa, went on about 11:15pm, Silvano Salles started at 12:30am, and we left before No Styllo could start. According to Bola, they finished around 4:00am. Almost noone was there for the first band, but by the time Silvano Salles started, the place was full, perhaps 2000 people, almost all dancing and drinking. I only saw one person hustled out in a headlock by security.
Sunday night, there was a big festa at the old historic square between old and new Pirajá (This square has a very old, small church, and a memorial to the battle of Pirajá between the Brazilians and the Portuguese in 1822, and the tomb of famous General Labatut.) It was really a fair, with rides for all ages, trampolines, etc. I’d say roughly 1000 people were there. Lots of food and drink stands were set up, and little groups would stake out spaces for their friends. Jocelita and Nadson showed up, as did Willian and Fabricio’s cousin. It was a fun time, but Fabricio was a little upset because his ex was supposed to show up with Marcello and didn’t. During the two hours we were there, there was only one fight. The general mood was extremely friendly but not wild or chaotic in the least. I was on the lookout for people with weapons or people who looked like they were selling drugs, but I didn’t see any.
One of the most intriguing aspects of living in Pirajá is the street life. To give you a sense of what it’s like, I decided to count the number of people walking or hanging around on the street along the road in old Pirajá while passing by on the bus. Roughly, it was 600 people! Only a very few people out here have cars, and a few more have motorcycles (preferred by young people). The vast majority walk to the bus stop or to the store or to the bar. To socialize, one only needs to step outside the house to meet friends and acquaintances passing by. When Fabricio walks up the street, he’s stopped at least two or three times by various people wanting to discuss something or other. The street seems to be where most “meetings” or “business” takes place, similar to the impromptu meetings faculty have while walking through campus. For example, it was on the street where Fabricio learned that a painting partner “friend” had run off to the interior with his payment (R$250) for a job they done together.
Sometimes it is impossible for me to tell the difference between street life and work. Most of the work I see happening is contruction. It seems that almost every building up and down Avenida Elisio Mesquita is under constant construction, adding second or third floors, plastering walls, or setting tiles. There currently is also work being done in the street itself. A deep hole (4 meters) has been dug through the street along the big building on the corner. I’m not sure if this is for sewer or water—I didn’t see any pipes at the bottom of the trench. In addition to construction, you also see a lot of people doing things that we North Americans allow machines to do. A great deal of time is used for hand-washing clothes, and hanging them up to dry, usually under a porch since it rains so much (lately). Groceries are bought daily. The bakery next to where I live always has a line late in the afternoon of people buying their daily bread. Fruit and vegetables are always bought fresh and ripe at stands along the street. It seems that many, if not most, of the people in the neighborhood make their living providing goods or services for their neighbors: fresh produce, candy, beer and liquor, hairdressing, masonry work, painting, washing cars and motorcycles (Casilda’s kids), recharging phone cards, making and selling snacks or acarajé, among many other things. It seems that next to every bar is a church, almost all of them pentecostal. Since most churches hold services at least twice a day, you always see churchgoers mixed in with the workers and drinkers as they pass through the streets.
Music is everywhere. And it’s almost always played loudly on nice stereo systems. Silvano Salles is the current favorite, but is mixed with pagode and a little forró, especially now that we are approaching the São João holiday. (São João is strongly associated with tradition and the country life of the interior, and forró is the Brazilian version of country music.) But it is not just recordings one hears in the neighborhood. At any given moment, you can find someone sitting on their porch playing violão (guitar) or cavaquinho (ukelele). The rumbling sounds of drums often roll across the neighborhood from rehearsals of bloco afro groups.
All in all, I’d say that this is a better life in many ways than what we lead in the U.S. Certainly, it affirms the ideas of Daniel Quinn in his Ishmael books that “there is no single correct way to live.” The neighborhood functions differently, but it functions nonetheless. I’m not sure I would even say the people here are poor. They have what they need, and if they don’t, their neighbors share. No one goes hungry. No one sleeps on the street. No one is naked. If the people of Pirajá are victims, it is only because there is a government (city, state, and federal) and other institutions (banks, schools) that “interfere” in their lives. This interference isn’t direct, but is what I would call passive aggressive. The city says it is responsible for infrastructure, but then does nothing to fix or improve infrastructure in the neighborhood, yet at the same times, prohibits residents from fixing these things themselves. Bills must always be paid in person at the office of the utility. Banking must be done in person at the bank. To accomplish these things means taking a bus, and whenever you have to take a bus anywhere, you can pretty much guarantee that your whole day is consumed. The account for Quilombo Zeferina is at a Bradesco Bank in Garcia, a 1 ½ hour bus ride away. The line at this particular Bradesco, which I experienced trying to cash a check given to me by Marlene, was 40 people long, being serviced by three tellers. I stood in line for 1 ½ hours. Mind you, this was not at peak banking time, but rather the middle of the afternoon.
The "deep" mission work of our church here is important because it might eventually help people find a way through this tangle of bureaucracy.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Saga of the Cell Modem
(Written about May 25-29, 2009, 20th-24th days in Brazil)
Players: Ana, Sergio, Marilene, Marilene’s boss (Director of July 2nd School), Paolo, Pablo, Me
Exposition: Monday. Day one.
A cellular modem at Vivo (a wireless IT company) requires a credit check even if the device and the months of service are paid for in advance in cash. Credit capacity in Brazil is directly tied to one’s salary; it is not a function of a “credit rating” built over time as in the U.S. Therefore, no matter how mature you are, no matter how long you’ve owned a house or a car or a stove or a TV, if you don’t make a sufficient salary, then you can’t buy a modem. What IS “sufficient” remained elusive. It is a magic number one learns only after going through the whole process of buying the device. Ana and Sergio tried first. They don’t have enough credit to allow me to buy a modem, despite the fact that they own a fleet of vehicles for Sergio's business. We called Marilene. It turns out she doesn’t have a sufficient salary, either. Four hours down the tubes for all of us. If I had been eligible for their special promotion, it would have been no problem, but because I only want the device for two months, I have to pay the full price for the modem (R$495 instead of R$29), and the full monthly fee (R$119 instead of R$60).
Development: Tuesday. Day two.
I met Marilene and her boss (Senhor Director) at the Lapa Shopping Mall. Her boss, being a man of authority, was more intimidating to the staff at the Vivo store. First of all, they had sold the device we looked at yesterday, so buying one was a moot point. Senhor Director demanded they call their distribution office because we weren’t going to run around Salvador looking for a modem. Turns out, nobody has one. But then, another service agent told us a story which completely contradicted yesterday’s. I CAN get the promotion of R$29 for the device and R$60 per month for two months, then afterward, just cancel it and pay the fee of R$150. Now we’re talking! But then she had another idea—I should just RENT one for two months. Of course, this was the first time anyone had mentioned renting. The service agent gave Senhor Director and Marilene a name and number to call. They would check into it and the next day would call me.
False Recapitulation: Wednesday. Day three.
I didn’t receive a call in the morning, so I called Marilene. She said she’d call back in 15 minutes, but didn’t, so after 2 more hours, I called again. We’re back in the development! Vivo doesn’t have any to rent, so she is going to look into something else. By this time, Sergio and Ana had come to move me to Pirajá. The rest of the day was consumed with moving. Since Sergio was already in Pirajá and we needed transport to the Ferramenta Gerais warehouse to buy electrical equipment, he just spent the rest of the afternoon and evening with us. I moved into Senhora Antônia’s (Fabricio’s grandmother) and that was that. (All events taking place in Pirajá will be discussed in a different opus.)
Recapitulation: Thursday. Day four.
Sergio showed up late in the afternoon with a modem from Claro. I have no idea how much work he had to go through, nor how much communicating with Marilene he had to do, but there it was. BUT, it didn’t work because it wasn’t configured for Macs. I talked with service people on the phone who, thankfully, spoke English, and they said I would have to have a CD to load the software for the Mac. Sergio told me to meet him in the morning the next day at 8:40 am at the main entrance to Iguatemi Shopping Mall. OK. Later in the evening, he called again and said he would come out to Pirajá. Hmm. I wonder what’s going on.
Coda/Theme C ala Beethoven: Friday. Day five. Sergio arrives around noon by public bus (?!?). His microbus is broken and will cost R$500 to fix. He is in a hyper-anxious state, because he feels obligated to help me and at the same time doesn’t have transport. He took the bus out here. We were to go together to Iguatemi (with Fabricio) on the bus, but then he talked Joelma’s brother, Marcos, to drive us. At Iguatemi, we were given guest passes into the Claro service call center, where Pablo works. We tried the CD and it didn’t work (Window’s only). Pablo disappeared for a few minutes and returned with a flash drive which contained the proper software. By this time, Sergio is almost beside himself. He starts telling his story to Pablo and starts crying. When we leave, Sergio asks Pablo to take us to ITEBA, but I don’t understand why. Sergio is so uptight, I’m not understanding much of what he’s saying. (He’s also chain smoking.) At ITEBA, it turns out that we’re there for me to get reimbursed by Marlene for the money I spent the other day on materials. She writes me a check for R$6940 at a rate of US$1=R$1.93. Awful!! He insists that we then go to a bar and drink. Marcos wants to leave, but Sergio needs to blow off steam, so we stay there for almost three hours. It was somewhat amusing to watch another group of kids celebrate a birthday and do karaoke, including a song called "Gay Robocop." Over the course of the day, I ended up paying R$50 for gas for Marcos, R$37 for the bar tab, and R$50 for Marcos’s trouble (as suggested by Sergio). Despite his good intentions, I kindof wish Sergio had just stayed out of it all. Finally back in Pirajá at about 8:00pm, the modem works. Whew!
My feelings about all this? Anger at the bureaucracy. Humbled and embarrassed by all the help I’ve required. Fear because of the amount of money I’ve spent. Frustration and confusion about what to do to alleviate Sergio’s manic behavior.
Players: Ana, Sergio, Marilene, Marilene’s boss (Director of July 2nd School), Paolo, Pablo, Me
Exposition: Monday. Day one.
A cellular modem at Vivo (a wireless IT company) requires a credit check even if the device and the months of service are paid for in advance in cash. Credit capacity in Brazil is directly tied to one’s salary; it is not a function of a “credit rating” built over time as in the U.S. Therefore, no matter how mature you are, no matter how long you’ve owned a house or a car or a stove or a TV, if you don’t make a sufficient salary, then you can’t buy a modem. What IS “sufficient” remained elusive. It is a magic number one learns only after going through the whole process of buying the device. Ana and Sergio tried first. They don’t have enough credit to allow me to buy a modem, despite the fact that they own a fleet of vehicles for Sergio's business. We called Marilene. It turns out she doesn’t have a sufficient salary, either. Four hours down the tubes for all of us. If I had been eligible for their special promotion, it would have been no problem, but because I only want the device for two months, I have to pay the full price for the modem (R$495 instead of R$29), and the full monthly fee (R$119 instead of R$60).
Development: Tuesday. Day two.
I met Marilene and her boss (Senhor Director) at the Lapa Shopping Mall. Her boss, being a man of authority, was more intimidating to the staff at the Vivo store. First of all, they had sold the device we looked at yesterday, so buying one was a moot point. Senhor Director demanded they call their distribution office because we weren’t going to run around Salvador looking for a modem. Turns out, nobody has one. But then, another service agent told us a story which completely contradicted yesterday’s. I CAN get the promotion of R$29 for the device and R$60 per month for two months, then afterward, just cancel it and pay the fee of R$150. Now we’re talking! But then she had another idea—I should just RENT one for two months. Of course, this was the first time anyone had mentioned renting. The service agent gave Senhor Director and Marilene a name and number to call. They would check into it and the next day would call me.
False Recapitulation: Wednesday. Day three.
I didn’t receive a call in the morning, so I called Marilene. She said she’d call back in 15 minutes, but didn’t, so after 2 more hours, I called again. We’re back in the development! Vivo doesn’t have any to rent, so she is going to look into something else. By this time, Sergio and Ana had come to move me to Pirajá. The rest of the day was consumed with moving. Since Sergio was already in Pirajá and we needed transport to the Ferramenta Gerais warehouse to buy electrical equipment, he just spent the rest of the afternoon and evening with us. I moved into Senhora Antônia’s (Fabricio’s grandmother) and that was that. (All events taking place in Pirajá will be discussed in a different opus.)
Recapitulation: Thursday. Day four.
Sergio showed up late in the afternoon with a modem from Claro. I have no idea how much work he had to go through, nor how much communicating with Marilene he had to do, but there it was. BUT, it didn’t work because it wasn’t configured for Macs. I talked with service people on the phone who, thankfully, spoke English, and they said I would have to have a CD to load the software for the Mac. Sergio told me to meet him in the morning the next day at 8:40 am at the main entrance to Iguatemi Shopping Mall. OK. Later in the evening, he called again and said he would come out to Pirajá. Hmm. I wonder what’s going on.
Coda/Theme C ala Beethoven: Friday. Day five. Sergio arrives around noon by public bus (?!?). His microbus is broken and will cost R$500 to fix. He is in a hyper-anxious state, because he feels obligated to help me and at the same time doesn’t have transport. He took the bus out here. We were to go together to Iguatemi (with Fabricio) on the bus, but then he talked Joelma’s brother, Marcos, to drive us. At Iguatemi, we were given guest passes into the Claro service call center, where Pablo works. We tried the CD and it didn’t work (Window’s only). Pablo disappeared for a few minutes and returned with a flash drive which contained the proper software. By this time, Sergio is almost beside himself. He starts telling his story to Pablo and starts crying. When we leave, Sergio asks Pablo to take us to ITEBA, but I don’t understand why. Sergio is so uptight, I’m not understanding much of what he’s saying. (He’s also chain smoking.) At ITEBA, it turns out that we’re there for me to get reimbursed by Marlene for the money I spent the other day on materials. She writes me a check for R$6940 at a rate of US$1=R$1.93. Awful!! He insists that we then go to a bar and drink. Marcos wants to leave, but Sergio needs to blow off steam, so we stay there for almost three hours. It was somewhat amusing to watch another group of kids celebrate a birthday and do karaoke, including a song called "Gay Robocop." Over the course of the day, I ended up paying R$50 for gas for Marcos, R$37 for the bar tab, and R$50 for Marcos’s trouble (as suggested by Sergio). Despite his good intentions, I kindof wish Sergio had just stayed out of it all. Finally back in Pirajá at about 8:00pm, the modem works. Whew!
My feelings about all this? Anger at the bureaucracy. Humbled and embarrassed by all the help I’ve required. Fear because of the amount of money I’ve spent. Frustration and confusion about what to do to alleviate Sergio’s manic behavior.
Itapagipe friends
(Written about Sunday, May 24, 2009; 19th day in Brazil)
I woke up this morning with diarrhea again. I know my readers love knowing about my minute-to-minute intestinal health (NOT!), but as it impacts my life here in so many ways, I think it deserves mention!
Marilene and (surprise) Simone showed up at 8:00 am to take me to church on the bus. I was a little surprised, because I thought she had a car. Anyway, we had to wait and wait, and finally we just caught another bus to Lapa and then paid again for a bus to Ribeira. It seems that even those who have lived here all their lives have trouble making sense of the bus system. Since no bus schedule or maps are published, you just have to wait until a bus passes which has your destination painted on the front. Problem is, by the time you see it, it’s too late to flag down that bus, and you have to wait for another!
We arrived at Igreja Presbiteriano de Itapagipe (IPI) just in time for Sunday school at 9:00 am. Just like at FPC, they started with everyone in the sanctuary, sang a song, said a prayer, then broke into separate classes. Pastor Luiz, married to Aguinelza, took the adult class. Junior Amorim took the teens, and (surprise!) I was asked to work with the 5-9 year olds. This was because their teac
her didn’t have much voice. They forgot I don’t know how to play guitar, and didn’t know that I have no songs in my head, especially Sunday-school appropriate songs. So, they brought in a drum, and I sang Amazing Grace accompanied by my drum, then “Jesus Loves Me This I Know” accompanied by the drum. By the end of that one, they were bored and/or embarrassed for me, so they started asking if they could play the drum. Marilene came to the rescue and started a project where the kids will draw pictures of stories from Genesis.
She is a great teacher! She asked them to think about what it might have been like before God created the heavens and the earth, day and night. Their first picture is to be a picture of day and night, but they didn’t get to it today.
There are several kids participating in Sunday school and church who are local homeless kids whose families are all sharing a warehouse shelter at the moment. During the service, Junior had them playing some of the musical instruments. He’s great with kids, too, and they love helping him with music because he is so passionate and talented at playing guitar and singing.
Since I wasn’t feeling very well, Marilene made me some tea and insisted I drink it. I didn’t much like the idea of lot liquid on this hot day, but she said it had natural antibiotic qualities and would make me feel better. During coffee hour between Sunday School and Church, I got to catch up with Nadja, Junior, and Aguinelza. Aguinelza looks so much better than she did a couple of years ago, and gave me SUCH a warm welcome. I think not working at ITEBA has helped her calm down. She is such a tender, loving person. She treats all the kids as if they were her own.
The service is liturgical, but at the same time is laid back. The music they sing is more contemporary, but has real musical quality. The hymns are from their hymnbook, which doesn’t have notes, just lyrics. The hymns are lively, and, from what I can tell, theologically sound. Junior plays guitar and another man plays drum set. The kids augmented the music with tamborim and atabaque, etc. They did a couple of anthems where members of the congregation sang solos. No choir today.
The whole service was run by members of the congregation. Luiz read scripture before the sermon and gave the sermon. But all prayers and other readings were done by others. I’m not sure if it was just today (Pentecost Sunday), or a weekly thing, but there was a special celebration of family. Representatives of families came up with collages, talked about what their families mean to them, and added their art to a board.
After church, Simon’s father drove us to Marilene’s house. (Also in his little VW were Junior, Junior’s wife, Marilene’s son and daughter, Marilene and me!) Marilene lives in São Antonio, a very old neighborhood just next to Pelourinho along the cliff that separates the lower and upper cities.
At Marilene’s house, I met her husband, Carlinhos. She lives in the top flat of a set of flats built on top of her mother-in-law’s house. As usual, as the family grows, the dwelling grows with it. Nadja lives on the second level, and they have a rental property there which I suppose could be taken back for a family member if necessary. Marilene’s mother-in-law, on the first floor, has a very nice, large space. I got to see pictures of all her children which she has set out on a table in the living room. I didn’t realize it, but she is an Amorim, and so is is grandmother (or mother) to Junior. It reminds me of Valley Forge United Methodist Church where just a couple of families make up a significant percentage of the congregation. In the case of IPI, it is the Amorim family and Aguinelza’s family.
Dinner was delicious. We had a great time talking. I learned that on Saturday’s they have a full slate of activities at the church, including guitar, flute, voice, and piano lessons, English classes, and a couple of others I can’t remember. It’s a very active congregation.
After lunch, Marilene, two daughters, Simone, Nadja and I went walking around the neighborhood and they showed me the sights. Because of its proximity to Pelourinho and its historic flavor, there are lots of pousadas (small inns) along the main street through the neighborhood. It’s a pricy area although it looks rather run-down still. The process of gentrification has begun. Along the way, across from the somewhat famous Hotel of the Irmãs Carmo, we stopped at Simone’s house. Simone lives in a very old house which is perched right on the edge of the cliff, so they ha
ve a fantastic view of the entire port and bay. Her father works at the port. He used to load and unload containers from ships, but now is an “accountant” who records hours worked and how many containers are loaded and unloaded. He is proud of his job and wanted to talk about it for a long time.
After a full and fun afternoon, despite my upset intestines, Carlinhos drove me back to the Casa, where I collapsed after a very busy weekend.
I woke up this morning with diarrhea again. I know my readers love knowing about my minute-to-minute intestinal health (NOT!), but as it impacts my life here in so many ways, I think it deserves mention!
Marilene and (surprise) Simone showed up at 8:00 am to take me to church on the bus. I was a little surprised, because I thought she had a car. Anyway, we had to wait and wait, and finally we just caught another bus to Lapa and then paid again for a bus to Ribeira. It seems that even those who have lived here all their lives have trouble making sense of the bus system. Since no bus schedule or maps are published, you just have to wait until a bus passes which has your destination painted on the front. Problem is, by the time you see it, it’s too late to flag down that bus, and you have to wait for another!
We arrived at Igreja Presbiteriano de Itapagipe (IPI) just in time for Sunday school at 9:00 am. Just like at FPC, they started with everyone in the sanctuary, sang a song, said a prayer, then broke into separate classes. Pastor Luiz, married to Aguinelza, took the adult class. Junior Amorim took the teens, and (surprise!) I was asked to work with the 5-9 year olds. This was because their teac
her didn’t have much voice. They forgot I don’t know how to play guitar, and didn’t know that I have no songs in my head, especially Sunday-school appropriate songs. So, they brought in a drum, and I sang Amazing Grace accompanied by my drum, then “Jesus Loves Me This I Know” accompanied by the drum. By the end of that one, they were bored and/or embarrassed for me, so they started asking if they could play the drum. Marilene came to the rescue and started a project where the kids will draw pictures of stories from Genesis.She is a great teacher! She asked them to think about what it might have been like before God created the heavens and the earth, day and night. Their first picture is to be a picture of day and night, but they didn’t get to it today.
There are several kids participating in Sunday school and church who are local homeless kids whose families are all sharing a warehouse shelter at the moment. During the service, Junior had them playing some of the musical instruments. He’s great with kids, too, and they love helping him with music because he is so passionate and talented at playing guitar and singing.
Since I wasn’t feeling very well, Marilene made me some tea and insisted I drink it. I didn’t much like the idea of lot liquid on this hot day, but she said it had natural antibiotic qualities and would make me feel better. During coffee hour between Sunday School and Church, I got to catch up with Nadja, Junior, and Aguinelza. Aguinelza looks so much better than she did a couple of years ago, and gave me SUCH a warm welcome. I think not working at ITEBA has helped her calm down. She is such a tender, loving person. She treats all the kids as if they were her own.
The service is liturgical, but at the same time is laid back. The music they sing is more contemporary, but has real musical quality. The hymns are from their hymnbook, which doesn’t have notes, just lyrics. The hymns are lively, and, from what I can tell, theologically sound. Junior plays guitar and another man plays drum set. The kids augmented the music with tamborim and atabaque, etc. They did a couple of anthems where members of the congregation sang solos. No choir today.
The whole service was run by members of the congregation. Luiz read scripture before the sermon and gave the sermon. But all prayers and other readings were done by others. I’m not sure if it was just today (Pentecost Sunday), or a weekly thing, but there was a special celebration of family. Representatives of families came up with collages, talked about what their families mean to them, and added their art to a board.
After church, Simon’s father drove us to Marilene’s house. (Also in his little VW were Junior, Junior’s wife, Marilene’s son and daughter, Marilene and me!) Marilene lives in São Antonio, a very old neighborhood just next to Pelourinho along the cliff that separates the lower and upper cities.
At Marilene’s house, I met her husband, Carlinhos. She lives in the top flat of a set of flats built on top of her mother-in-law’s house. As usual, as the family grows, the dwelling grows with it. Nadja lives on the second level, and they have a rental property there which I suppose could be taken back for a family member if necessary. Marilene’s mother-in-law, on the first floor, has a very nice, large space. I got to see pictures of all her children which she has set out on a table in the living room. I didn’t realize it, but she is an Amorim, and so is is grandmother (or mother) to Junior. It reminds me of Valley Forge United Methodist Church where just a couple of families make up a significant percentage of the congregation. In the case of IPI, it is the Amorim family and Aguinelza’s family.
Dinner was delicious. We had a great time talking. I learned that on Saturday’s they have a full slate of activities at the church, including guitar, flute, voice, and piano lessons, English classes, and a couple of others I can’t remember. It’s a very active congregation.
After lunch, Marilene, two daughters, Simone, Nadja and I went walking around the neighborhood and they showed me the sights. Because of its proximity to Pelourinho and its historic flavor, there are lots of pousadas (small inns) along the main street through the neighborhood. It’s a pricy area although it looks rather run-down still. The process of gentrification has begun. Along the way, across from the somewhat famous Hotel of the Irmãs Carmo, we stopped at Simone’s house. Simone lives in a very old house which is perched right on the edge of the cliff, so they ha
ve a fantastic view of the entire port and bay. Her father works at the port. He used to load and unload containers from ships, but now is an “accountant” who records hours worked and how many containers are loaded and unloaded. He is proud of his job and wanted to talk about it for a long time.After a full and fun afternoon, despite my upset intestines, Carlinhos drove me back to the Casa, where I collapsed after a very busy weekend.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Weekend in Review
The rain let up a little on Saturday, so I headed out to Pirajá for a meeting with the Cinco Mulheres (5 Women), and hoping to be able to attend a Festa de Candomblé in the evening. These things happened, but in the midst of a laid-back, fun-filled Saturday afternoon.
A couple of women were celebrating birthdays this weekend, so Fabricio's grandmother hosted a festa (party) at her house. When I arrived, Joelma was grilling steaks on the front porch. Beers had already been opened. They immediately sat me down and started filling a glass for me. Over the next couple of hours, lots and lots of other folks showed up. They were almost all related to the birthday girl, Paulinha, either by blood or by marriage. It turns out that Paulinha is married (?) to Bola, who was one of our keepers during Mutirão 2004. They have a son, Iago. The party spread to the back yard (yes, she has a back yard!) and to the moderately sized living room. In other words, just like a party in the U.S., it spread to all parts of the house. One of Fabricio's aunts had made a lovely cross-stitch/crochet, and asked Fabricio to draw her a new design and trace it on fabric. He was occupied with that for a couple of hours. The kids played in the midst of the party, occasionally stopping by a grown-up (any grown-up) for a little rest and affection. Hugo has definitely taking a liking to me. By mid-afternoon, quite a lot of beer had been consumed. Isabel's brother apparently insulted one of Joelma's friends and they got in a fight. Others jumped in quickly to keep it from becoming physical. Fabricio's grandmother was mortified that there was a fight at her house while I was there. I told her not to worry. Joelma is really a piece of work. It turns out she isn't flirty with just me. She is just an intensely emotion-driven person. Whether she's hugging and kissing, posing her voluptuous body, or arguing with someone, she's always ultra-passionate.
Luciano Paru showed up. He looks quite different. He's let his hair grow out and has it in short braids. He also has braces. He and Fabricio have grown apart because Luciano isn't really interested in helping the Quilombo anymore. He's focused on his own goals and interests, primarily capoeira (which he does professionally), African drumming, and trying to get to the U.S.
Across the street, Bruno, Casilda's oldest and brother of Gigo, Caique, Tio, and Jamele, was washing motorcycles. Apparently this is one of the odd jobs he does to contribute to the family coffers. The boys had music turned up quite loud, and occasionally broke into dance moves that they've seen in videos. These boys can really dance! Back in 2007, Caique and Tio brought roars of applause at our ITEBA samba party by being the first people on the dance floor. It was interesting that although these neighbors all know each other well, they keep an artificial distance between them which seems to be based on family relationships. In an odd way, it reminds me of an Indian caste or clan system, where extended families live amidst other extended families, but they always respect the dividing line separating the clans.
In the late afternoon, while the party was still rolling along, a group of us went to Isabel's house to have the meeting about project costs at QZ. Attending were Isabel, Casilda, Jocelita, Fabricio, Luciano, and a couple of young women who gave me the impression that they were interested in helping run things at QZ. I later learned that they were both "graduates" of QZ, having attended while it was still up-and-running as a day care facility in other temporary locations. The meeting was quite lively because of course we had all had a bit of beer. It was truly community democracy in action. Jocelita sort of ran the show, because she was the one who had gathered information about getting power and water hooked up. (Plastering the upstairs was delegated to Daniela, who wasn't able to come to the meeting.) First of all, they told me they didn't need to be paid a minimum salary for two months, that they'd rather use that money for getting things up and running at QZ. (At least, this is what I think they said. They glossed over it quickly and I didn't fully understand. Jocelita speaks incredibly fast.) Earlier, at the party, Jocelita and Fabricio had a "discussion" with the person who would do the electrical work. It was close to an argument, because he was trying to say the buidling needed a couple of electrical boxes, and furrows had to be made in the bricks upstairs to run the wires. Jocelita and Fabricio disagreed, because, naturally, at their houses wires just run willy-nilly wherever they have to go, without recognition of any type of code or safety feature. The gist of the discussion was that they wanted the installers to give them a list of all the materials we need, and WE would go together to buy the materials. This will save money because they installers won't mark up the prices. It's a dubious plan, in my thinking, but they're in charge.
The dynamics of the meeting were incredibly impressive to me. They expressed themselves quite honestly, and when there were differences of opinion, they worked through those differences until there was consensus. At times, everyone spoke at once. When someone had something important to say which the whole group need to hear, they would shush the others to restore order. I'm not sure why the way they ran their meeting impressed me so much. I guess its because I have always been under the prejudiced perception that cooperation and planning among a group of people required skills obtained through formal education. It's clear, however, that the education my friends have received in the neighborhood, having to resolve disputes and find ways to co-exist peacefully, is just as effective as learning how to discuss things in a classroom. Perhaps it is better, since the things they deal with are "real" and directly affect their lives.
Around 6:00 pm we went out to find the Candomblé festa. It was just around the corner in someone's house. The house was bigger and nicer than those of any of my friends. Apparently, they had already done the "ceremony," but were willing to give us a taste of things. I was introduced to Exu (an orisha), who was inhabiting (?) a roguish-looking fellow in his mid-20s with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. We took seats, and he started moving around the living room singing candomblé songs. Everyone accompanied him with rhythmic clapping. Copious amounts of beer and liquor, cigarettes and marijuana were being consumed by Exu and those he interacted with. Songs began and ended suddenly and (to me) randomly. Exu started hounding one fellow in particular. I say hounding, because the guy didn't want to participate. He tried to leave, and Exu blocked his way. I started to feel uncomforable, because the fellow was clearly distressed. He was a little bit effeminate, so it almost seemed like he was being teased by Exu because of his sexuality. Then, suddenly, he just sat down with his head in his hands in resignation. At that point, the women took him into another room. He emerged dressed in the garb of an initiate. From that point on, he was the primary singer along with Exu.
I must say, the whole experience was extremely bizarre to me. I've been to candomblé ceremonies in terreiros (houses of worship) where all the elements of the religion are clear, from the sacrificed animal to the central pole around which people dance, to the instruments, offerings, clothing, and colors. What I witnessed in this house came across to me as a "wannabe"version of a candomblé ceremony, a "slummed-down" version where lowlifes could use it as an excuse to get drunk and high. My perceptions are incorrect, of course. The owners of the house were responsible elderly people. One young woman was taking pictures to commemorate the occasion. Everyone behaved just as they were supposed to in the context of candomblé ritual. The orisha Exu is the African god who is most misunderstood and disrespected by non-practitioners. He is the trickster, the prankster, the pimp, the whore. He is often depicted as the devil in the Christian community because he does not behave well. He brings out all the repressed or sublimated emotions in the people around him, including alternate sexual identities and lust. Naturally, Joelma showed up and played the part with Exu, but she didn't really have her spirit in it, just her body. She took turns with Exu drinking liquor from the bottle, trying to outdo him and show him up. In my opinion, this is really dangerous, because one can't outdo a "god."
Around 8:00, we left so I could catch the bus back to Rio Vermelho. I hope this was my time on the long trip for a while. I should be moving out to Pirajá Tuesday or Wednesday. The women insisted that I move out there as soon as possible to help with the purchasing. I will stay in the guest room (yes, she has a guest room) at Fabricio's grandmother's house until the water and power on installed. Hopefully, this will only be a few days. In that time, I will also have to buy a bed or cot, chair, lamp etc. I'm a little apprehensive, but I'll feel much better about it after I know I have internet access. I'm going on Monday afternoon with Sergio to buy the cellular modem for my computer.
A few other random memories of the day:
Fabricio wants to bring together Mestre Batata, Junior Amorim, me, and others to create a new hybrid type of orchestra, and make a CD.
I learned that Joelma has twins, that her husband committed suicide a few years ago, and that she's going to Spain for six months in June. (*sigh of relief*)
A couple of women were celebrating birthdays this weekend, so Fabricio's grandmother hosted a festa (party) at her house. When I arrived, Joelma was grilling steaks on the front porch. Beers had already been opened. They immediately sat me down and started filling a glass for me. Over the next couple of hours, lots and lots of other folks showed up. They were almost all related to the birthday girl, Paulinha, either by blood or by marriage. It turns out that Paulinha is married (?) to Bola, who was one of our keepers during Mutirão 2004. They have a son, Iago. The party spread to the back yard (yes, she has a back yard!) and to the moderately sized living room. In other words, just like a party in the U.S., it spread to all parts of the house. One of Fabricio's aunts had made a lovely cross-stitch/crochet, and asked Fabricio to draw her a new design and trace it on fabric. He was occupied with that for a couple of hours. The kids played in the midst of the party, occasionally stopping by a grown-up (any grown-up) for a little rest and affection. Hugo has definitely taking a liking to me. By mid-afternoon, quite a lot of beer had been consumed. Isabel's brother apparently insulted one of Joelma's friends and they got in a fight. Others jumped in quickly to keep it from becoming physical. Fabricio's grandmother was mortified that there was a fight at her house while I was there. I told her not to worry. Joelma is really a piece of work. It turns out she isn't flirty with just me. She is just an intensely emotion-driven person. Whether she's hugging and kissing, posing her voluptuous body, or arguing with someone, she's always ultra-passionate.
Luciano Paru showed up. He looks quite different. He's let his hair grow out and has it in short braids. He also has braces. He and Fabricio have grown apart because Luciano isn't really interested in helping the Quilombo anymore. He's focused on his own goals and interests, primarily capoeira (which he does professionally), African drumming, and trying to get to the U.S.
Across the street, Bruno, Casilda's oldest and brother of Gigo, Caique, Tio, and Jamele, was washing motorcycles. Apparently this is one of the odd jobs he does to contribute to the family coffers. The boys had music turned up quite loud, and occasionally broke into dance moves that they've seen in videos. These boys can really dance! Back in 2007, Caique and Tio brought roars of applause at our ITEBA samba party by being the first people on the dance floor. It was interesting that although these neighbors all know each other well, they keep an artificial distance between them which seems to be based on family relationships. In an odd way, it reminds me of an Indian caste or clan system, where extended families live amidst other extended families, but they always respect the dividing line separating the clans.
In the late afternoon, while the party was still rolling along, a group of us went to Isabel's house to have the meeting about project costs at QZ. Attending were Isabel, Casilda, Jocelita, Fabricio, Luciano, and a couple of young women who gave me the impression that they were interested in helping run things at QZ. I later learned that they were both "graduates" of QZ, having attended while it was still up-and-running as a day care facility in other temporary locations. The meeting was quite lively because of course we had all had a bit of beer. It was truly community democracy in action. Jocelita sort of ran the show, because she was the one who had gathered information about getting power and water hooked up. (Plastering the upstairs was delegated to Daniela, who wasn't able to come to the meeting.) First of all, they told me they didn't need to be paid a minimum salary for two months, that they'd rather use that money for getting things up and running at QZ. (At least, this is what I think they said. They glossed over it quickly and I didn't fully understand. Jocelita speaks incredibly fast.) Earlier, at the party, Jocelita and Fabricio had a "discussion" with the person who would do the electrical work. It was close to an argument, because he was trying to say the buidling needed a couple of electrical boxes, and furrows had to be made in the bricks upstairs to run the wires. Jocelita and Fabricio disagreed, because, naturally, at their houses wires just run willy-nilly wherever they have to go, without recognition of any type of code or safety feature. The gist of the discussion was that they wanted the installers to give them a list of all the materials we need, and WE would go together to buy the materials. This will save money because they installers won't mark up the prices. It's a dubious plan, in my thinking, but they're in charge.
The dynamics of the meeting were incredibly impressive to me. They expressed themselves quite honestly, and when there were differences of opinion, they worked through those differences until there was consensus. At times, everyone spoke at once. When someone had something important to say which the whole group need to hear, they would shush the others to restore order. I'm not sure why the way they ran their meeting impressed me so much. I guess its because I have always been under the prejudiced perception that cooperation and planning among a group of people required skills obtained through formal education. It's clear, however, that the education my friends have received in the neighborhood, having to resolve disputes and find ways to co-exist peacefully, is just as effective as learning how to discuss things in a classroom. Perhaps it is better, since the things they deal with are "real" and directly affect their lives.
Around 6:00 pm we went out to find the Candomblé festa. It was just around the corner in someone's house. The house was bigger and nicer than those of any of my friends. Apparently, they had already done the "ceremony," but were willing to give us a taste of things. I was introduced to Exu (an orisha), who was inhabiting (?) a roguish-looking fellow in his mid-20s with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. We took seats, and he started moving around the living room singing candomblé songs. Everyone accompanied him with rhythmic clapping. Copious amounts of beer and liquor, cigarettes and marijuana were being consumed by Exu and those he interacted with. Songs began and ended suddenly and (to me) randomly. Exu started hounding one fellow in particular. I say hounding, because the guy didn't want to participate. He tried to leave, and Exu blocked his way. I started to feel uncomforable, because the fellow was clearly distressed. He was a little bit effeminate, so it almost seemed like he was being teased by Exu because of his sexuality. Then, suddenly, he just sat down with his head in his hands in resignation. At that point, the women took him into another room. He emerged dressed in the garb of an initiate. From that point on, he was the primary singer along with Exu.
I must say, the whole experience was extremely bizarre to me. I've been to candomblé ceremonies in terreiros (houses of worship) where all the elements of the religion are clear, from the sacrificed animal to the central pole around which people dance, to the instruments, offerings, clothing, and colors. What I witnessed in this house came across to me as a "wannabe"version of a candomblé ceremony, a "slummed-down" version where lowlifes could use it as an excuse to get drunk and high. My perceptions are incorrect, of course. The owners of the house were responsible elderly people. One young woman was taking pictures to commemorate the occasion. Everyone behaved just as they were supposed to in the context of candomblé ritual. The orisha Exu is the African god who is most misunderstood and disrespected by non-practitioners. He is the trickster, the prankster, the pimp, the whore. He is often depicted as the devil in the Christian community because he does not behave well. He brings out all the repressed or sublimated emotions in the people around him, including alternate sexual identities and lust. Naturally, Joelma showed up and played the part with Exu, but she didn't really have her spirit in it, just her body. She took turns with Exu drinking liquor from the bottle, trying to outdo him and show him up. In my opinion, this is really dangerous, because one can't outdo a "god."
Around 8:00, we left so I could catch the bus back to Rio Vermelho. I hope this was my time on the long trip for a while. I should be moving out to Pirajá Tuesday or Wednesday. The women insisted that I move out there as soon as possible to help with the purchasing. I will stay in the guest room (yes, she has a guest room) at Fabricio's grandmother's house until the water and power on installed. Hopefully, this will only be a few days. In that time, I will also have to buy a bed or cot, chair, lamp etc. I'm a little apprehensive, but I'll feel much better about it after I know I have internet access. I'm going on Monday afternoon with Sergio to buy the cellular modem for my computer.
A few other random memories of the day:
Fabricio wants to bring together Mestre Batata, Junior Amorim, me, and others to create a new hybrid type of orchestra, and make a CD.
I learned that Joelma has twins, that her husband committed suicide a few years ago, and that she's going to Spain for six months in June. (*sigh of relief*)
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Ah, the Humanity!
(Written Tuesday, May 19, 14th day in Brazil)
I caught the bus mid-morning to go out to Pirajá. This was my first trip out there by myself, and it went very quickly. All the connections were quick, there were few passengers, and we hit mostly green lights. Coming back in the evening was a different story! Jocelita and Fabricio joined me for the ride to Rio Vermelho so they could participate in the farewell program/party for the Yale group, which leaves early tomorrow morning. But there was a traffic jam on the highway (BR-324). The trip ended up taking 2 1/2 hours. Luckily, we had seats. Some folks were standing the entire time, as the bus lurched foreward a couple of feet at a time. The other side of the coin to our predicament was the fact that thousands of people standing at bus stops along the road had no buses to catch, because they were all caught in traffic. Ah, the humanity! It is quite something to see such massive crowds suffer in silence, day after day, just to get where they need to go to make a living for their families.
Fabricio was napping when I arrived, because he had participated in a soccer game at 5 a.m. His older brother, Claudio, stopped by while I was waiting for him to get ready. Claudio (about whom I had forgotten, I'm ashamed to say) lives a few houses away.
Fabricio and I went to the store so I could buy a pair of work gloves, which were more like knitted kid gloves than work gloves, but they were better than nothing. We took the big garbage bags down to QZ and started cleaning up. My goal was to pick up all non-biodegradeable material from around the outside of the building. What a mess! It was truly, truly disgusting. The neighbors, knowing that the QZ facility was unoccupied most of the time, have gotten in the habit of throwing their garbage over the wall. Cleaning up was like digging through a landfill. There was layer after layer of plastic bags full of rotting garbage, plastic bottles, old clothes and shoes, and many many things completely unidentifiable. Also, despite being biodegradeable, I decided to break down and carry out the large sheets of "madeira compensada" (plywood) that was so rotten it could be folded in half like a piece of paper. If there was anything good to come out of the garbage, it was the fact that a few seeds from leftover fruits and vegetables had taken root and were growing into very healthy plants. Fabricio pulled up one carrot which was bigger than most of the ones you get at the grocery store in the U.S. We were careful to leave a nice big eggplant vine alone so it might yield something in the future. We didn't work long, but we worked hard. We filled 5 large bags with garbage and hauled it out to the street, just in time for the garbage truck to come by (they look the same as in the U.S.) While we worked, we were joined by Edilson, Jocelita's oldest boy, as well as Gigo and Willian. The guys all felt that it would be better to finish the cleanup job in a "mutirão"-type effort with Fabricio's capoeira group. This made some sense to me, but of course meant we weren't going to finish the job today. Before we broke for lunch, Edilson ripped out some of the vegetation growing on the retaining wall buttresses and destroyed a very large termite mound built on top of the concrete wall. We tried to burn the debris, but it was too wet.
About termites: When you see how these creatures prosper in this climate, you come to understand why everything is made of concrete. Although there is very little wood in the QZ structure, there is some–the rafters for the roof, the door, etc. The termites build these meandering tubes all along the brick walls until they find something made of wood. You can easily scrape off the a section of the tube and see termites busily running back and forth inside. They're fascinating little insects, but they have to be monitored all the time.
Back at Fabricio's house, Isabel had fixed a nice (and, thankfully, small) lunch. She really is a good cook. I want to get her recipes to give to the Sisters. Rather than going back to work after lunch, we hung around and listened to music and rested. He introduced me to a new (old) group that's been around forever, Roupas Novas (New Clothes). Monalisa told me her favorite artists were 50 Cent, Beyoncé, and Chris Brown.
Eventually, Jocelita and Nilzete showed up and we had a meeting about the youth trip planning. Unfortunately, I was being particularly inarticulate during the meeting. When confronted with complicated things to say, I get all my verb tenses mixed up. They helped me along, finishing most of my thoughts for me.
I conveyed our hope that QZ could be up and running for a month in advance (June) of the Mutirão. We will pay one minimum salary per person for June and July to get things going. If they want to stretch that money out so things can be sustained for a longer period, all the better. I expressed that OUR goal (which I acknowledged is not necessarily their goal) is to have this two month period serve as seed time/money for something that might be self-sustaining.
There is no shortage of ideas for what the space can be used as. They know a woman who needs a space to rent for her creche (day-care), and the downstairs is perfectly set up for that. Fabricio brought up his idea of using the space for imprinting t-shirts. (The women didn't seem real keen on this idea.) Later, on the bus, Fabricio and Jocelita were brainstorming/fantasizing about having a computer room (what they call LAN) set up in QZ. I told them I'd check on whether anybody in the U.S. had old laptops they would donate, which could be brought down in carry-on bags. Interestingly, Fabricio has been using the building to hold meetings of a support group of young people who would like to have homes of their own but are unable to afford them and must live with their families. This is, in my mind, a perfect activity to be held at QZ.
We discussed activities for the youth group. There is a lot of work to be done. Jocelita is going to do the research to find out how much it will cost to install wiring and hook up the water. They have a friend who will donate the actual wires. All that would be left is to get Sergio to help facility tapping into the electric grid. Jocelita is also going to ask a local mason for a quote to plaster (reboca) the upstairs. It would be great if we could actually bring enough to get these three projects done. Our students could help with the plastering, mixing the ingredients and hauling them in to the professionals, building the passive solar water heater (aquecedor de agua), and perhaps making a sign for the front and doing some landscaping. Programmatically speaking, we will probably have a musical instrument building workshop with kids, some simple language games, capoeira and/or ju-jitsu, and soccer. Plus the t-shirts. I think this is all probably too much, but we can sort things out over the next couple of weeks.
Before hopping on the bus for the LONG ride back to Rio Vermelho, Fabricio made me a Nevada, which is a type of alcoholic drink. He sent Monique out on the errand to collect the necessary ingredients: vodka, sweetened condensed milk, limes, ice, and a blender. I have begun to realize that although their house is tiny, the residents of their little corner of the neighborhood function more like a family compound, where they borrow and lend items among themselves. Need ice? Run to grandma's where there is a freezer with some ice trays. Need a blender? Whistle over to the next door neighbor (vizinha). Also, I began to realize that family life is very different here. When you're "stuck" in such a small house, you learn to cooperate and play with each other. Privacy is non-existent. I imagine that after 15 years of never having any private time or space, a teenager with raging hormones would do almost anything to find (or make) a magical moment with the opposite sex. If an opportunity for alone time came along, it might seem as though it were a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Here's a very short clip of us sitting around in the living room listening to music.
Back at the Casa, the carnival group Os Negões (a relatively new and young bloco afro) made one last appearance for the Yale farewell celebration. I should qualify that by saying six people from Os Negões performed. There are 300 musicians in the group, and during Carnival, approximately 2000 march with them through the streets of Salvador. In the clip, notice the young kid playing the bass drum in front. He's only thirteen and he's got all the right moves. When he plays, it's as if every beat of the drum gives him new joy.
I caught the bus mid-morning to go out to Pirajá. This was my first trip out there by myself, and it went very quickly. All the connections were quick, there were few passengers, and we hit mostly green lights. Coming back in the evening was a different story! Jocelita and Fabricio joined me for the ride to Rio Vermelho so they could participate in the farewell program/party for the Yale group, which leaves early tomorrow morning. But there was a traffic jam on the highway (BR-324). The trip ended up taking 2 1/2 hours. Luckily, we had seats. Some folks were standing the entire time, as the bus lurched foreward a couple of feet at a time. The other side of the coin to our predicament was the fact that thousands of people standing at bus stops along the road had no buses to catch, because they were all caught in traffic. Ah, the humanity! It is quite something to see such massive crowds suffer in silence, day after day, just to get where they need to go to make a living for their families.
Fabricio was napping when I arrived, because he had participated in a soccer game at 5 a.m. His older brother, Claudio, stopped by while I was waiting for him to get ready. Claudio (about whom I had forgotten, I'm ashamed to say) lives a few houses away.
Fabricio and I went to the store so I could buy a pair of work gloves, which were more like knitted kid gloves than work gloves, but they were better than nothing. We took the big garbage bags down to QZ and started cleaning up. My goal was to pick up all non-biodegradeable material from around the outside of the building. What a mess! It was truly, truly disgusting. The neighbors, knowing that the QZ facility was unoccupied most of the time, have gotten in the habit of throwing their garbage over the wall. Cleaning up was like digging through a landfill. There was layer after layer of plastic bags full of rotting garbage, plastic bottles, old clothes and shoes, and many many things completely unidentifiable. Also, despite being biodegradeable, I decided to break down and carry out the large sheets of "madeira compensada" (plywood) that was so rotten it could be folded in half like a piece of paper. If there was anything good to come out of the garbage, it was the fact that a few seeds from leftover fruits and vegetables had taken root and were growing into very healthy plants. Fabricio pulled up one carrot which was bigger than most of the ones you get at the grocery store in the U.S. We were careful to leave a nice big eggplant vine alone so it might yield something in the future. We didn't work long, but we worked hard. We filled 5 large bags with garbage and hauled it out to the street, just in time for the garbage truck to come by (they look the same as in the U.S.) While we worked, we were joined by Edilson, Jocelita's oldest boy, as well as Gigo and Willian. The guys all felt that it would be better to finish the cleanup job in a "mutirão"-type effort with Fabricio's capoeira group. This made some sense to me, but of course meant we weren't going to finish the job today. Before we broke for lunch, Edilson ripped out some of the vegetation growing on the retaining wall buttresses and destroyed a very large termite mound built on top of the concrete wall. We tried to burn the debris, but it was too wet.
About termites: When you see how these creatures prosper in this climate, you come to understand why everything is made of concrete. Although there is very little wood in the QZ structure, there is some–the rafters for the roof, the door, etc. The termites build these meandering tubes all along the brick walls until they find something made of wood. You can easily scrape off the a section of the tube and see termites busily running back and forth inside. They're fascinating little insects, but they have to be monitored all the time.
Back at Fabricio's house, Isabel had fixed a nice (and, thankfully, small) lunch. She really is a good cook. I want to get her recipes to give to the Sisters. Rather than going back to work after lunch, we hung around and listened to music and rested. He introduced me to a new (old) group that's been around forever, Roupas Novas (New Clothes). Monalisa told me her favorite artists were 50 Cent, Beyoncé, and Chris Brown.
Eventually, Jocelita and Nilzete showed up and we had a meeting about the youth trip planning. Unfortunately, I was being particularly inarticulate during the meeting. When confronted with complicated things to say, I get all my verb tenses mixed up. They helped me along, finishing most of my thoughts for me.
I conveyed our hope that QZ could be up and running for a month in advance (June) of the Mutirão. We will pay one minimum salary per person for June and July to get things going. If they want to stretch that money out so things can be sustained for a longer period, all the better. I expressed that OUR goal (which I acknowledged is not necessarily their goal) is to have this two month period serve as seed time/money for something that might be self-sustaining.
There is no shortage of ideas for what the space can be used as. They know a woman who needs a space to rent for her creche (day-care), and the downstairs is perfectly set up for that. Fabricio brought up his idea of using the space for imprinting t-shirts. (The women didn't seem real keen on this idea.) Later, on the bus, Fabricio and Jocelita were brainstorming/fantasizing about having a computer room (what they call LAN) set up in QZ. I told them I'd check on whether anybody in the U.S. had old laptops they would donate, which could be brought down in carry-on bags. Interestingly, Fabricio has been using the building to hold meetings of a support group of young people who would like to have homes of their own but are unable to afford them and must live with their families. This is, in my mind, a perfect activity to be held at QZ.
We discussed activities for the youth group. There is a lot of work to be done. Jocelita is going to do the research to find out how much it will cost to install wiring and hook up the water. They have a friend who will donate the actual wires. All that would be left is to get Sergio to help facility tapping into the electric grid. Jocelita is also going to ask a local mason for a quote to plaster (reboca) the upstairs. It would be great if we could actually bring enough to get these three projects done. Our students could help with the plastering, mixing the ingredients and hauling them in to the professionals, building the passive solar water heater (aquecedor de agua), and perhaps making a sign for the front and doing some landscaping. Programmatically speaking, we will probably have a musical instrument building workshop with kids, some simple language games, capoeira and/or ju-jitsu, and soccer. Plus the t-shirts. I think this is all probably too much, but we can sort things out over the next couple of weeks.
Before hopping on the bus for the LONG ride back to Rio Vermelho, Fabricio made me a Nevada, which is a type of alcoholic drink. He sent Monique out on the errand to collect the necessary ingredients: vodka, sweetened condensed milk, limes, ice, and a blender. I have begun to realize that although their house is tiny, the residents of their little corner of the neighborhood function more like a family compound, where they borrow and lend items among themselves. Need ice? Run to grandma's where there is a freezer with some ice trays. Need a blender? Whistle over to the next door neighbor (vizinha). Also, I began to realize that family life is very different here. When you're "stuck" in such a small house, you learn to cooperate and play with each other. Privacy is non-existent. I imagine that after 15 years of never having any private time or space, a teenager with raging hormones would do almost anything to find (or make) a magical moment with the opposite sex. If an opportunity for alone time came along, it might seem as though it were a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Here's a very short clip of us sitting around in the living room listening to music.
Back at the Casa, the carnival group Os Negões (a relatively new and young bloco afro) made one last appearance for the Yale farewell celebration. I should qualify that by saying six people from Os Negões performed. There are 300 musicians in the group, and during Carnival, approximately 2000 march with them through the streets of Salvador. In the clip, notice the young kid playing the bass drum in front. He's only thirteen and he's got all the right moves. When he plays, it's as if every beat of the drum gives him new joy.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Rain Rain Go Away
Monday, 12th day in Brazil
Not much has been going on the past couple of days. Sunday I sat around all day and studied Portuguese. After just a little while, it really doesn't do much good to study. The only way to really KNOW the stuff (and those of you who teach languages know this) is to HAVE TO use it in a conversation. I think the combination of need plus frustration plus grasping at whisps of memory help me remember vocabulary and syntax better than any solitary studying. Sorry, Rosetta Stone!
Today, I had planned to go out to Pirajá to work at QZ cleaning up for a bit, and to have a conversation with the Five Women (hereafter known as FW and includes Jocelita, Isabela, Casilda, Daniela, and Nilzete) about planning for the youth group trip in July. But it rained in torrents all day, and was not conducive to work, nor to travel on a bus. I'll try to go tomorrow instead.
Tonight, I joined the Yale group for a presentation at ITEBA in the evening. Marlene and Dr. Emily Townes both spoke about their respective institutions (ITEBA and Yale Theological Seminary). Marlene spoke about the 22 year history of ITEBA, of its gradual shift away from its IPU roots towards womanist theology and leadership, and especially of her passion for YAMI. There is a new course they are trying to get off the ground which I won't comment on until I can get a brochure about it and describe it accurately. She spoke quite directly and bluntly about the circumstances last year when Djalma was elected President and tried to "change the face of ITEBA." In this telling, the students, faculty, and staff rebelled against his efforts because he was trying to move ITEBA away from what has become the heart of the institution: a place for poor, Black women to write their own theology through their own stories.
Dr. Emily Townes gave a brief history of Yale, and told us about the current seminary, which offers a Masters of Divinity, Masters of Arts in Religion, or a Masters of Religious Art (Fine Arts). They also have students from the African American Studies Department. I didn't take notes, but their program sounds challenging and tumultuous. Yale likes to tout Dr. Townes as the first African-American, woman Dean of the Theology School, but, as she said, they don't want to "go too far" in advertising their diversity by mentioning that she is also a lesbian. A traditional place like Yale has its conservative faction, as well. Dr. Townes politely implied that it was sometimes difficult to get along with her colleagues.
Dr. Townes had some very interesting things to say about Womanist Theology. First, she said, it is more of a methodology than a discipline. This seems obvious to me, because it is first and foremost about questioning old assumptions. As soon as new answers are found, they must necessarily be questioned themselves. It never has the chance to become a "discpline," as such, because it never has time to coalesce. That would mean stagnation in the methodology. Some of the ITEBA students asked very pertinent questions. But the most interesting question to me came from one of her own students. He asked if it were possible for a white male to be a Womanist. She replied it is was perhaps possible, but only if that white male "figuratively and literally" became a black woman. (I think she only meant figuratively, because she never mentioned anything about plastic surgery!) She said if a white man actually lived with and walked beside black women and allowed himself to learn from the inside what their spirituality was about, then PERHAPS he could call himself a womanist. But Dr. Townes immediately disagreed with herself, suggesting that it might just have to be enough for white men to "get out of the way" and let womanists be self-determining and self-actualizing.
My own feelings on this go back to my days in Baltimore when I was part of the Baltimore Men's Anti-Sexist Collective. We had a habit of calling ourselves PRO-feminists, not Feminists, because (although mostly a matter of semantics) we were NOT women and therefore were incapable of truly understanding their perspective. All we could do was allow ourselves to follow their lead and support their cause. In the same way, I think it is possible to be PRO-Womanist, and lead (other men) by being a follower and a listener, by acknowleding that even if I "walk beside" women of color for a day or a week or a month, I still will not have EXPERIENCED their history, nor their future. I can, and will, leave their world behind when it suits me. I, therefore, cannot presume to be an insider among Womanists, no matter how much I WANT to believe I know where they've been.
This does not negate the efforts I, and others, make with our friends at ITEBA or in Pirajá. It just makes it ever more clear that the definition of leadership, in this situation, must be turned on its head. As some people (who I usually make fun of) like to call themselves "Christ-Followers" instead of Christians, we must, if we are to to do mission as Christ would have us do it, substitute them for Him. In other words, allow the poor, Black women to show us a Way; allow them to "be" the Christ that we are proud to follow.
I doubt any of this makes much sense. Anyway, after the talk, Sydney and 3 of the 12 menbers of his Reggae band played a few songs for us with just a guitar, calabash, and singer. Here's a clip.
Not much has been going on the past couple of days. Sunday I sat around all day and studied Portuguese. After just a little while, it really doesn't do much good to study. The only way to really KNOW the stuff (and those of you who teach languages know this) is to HAVE TO use it in a conversation. I think the combination of need plus frustration plus grasping at whisps of memory help me remember vocabulary and syntax better than any solitary studying. Sorry, Rosetta Stone!
Today, I had planned to go out to Pirajá to work at QZ cleaning up for a bit, and to have a conversation with the Five Women (hereafter known as FW and includes Jocelita, Isabela, Casilda, Daniela, and Nilzete) about planning for the youth group trip in July. But it rained in torrents all day, and was not conducive to work, nor to travel on a bus. I'll try to go tomorrow instead.
Tonight, I joined the Yale group for a presentation at ITEBA in the evening. Marlene and Dr. Emily Townes both spoke about their respective institutions (ITEBA and Yale Theological Seminary). Marlene spoke about the 22 year history of ITEBA, of its gradual shift away from its IPU roots towards womanist theology and leadership, and especially of her passion for YAMI. There is a new course they are trying to get off the ground which I won't comment on until I can get a brochure about it and describe it accurately. She spoke quite directly and bluntly about the circumstances last year when Djalma was elected President and tried to "change the face of ITEBA." In this telling, the students, faculty, and staff rebelled against his efforts because he was trying to move ITEBA away from what has become the heart of the institution: a place for poor, Black women to write their own theology through their own stories.
Dr. Emily Townes gave a brief history of Yale, and told us about the current seminary, which offers a Masters of Divinity, Masters of Arts in Religion, or a Masters of Religious Art (Fine Arts). They also have students from the African American Studies Department. I didn't take notes, but their program sounds challenging and tumultuous. Yale likes to tout Dr. Townes as the first African-American, woman Dean of the Theology School, but, as she said, they don't want to "go too far" in advertising their diversity by mentioning that she is also a lesbian. A traditional place like Yale has its conservative faction, as well. Dr. Townes politely implied that it was sometimes difficult to get along with her colleagues.
Dr. Townes had some very interesting things to say about Womanist Theology. First, she said, it is more of a methodology than a discipline. This seems obvious to me, because it is first and foremost about questioning old assumptions. As soon as new answers are found, they must necessarily be questioned themselves. It never has the chance to become a "discpline," as such, because it never has time to coalesce. That would mean stagnation in the methodology. Some of the ITEBA students asked very pertinent questions. But the most interesting question to me came from one of her own students. He asked if it were possible for a white male to be a Womanist. She replied it is was perhaps possible, but only if that white male "figuratively and literally" became a black woman. (I think she only meant figuratively, because she never mentioned anything about plastic surgery!) She said if a white man actually lived with and walked beside black women and allowed himself to learn from the inside what their spirituality was about, then PERHAPS he could call himself a womanist. But Dr. Townes immediately disagreed with herself, suggesting that it might just have to be enough for white men to "get out of the way" and let womanists be self-determining and self-actualizing.
My own feelings on this go back to my days in Baltimore when I was part of the Baltimore Men's Anti-Sexist Collective. We had a habit of calling ourselves PRO-feminists, not Feminists, because (although mostly a matter of semantics) we were NOT women and therefore were incapable of truly understanding their perspective. All we could do was allow ourselves to follow their lead and support their cause. In the same way, I think it is possible to be PRO-Womanist, and lead (other men) by being a follower and a listener, by acknowleding that even if I "walk beside" women of color for a day or a week or a month, I still will not have EXPERIENCED their history, nor their future. I can, and will, leave their world behind when it suits me. I, therefore, cannot presume to be an insider among Womanists, no matter how much I WANT to believe I know where they've been.
This does not negate the efforts I, and others, make with our friends at ITEBA or in Pirajá. It just makes it ever more clear that the definition of leadership, in this situation, must be turned on its head. As some people (who I usually make fun of) like to call themselves "Christ-Followers" instead of Christians, we must, if we are to to do mission as Christ would have us do it, substitute them for Him. In other words, allow the poor, Black women to show us a Way; allow them to "be" the Christ that we are proud to follow.
I doubt any of this makes much sense. Anyway, after the talk, Sydney and 3 of the 12 menbers of his Reggae band played a few songs for us with just a guitar, calabash, and singer. Here's a clip.
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