A random collection of tops

Ten things I’ve done that you probably haven’t:

1. Shamelessly begged to borrow a taxi driver’s cell phone, didn’t take “no” for an answer, and talked him (in Portuguese) into letting me use it to make a collect call.
2. Lived in a home with two bullet holes in the front room...not recent, but there, nonetheless.
3. Lived in a favela, a third-world slum.
4. Been mugged by a guy on a bicycle.
5. Lived for two months with a Spanish speaking family while not speaking any appreciable Spanish.
6. Had near-death experiences involving:
a Chevy 4x4 shortbed truck, two kittens, and a tree
a missed dock and the prow of a boat
knee-deep floodwater and third-world electrical wiring
7. Been proposed to on account of my eyes...
8. Sung opera to street children in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.
9. Got lost in Paris and walked from the Louvre to the Eiffel tower because I didn’t realize how to use my subway ticket.
10. Skinny-dipped in the Mediterranean at night.


This is fun...and addicting...and just a little bit vain.

On a side note, I have always dislike top-ten lists that end at ten, because the two-digit number sets the spacing off...plus it’s just not very symmetrical. So I’m going to start this one with “00” so that it makes a sort of two-digit sandwich. Yes, this makes eleven resolutions, etc...but now I can throw one away guilt free. :P I am not obsessive compulsive. I am not obsessive compulsive. These things just bother me, okay? (I know my sister is out there shaking her head...)

My New Year’s Resolutions, Belated. Or, my post-Carnaval, Lenten resolutions.
00. Stop drinking Coke. It’s terrible for me. And so very, very addicting.
1. Join a gym
2. Find a juice bar or a restaurant that’s “mine,” where I can go every now and then, nurse a great cupuaçu or coffee and write until my hand goes numb.
3. Figure out what there is to do in the city for single Christians...this could be difficult.
4. Start singing again. In public. Microphone and everything.
5. Paint my house: one room yellow, another either a warm light green or one wall shockingly red. I want color. I want life on these walls!
6. Try my hand at painting as a relaxing exercise even if I’m a terrible artist. (Remember “The Psalms” from the Souphouse???)
7. Stop feeling silly about doing things alone. Check out museums, art shows, music...
8. Discover new friends that aren’t from the favela.
9. Actually stick to my cleaning schedule. (This is boring but necessary.)
10. Buy the silverware and pans I’ve always wanted, because I can, because no one should have to wait to get married to have knives that cut and pans that don’t eat more of the food than you do. Teflon is a gift from God!

Part Three

Have I mentioned before that living in Rio is like living in a movie? There was a major art theft yesterday or today, in which robbers overpowered the museum guards, stole everything off the tourists looking at the paintings, and then took the paintings too (a Picasso, a Monet, some others) before disappearing into the samba parade right outside the front door of the museum. Doesn't this just scream "Hollywood" ??!?

Part Two

Carnaval in Cabo Frio gave me: a sunburn, a cold, and one perfect moment.

I went with Junior and his family. We stayed at his aunt's home, six adults and one child in a tiny room with too few beds and only one overhead fan. They're rich, these relatives, and Junior's family isn't. The contrast was harsh. I infinitely preferred the companionship of the poorer folk. I don't know what it is about money, but it really does a number on people...anyhow, here's the rundown:

Day one: Spent the whole day at the country club, hanging out in the pool, eating fried shrimp pastels, going to the sauna, playing cards. Spent the evening at the country club, where Junior taught me some self-defense and karate-type moves in the water while the more staid members of the club looked on trying to figure out if he was trying to drown me or what. Humorous.

Day two: Spent the morning at a beautiful beach with clear water and soft sand and great waves. I practiced my bodysurfing and caught two waves. The first was the best and resides as the "perfect moment" of my Cabo Frio trip: balanced on the wave, my head up, the foam spinning around my head and the roar of the water in my ears, I flew. And it was like I was a little child and God was swinging me around in circles...and time just stopped. In spite of mounds of sunblock, I fried myself, and someone stole my cheap sandals. Grr. Then it rained after we got home and Junior got sick and I picked up a cold too, so we hung around the house and read books and snacked and told stories. I have now read "The Blue Sword" so many times (upwards of 15) that I have whole passages stored in memory but only this week discovered a spelling/grammar mistake!

Day three: Spent the morning at a white sand beach with nasty water full of reddish-brown seaweed floaties that snagged in your hair and threatened to sweep down your throat with an ill-timed gulp of air...but made gorgeous patterns in the surging waves. I burnt myself again. I decided, decisively, to break up with my boyfriend. We left for Rio...and the whole three-hour trip home I was wooed by Matheus, Junior's three-year old nephew, who likes to stroke my cheek and make faces at me and wink and hold my hand when I cry...

Day four: Made an airport run to get Rebecca's mom who is a proud new grandmother. Came home and talked to Junior, cried until I was better, spent the afternoon and evening with girlfriends, being silly and serious and not having to wash dishes or make dinner. Bonus!

And that has been my Carnaval. So far...because there's still one more day left...

Part One

It's odd to be suddenly single again.

Today, between 1:23 and 2:06 pm, Junior and I ceased to be a couple.

When I left Cabo Frio yesterday, I had the support of his family for this breakup, which made it a lot easier to prepare for, knowing that I wouldn't lose my family here in Brazil. Ending our relationship was mutual but it was I who initiated it, I who needed it. This was one of the easiest hard things I've done in my life...and some of what Junior told me during our conversation I will guard for the rest of my life. I know I'm not losing my friend, and it's nice to know that the person I'm closest to here isn't going to disappear from my life, doesn't want to, and doesn't want me to pull away either. But the transition won't be smooth or easy...

And so I'm just a tiny bit emotional. This is to be expected.

Café com Rebu

I must have looked silly, wandering around the drugstore buying loads of conditioner because it was the cheapest I've ever seen it, a bath sponge, and several chupetas. Dang it, I've forgotten the English word...pacifiers. Why? Because last night at midnight this cute little girl whose name I always forget came by begging money to go buy one because one the twins was screaming her head off, and the mother couldn't take it anymore. I don't give money, and pacifiers aren't exactly something I keep in the house, so I told her I'd pray the baby would sleep...when I went out today I picked up a couple for them...and she was in the street when I came home, we chatted. Prayer works, people! Baby slept through the night...and if they have any more problems, they have now have an excess of chupetas!



Here's me after an hour and a half manicure with Erica. Hands AND feet. She wasn't going to let me go off to Cabo Frio with just any nails, no!

This is the preferred color combo around here when you want to look A-M-A-Z-I-N-G. It works!

Now I'm going off to pack my one bag. Junior begged for me to pack light, which I think means just one pair of shoes per day, right??? :) You might not hear from me for a while...at least, not until next week. Happy Carnaval! Behave yourselves.

Three visitors, an amiga, and five empty beds

Cristina's show was a blessing. Afterwards, we had to battle the crowds pushing in for autographs (these people were kind of vicious!), pack everything up, and only then got to snack on some cake and salty goodies. My dinner was atrocious: guaraná soft drink and a few fried things...we'd forgotten to eat before we got on the two hour bus ride, and then the church service lasted another three-plus hours. Thank the Lord that Cristina came via a van, which meant that we all hitched rides with her until we came to somewhere with a bus that actually went to our home. On the way, I offered my extra bed to Rô, who lives even father away and wouldn't have gotten home until three or four am. Then we find out that the cute couple from São Paulo in the back seat is planning on trying to find his aunt's house in a dangerous part of Centro to spend the night at. The only problem is that she doesn't know they're even in the city, let alone that they're coming to sleep there...so we called his parents collect on a cell phone to tell them that we were putting them up for the night at my place. His mom didn't believe us, so we had to put Cristina on the phone and after she sung into the receiver, we had her attention! So I had every extra mattress in the house filled...and we all slept in one room, all slumber party style...it was fun! Best of all, they did the dishes in the morning.

It looks like it's going to rain, which would be a nice change of pace.

Pray for me when you think of me today. I need it.

Linux, Jobs, Prosperity Gospel

Junior and I went to church at Nova Vida Olaria, a big, big church about fifteen minutes away. His ex-sister-in-law goes there, and we heard that his niece was in the children's choir. It was fun to see her up there in front, belting her little lungs out to a fun song. Even if I didn't understand a word. But the pastor was also excellent and preached a really solid message on what the prosperity gospel that's so popular here gets wrong. What Jesus do you want? The easy Jesus or the real one? It was a good message and I followed along without any problems...except when Junior tapped my leg to get my attention. "What???" "That was a good point that he made..." "I missed it...you broke my concentration!" Oh, the perils of a language learner.

I'm asking everyone I know to pray, because tomorrow Junior is supposed to go to Jacarepagua and see someone about a job. It's in computers and something to do with Linux, which he's worked with a little. Not a lot, but any experience helps. It's been months since he's come this close to a real interview. Please pray that if this is the job for him, they won't waste time in hiring him. And they'll pay well. And not have beastly hours. And maybe even health insurance. But if it isn't what God has in mind, please pray that he'll know soon and not be too disappointed...and that God will send something better along.

That's all.

Good night!

Melmel

Tomorrow Cristina Mel is singing in some place beastly far from here...Queimados, Nova Iguaçu, something like that. She's an acquaintance of mine through Erica, and the women who work for her are becoming friends. So when there's a chance to help out at the concerts, I go. Free food, great seats, recognition during the show, and a chance to see what life is like backstage...it's sweet. I invited Junior, but it's a Monday night and that means he's probably got band practice. Probably...unless someone forgets the key again, or, as is likely, he skips it. Junior's jealous because the bass player has a crush on me. Why he has a crush on me when he's only seen and talked (briefly) to me at one show, is anyone's guess but could have a lot to do with a pair of hot pink pants and the fact that I'm American. So, even if I was single, there's hardly a chance I'd be interested. But this I don't tell my boyfriend. Maybe he'll come after all. I want him to meet Mel's people. I want him to be exposed to this other world too, the one that is a lot more like what I grew up in. And if a little jealousy brings him, well, I'm not going to complain!

p.s. I stole Cristina's photo from: http://images.google.com/images?q=tbn:Xaben-LW09mxNM:www.linerecords.com.br/fotos/set05/Cristina_Mel_24_DVD.jpg. No plagarism for me. :)

Readership, modesty, and a language barrier

So my dad reads this blog too. Which means he's probably rolling his eyes and wondering what he did wrong in raising me because of the last post's picture...so this is my quick Brazilian culture update to ease troubled souls over my choice of clothing. I'm so modest here, it's ridiculous.

It's funny how things are different in different cultures. If I went to Romania, for example, all my piercings would have to go, but here, they're perfectly acceptable even within the Christian subculture. Here, almost anything goes. Well, almost.

Brazilian modesty standards vary greatly, depending on weather, social class and proximity to the beach. Here in the favelas, a bra counts as a shirt. Not for me, of course, but for a great many of the women. And shorts that in the States I would only use as swimsuit bottoms are normal go-out-on-the-streets sort of fare. Go down to the Zona Sul where all the beaches are, and you'll see men and women wandering around, doing their grocery shopping, having a beer, eating lunch at a cafe...in their speedos and bikinis. Without coverups.

But there are different standards for every possible social occasion. I think it has something to do with povery and televison, that insane pressure to appear neat and pressed and perfect because only the rich can afford to look grungy and not be judged for it. Example of a conversation I overheard, after we had to make a detour because the color of my friend's belt didn't match the color of the shoes she was wearing. Not really the color of the shoes, but the color of the heels...

Brazilian 1: It doesn't match...you can't wear a black belt with shoes that have white on them.
Brazilian 2: If you were going to the Zona Sul, it wouldn't matter. They wear all sorts of mismatched stuff down there...
Brazilian 1: That's because they're rich slobs! Don't they ever watch televison??? No one EVER is mismatched on TV!

So there's that. Bag, shoes, belt...they need to coordinate. And the color of the stitching on your jeans should also be considered.

So then we get to church attire. There's one standard for morning church, another for night church, and yet another for what's appropriate to enter a church building in. When Anna was here, we were getting ready for night church and I was wearing a iittle tank top, a peasant skirt, and rastarinhas (dressy flipflops). Junior walks in in his jeans and pressed shirt and sneakers and gives me the "you're not actually going to wear that to church?" look. What? I'm dressed, I have makeup on, I'm wearing big earrings. He's wearing sneakers (which granted are expensive here and therefore okay for church) and jeans! There's this language barrier I can't yet cross related to the myriad of new social standards I still don't get. So I changed. Into black and heels and all is well with the world.

It's tiring, trying to figure all this stuff out.

So when my Christian girlfriends tell me they're embarrasssed to go to the beach with me because my swimsuit looks like something their grandmother would wear (and knowing that one of my swimsuits from the States, IS, in fact, the same one my grandmother uses!), I decided to take the plunge and be Brazilian.

Giving in to peer pressure and the allure of pink. What can I say? I'm a conformist.

Che: Alive and Well and Living in Manguinhos...the proof

Flowers from Argentina

I really thought it was just a flower design.

Erica took me to Caxias today (that's pronounced 'ka-shee-as') for my pre-Carnaval shopping. That is, I needed appropriate swim wear, plus new flipflops, a belt, and other odds and ends. And this is supposed to be the best place in the city price wise, you know, that central market where all the stores buy their stuff and then re-sell it...

There are two buses direct to Caxias from my house and we managed to grab the non-airconditioned one...and I was sitting next to this very annoying man who kept turning around and staring, unapologetically at me through his wraparound sunglasses the entire time...the ENTIRE time. It was so hard to ignore him...I had to turn around and talk to Erica over my shoulder while trying not to fall off the seat of the bus as every pore in my body is turning to mush...

So we'd been shopping for hours in the hot sun and not finding any swimsuits that met with her approval when boom! There's a table set up with R$ 9.99 bikinis. That's five bucks. They're all rolled up in cute little plastic sacks that are marked with the wrong sizes, so you find a style and design that you like only to realize that it's too small and there aren't any more in the whole bin. After the fourteenth or fifteenth wrong size, I was getting exhausted. So we narrowed it down to three, and the pink one won because it was pink. And size large. But there were no dressing rooms.

So when we got home I tried it on...and something didn't seem right...as I'm bending down to tie the neck straps, I look and Che Guevara is staring me in the face! Yes, you got that right. I mistook Che for flowers and am wearing a pink revolutionary on my chest. It's priceless. I couldn't have found a better suit if I'd tried...

I feel so very, very trendy...and will have a killer tan here in a week or so.

Food Cravings

Sometimes healthy diets need to go out the window:

Thursday's Meals
-One slice of cheesecake for early breakfast
-Another one for second breakfast
-A piece of bread for late morning snack at Timonis
-Quentinha (rice, beans, salad, chicken) at Timonis: half then, half to guard for dinner
-two bites of that nasty banana/molasses gummy candy because it was a gift
-Guarded quentinha makes it home until 3:00...even good cold!
-3/4 of a giant chocolate bar...

Cheesecake is a balanced meal, right? Proteins, dairy, fruit, carbs...

I like, you like, he likes

I'm a teacher. It remains to see whether I'm any good at it...but this first English lesson was a breeze! Perhaps it's because I like my student, and he's easy on the eyes, and is quite eager to make me happy...or maybe it's because Junior has been hiding his true English ability from me for all these months! He raced through my two-hour lesson plan...the next one will be harder!

I'm a music/dance/chaotic crowd control professor as well. Yesterday I taught a class consisting of two boys, three girls, an adult male who thought it necessary to join in, and one onlooker a dance I learned in YWAM, to that fun song by MaryMary, "Shackles." If I don't have to deal with 10 kids, this might be do-able...I just have to come up with creative music games...Sound of Music, anyone?

And now, I'm tired. Goodnight all!

Betty Crocker never lived in Brazil...

Cheesecakes are notoriously difficult. There's the special pan...the refrigeration...the crevices that appear if you jiggle it by accident...the trying not to burn the pre-cooked crust or the edges while it bakes for over an hour.

So just try cooking one in a gas oven without a temperature gauge, which on its very lowest setting can sometimes climb to 350 degrees F if the gas is adjusted improperly, in 95+ degree heat, converting the cream cheese from grams to ounces and substituting ingredients left and right. Then throw in a colony of ants that appear from nowhere, the lack of a mixer, and a grater that eats your fingers rather than the lime peels, and you're getting close to my day. But not quite. Mix the cheesecake batter in a blender, while attempting not to boil the delicate lime curd that will go on top, only to discover that Brazilian limes are powerful, pungent, and even subtracting 1/4 cup of the juice for water will still leave your curd so sour that it could strip the enamel off front teeth...and the gas stove isn't cooperating so the curd boils anyway which leaves you picking out pieces of cooked egg from the jelly-like goo. At least they taste like lime...

I went through all this trouble because I saw a cheesecake pan at Dona Dora's little bazaar and I paid three reis to bring the pale green thing home with me. Then it was Valentine's Day and I thought about chocolates and yummy things and romantic dates, which brings one to think about The Cheesecake Factory...and the abundance of limes and how wonderful a good key lime cheesecake is on a hot day (remember the Dinghy Dock restaurant???). But I'm not sure it was worth it...I have half a knuckle on both ring fingers and a foil slice on my left thumb from removing a stubborn foil seal from the off-brand cream cheese.

I give the recipe 5 stars for difficulty, number of pans to wash, and length of time you're chained to the oven, 3.5 stars for taste because I'm sure I was part of the problem, and 3 stars for being do-able in a foreign country. And when you add in the cost of cream cheese...well, let's just say this will be a once-a-year event. And if Junior doesn't like it, he's in trouble!!!

Innie or Outie?

Rebecca had another baby shower yesterday and she and Rich were giggling as they relayed their stories...

The question of the night was: Who is going to take care of the umbilical cord?

If you thought the answer was, "the mother," you're wrong. She's probably not qualified. Example:

Random Brazilian lady quote: "My mother-in-law took care of all my children's cords and she did a fantastic job..."

Are you as confused as I am? The most sense we can make of this is that Brazilians are really body conscious and have interesting cultural superstitions. Thus, having an "outie" is the parents' fault because they didn't take care of your cord properly...and it's shameful, not to mention ugly. And you can't pierce it. So there. Make sure you get someone with experience to take care of the baby...

All the doctors are wrong. You CAN prevent ugly bellybuttons...

Disclaimer: I beg pardon from all my readers who are, in fact, outies. I personally have nothing against your bellybuttons, but beware if you ever visit Brazil. They'll blame it on your parents' lack of concern for your well-being...

Q: What are comments?

A:

1) They're those little things you write to say, "Hey Jenna, I read your blog and I like it or I hate it or you're boring or you're the coolest ever..."
2) They let me know you're alive and well in the world of dial-up, broad-band, DSL, wireless, or whatever fancy new internet connection they've got in the minority world now...
3) They're your way of getting instant recognition and fame...in the world of Bugigangas!

If I'm just putting this stuff up for vanity, I might as well just write a journal! Can I get some comments, please?!

Abercrombie Favela Chic

Chocolate, the friendly, effeminate neighbor who's been trying to rent me his mother's "spacious" apartment in Higenópolis, invited Junior and me to lunch some day...apparently I look like an actress on the 8:00 novella "Belíssima" and people have been asking him if if's true that they just saw Gloria Pires' daughter in Manguinhos...that explains some of the comments I got when I walked past a group of men the other night...

Hey, look, I'm famous!

Who needs television?

One of my favorite things to do is casually mention to Brazilians that I live alone...and I don't have a television.

Their reactions are priceless.

I couldn't confuse them more if I told them that I didn't believe in taking showers in the summer or in bikinis or kissing before marriage...all of which they also think are absurd and inhumane. (Sidenote: One Land's End overly-modest one piece swimsuit + any Brazilian = snorting laughter and looks of absolute fear that you might actually try to wear that thing to the beach...)

Television IS the national pastime. Forget soccer. I called Erica the other day at 3:30 pm and said, 'Hey, come over, it's hot, my house is cooler, we'll chat..." She's always up for hanging out. But not, apparently, when any one of the said novellas is on..."Um...how about in 30 minutes???" I already knew not to bother anyone between 8 and 10, which would be, on any given night, Alma Gêmea, Belíssima, BigBrotherBrasil, or that silly one set in the Wild Wild West...but three o'clock in the afternoon? This is ridiculous.

What's worse is that grown adults watch cartoons. Or as they say here,"pior ainda," worse yet, the partially animated fake Power Rangers shows...Rich swears he saw half the restaurant watching it the other day. Businessmen out for a power lunch, glued to the Power Rangers punching out cardboard villians in pastel spandex. What is the world coming to?

I spent a half hour the other night listening to women tell stories about naked crazy women who walk around Bonsucesso. How they're afraid to give them clothes because everyone knows that crazy people are strong and can you imagine trying to fight off a naked one...and besides, they're too busy trying to distract their children from staring...and no one can explain, exactly, why no one in authority is taking care of the poor woman wandering aimlessly through the city without any clothes on...apparently it's an epidemic in the Zona Norte...

We've been having food issues. I'm the smallest dress size I think I've ever been in my adult life, mostly due to heat, lots of water, and an invisible appetite. That, and the myriad things I am not permitted to eat when I visit my friends. I can't tell you how many minor "brigas" Junior and I have had over what I choose to eat. Coffee with milk in the morning? That can make you sick. Guacamole? Disgusting. Mangos? Heavy. Bad to eat at night. But pizza and Coke? That's good anytime. And 2 liters of guaraná for breakfast? Do-able. Black pepper? Bad for you. Hot peppers? Dangerous. Ice cream after a day at the beach? Could cause some sort of attack, from being so cold while the body is so hot. Stroke, even. Crab, fish, anything tasty? I shouldn't eat that...my American stomach can't handle it. When you're sick, you shouldn't eat ramen noodles. Or eggs. Pretty much anything I try to prepare is considered "heavy," and bad for this climate, while a meal of rice, beans, and spaghetti with so little sauce it's almost dry, that's light. Normal. And you'd better eat a plate smashed so full it spills over the edges...

For all the Adkins' followers out there, I have to say that there are a lot of lithe bodies out here...and all they eat are carbs!

Rainy Days

It’s raining in Manguinhos and I am sitting here procrastinating away my time from writing my prayer letter, working on lesson plans, or catching up on my backlogged inbox. Junior was over last night and we made pizza, washed dishes, watched “The Last of the Mohicans,” played cards. A girlfriend stopped by to pick up her umbrella that I’d borrowed earlier in the day and made a passing comment as she left that I was “wasting my time playing cards” when I could be doing much more interesting things with my boyfriend. Such are the sexual mores even within the church here, it seems. It’s good for us to know how to control ourselves, to enjoy spending time together as friends too and not only as “namorados.” We started playing cards as a way to stay out of trouble since we didn’t have money to go out on dates...and it’s become something that has really helped our relationship grow and mature. (And gotten Junior addicted to Rummy!) This girlfriend doesn’t understand that. For her, men are like clothes, something that changes with the season, with the style, with her mood. She picks them according to specific qualities: big arms, hair and skin color, size. Personality, faithfulness, commitment to God and herself...these hardly figure into her equations. And she wonders why she feels empty in her relationships, why she feels used, why they don’t work out. I’ve stopped trying to counsel her. She doesn’t listen, doesn’t want to. She likes sex and doesn’t want to stop. So she continues to get hurt...

Yesterday I heard clipclopping and looked out the window to see a white horse casually walking down my street...all alone. It made me laugh. On Wednesday, when we went to Timonis to meet with the directors to see about me volunteering there, a full grown pig was trotting down the sidewalk. Sometimes Manguinhos is more hick than anything back home...

On Thursday, Rich and I were walking around Centro with backpacks full of food, me carrying a rose and a shasta daisy I picked up from a street vendor for the cute neighbor lady who lives above me. We were even more absurd looking than usual, these two gringos trekking through sketchier and sketchier areas of the city, passing out sandwiches and giving street kids huffs of roses...Marcelo, a kid we knew from Lapa but haven’t seen in a while, ran up to us on our way. He was with an older friend and introduced us as “boa gente...antigão...” It made me laugh. I’ve been here so long that I’m known...we’re not just gringos, we’re “good people, old-school...ancient...” I wish I could explain to you how good it feels to walk around six or seven different bairros of a city and have almost every street person under thirty that you see know you by face if not by name, come up with a grin, and chat with you...

Fun Facts

1. When the temperature reaches highs of 45 degrees Celsius, it is Brazilian law that you're not required to go to school or work. That's right. It's the law. Stay home. Sit under the shower. Do nothing.

2. 45 degrees Celsius is 113 degrees Farenheit.

3. Small homes with smaller windows act like ovens in heat this intense. A fun thing to do is go from house to house and pretend you're visiting a sauna, then go home and start on your five-shower a day minimum...

4. It's forbidden to fight in Manguinhos.

5. The Portuguese language is so complicated and constantly evolving that grammatical laws regarding accents have changed multiple times in the past fifty years. If your grammar book is from pre-1990, it is already out of date...

38 and rising...again

This was a post...I know, because I did it last night. But somehow, it got lost in the recesses of the internet. Maybe it will resurface later. Who knows? I was complaining about the heat, giving some info about Dona Dora and the work at the orphanage and what Dandy and I did yesterday in Saara...later today I'll try to re-write it. The one time that I don't save my work and look what happens!!!

Sunday

Went to my first choir practice today. They're doing a cantata thing for Easter and needed some first sopranos...Marizete borrowed my keys and left me a single serving of homemade lasagna for post-practice...I think she knew that I would be too lazy to make anything for myself!

Junior and I snuck out between church and Sunday school (which I hardly EVER attend) to grab pastels and caldo de cana (sugarcane juice), and on our way back, there are cops posted at the corner of my house and all the way down the street. The guy is cradling his machine gun and staring in a very uncomfortable way at me. Junior and I just go on, pretending that life is normal and that he doesn't exist until we get to the door. I'm a little shaky. Cops do that to me now. And Junior is breathing in that sort of angry way that he has...

Jenna: I don't like seeing guns that close to me. Policemen in my community. Not like that.
Junior: I don't like seeing Robson.
Jenna: Robson? Who's that?
Junior: Haven't I told you about him? That cop on the corner, he's the one who kills everyone here...
And so we are both agitated but ignore it and go back to church, passing people going about their lives: fixing air conditioners, teaching their kids to ride bikes, going to the market, flirting, all treating the men in black and bulletproof vests as if they were invisible. In a way, I guess, they are. They can never understand or take part in life here. The minute they turn their backs, drop their guard, they're in danger. Physical danger. Emotional danger. Because if they let us into their hearts, could they still do their "jobs?"

Poor Mateus is so frightened of the police and guns and the tank that he talks about them: tiro, tiro...gunshot, gunshot...
Kids shouldn't grow up like this. But how can we shelter them? They're going to hear things. They're going to pick up on our fear. Yesterday I was standing at the bus stop with a little boy about seven or eight years old. Three of us flagged a bus that flagrantly passed us where it was required to stop. And the kid just shrugs his shoulders and says something to the effect of:
You know why they do that? Because we live in Manguinhos. And they don't want our money. They think they're too good for it...for us...

The picture below is a view down my street, looking right from the window or the porch. Matt or Ben took it sometime last year...

GPS

My feet are tired. We walked all over Centro again today, looking for kids. And because Rich said that he'd been seeing them traveling in larger packs, we brought more milk, more sandwiches, more fruit, and water down with us. No one at Praça XV, not under the highway or by the water. No one in the square. So we walked over to Candelaria and on to Sardinha, where we saw, yup, no one. And by now, even Rich is tired of carrying all of this food around with us. So we had some juice at a cafe and just sat for a while, waiting to see if anyone showed up. I ate my first sardine. I am a convert. Battered and fried, they're amazing. No wonder they're for sale everywhere...but anyhow, while we're sitting there a girl comes up selling gum and she recognizes us (sidenote: I really wonder how famous we are among the homeless and street people of Rio. I feel like every street person I see recognizes me, even if I can't place their name or face...)...and after chatting for a bit, tells us that everyone is at Praça Maúa, where the Federal Police building is. Eventually, we make it over there and run into Diana (who is like a gypsy queen mother figure) and the rest of the gang. "Where have you been?" they exclaim, as if we should have known they were here, in the fourth new place they've been in the last two months. Possessing neither exceptional ESP nor a GPS tracker that hones in on street children, I'm not sure how they thought we were going to find them...but then, that's street life. Everyone is always around the next corner...