and I have left fifteen pounds of laundry in Rich and Rebecca's house, I am going to take my new, beautiful, skinny-lined journal and favorite pen up to the rooftop and write and talk to God to my heart's content. And I'm only going to answer phone calls from people I like...
And I'm going to do three loads of laundry, which I must explain, is not all mine. It might, just might, have something to do with the last occupant of the house. And would include towels and sheets that are well, fedorento. I hope that the laundry soap is strong enough!
Saturday, April 29, 2006
Speaking of street people...
our friend Wanda is now practically our neighbor, living between Manguinhos and Jacarezinho...I ran into her on the street the other day, and she attacked me with her skinny little body, wrapping herself around me and smothering my neck in kisses. I was excited to see her, but I'm not sure I'll ever be that emocionada about anyone...though the encounter with her left me with a HUGE smile for the rest of the night.
And in Saens Pena the other day, I saw a man who looked familiar, so I went to talk to him after my lunch meeting. He was the brother-in-law of my old friend Raimunda. I gave him my cell phone number so she could get in touch with me...people, I find this strange. She called me that same night. Get this. I meet this woman because she's begging, right? She's been out of the city, out of the state, for four months, visiting family in Bahia. She has a cell phone. And apparently, she still "works" in Saens Pena. Anyone else find this ironic, exchanging cell phone numbers with a beggar???
I want to see her again, but don't feel it's safe to go alone to where she lives, so I'm going to wait until Ben comes back.
If this keeps up, I'm going to need another cell phone just to recieve calls from my street friends...
And in Saens Pena the other day, I saw a man who looked familiar, so I went to talk to him after my lunch meeting. He was the brother-in-law of my old friend Raimunda. I gave him my cell phone number so she could get in touch with me...people, I find this strange. She called me that same night. Get this. I meet this woman because she's begging, right? She's been out of the city, out of the state, for four months, visiting family in Bahia. She has a cell phone. And apparently, she still "works" in Saens Pena. Anyone else find this ironic, exchanging cell phone numbers with a beggar???
I want to see her again, but don't feel it's safe to go alone to where she lives, so I'm going to wait until Ben comes back.
If this keeps up, I'm going to need another cell phone just to recieve calls from my street friends...
Notice to Brazilian men: Keep your eyes and hands to yourself!
My left arm is still a little sore from the three or four times I had to forcibly shake off a grabbing hand...here I am, walking from point A to point B. And here is a guy walking from point B to point A. He reaches out, yanks my hand, and tries to not only separate me from my girfriends, but won't let go! Idiots. The next guy who tried that little trick was going to get more than what he bargained for when I spun around...
I have never seen more shameless staring behavior. Erica and I postulated on our experiences this morning for almost an hour. There was this one moment when we were standing at the entrance, waiting for our friends who had taken a taxi and chased down a bus to collect their purse left on the seat (they found it miraculously untouched; almost unbelieveable in RJ these days...praise the Lord!). So we're standing there, and three men walk by, less than a foot of space between us, and stare at us in the exact same way that I've seen men choosing a hooker. Or the way you check out merchandise in a store window. Or ogle the monkeys at the zoo. Infuriated, I snapped out something about how this was not the "Jardim Zoologico, so keep your eyes to yourself, safados." Not that it helped; they were already out looking for the next piece of eye candy....
So that was irritating and put a bit of a damper on my night. But the karaoke and learing to dance forro and a little calypso and eat fried cheese and goof off was great. But the highlight of the night was this couple on the dance floor. She was rail thin with cropped hair and a tattered skirt and short combination, the exact image of someone who has spent years on the streets. He was stocky-thin, with baggy jeans and a worn t-shirt, just barely taller than his partner. They were doing a harsh, street-version of forro, with style and magnetic technique: totally showboating it, there was this one moment where he threw her onto his hip and as she is lying with her torso out in the air, he pauses for a moment to put his chin in his hand in imitation of "The Thinker" before continuing on their mad rounds...
I didn't see smiles while they were dancing; just these faces of deep concentration. But afterwards, when the music stopped for a moment, he led her over to the corner to sit, and put his arms around her, and they rested there, all grins. It was beautiful.
I have never seen more shameless staring behavior. Erica and I postulated on our experiences this morning for almost an hour. There was this one moment when we were standing at the entrance, waiting for our friends who had taken a taxi and chased down a bus to collect their purse left on the seat (they found it miraculously untouched; almost unbelieveable in RJ these days...praise the Lord!). So we're standing there, and three men walk by, less than a foot of space between us, and stare at us in the exact same way that I've seen men choosing a hooker. Or the way you check out merchandise in a store window. Or ogle the monkeys at the zoo. Infuriated, I snapped out something about how this was not the "Jardim Zoologico, so keep your eyes to yourself, safados." Not that it helped; they were already out looking for the next piece of eye candy....
So that was irritating and put a bit of a damper on my night. But the karaoke and learing to dance forro and a little calypso and eat fried cheese and goof off was great. But the highlight of the night was this couple on the dance floor. She was rail thin with cropped hair and a tattered skirt and short combination, the exact image of someone who has spent years on the streets. He was stocky-thin, with baggy jeans and a worn t-shirt, just barely taller than his partner. They were doing a harsh, street-version of forro, with style and magnetic technique: totally showboating it, there was this one moment where he threw her onto his hip and as she is lying with her torso out in the air, he pauses for a moment to put his chin in his hand in imitation of "The Thinker" before continuing on their mad rounds...
I didn't see smiles while they were dancing; just these faces of deep concentration. But afterwards, when the music stopped for a moment, he led her over to the corner to sit, and put his arms around her, and they rested there, all grins. It was beautiful.
Because my love life is more interesting than stories of kids misbehaving...
I just ran into R- again. I like this guy. He's got kind of that new-wave American Christian look, with the soul patch and quasi-nerd glasses. He's the sort of person you meet and are almost instantly comfortable with; my insecurity about language was almost non-existent when I was chatting with him. For sure we could be friends. And I'm dying for some amigOs. Emphasis on the masculine! This is the third time we've chatted; once at my church, once at his, and now here he is in my internet cafe. He just invited me to a luau praise thing his church might be doing tonight. Sweet.
There's just one problem. His church? The Assembly of God in Manguinhos, where I sang at the youth conference last weekend. The church where one of my most insistent pursuers is also a member. And I have almost complete assurance that the pursuer, G-, is expecting that I will go out with him after the service...but he's going to lose out because the only thing I said yes to was going to a missions service. If he'd come out and invited me to do something, I would have given him a definite no. But he's the sort of guy who orders instead of invites...and assumes that I'm playing hard to get instead of honestly not being interested.
I've met a lot of interesting and not interesting guys recently. There was R2, the hot surfer college dude with whom I spent 45 fabulous minutes conversing on the street, only to find out later that he is 19 years old!!! Argh. That's a bit young for me, but he might end up being a friend: we talked about everything from families and missions to the pros and cons of mega-churches, the surfing beaches of Peru, and the differences between colleges and cultures in Brazil and the States....
The most not interesting ones occured last night, when on a whim, we decided to go to the Feira Nordestina, a sort of Brazilian country-and-western party. Two stages with live music and dancing, plus karaoke, food, and stands selling everything from clothing, cheese, dried meat and jewelry to large, dried cow penises and wooden models, saddles, and various country remedies for coughs, colds, and impotence. I think the cow penises have something to do with the latter...that or they're for good luck!
There were ten of us: my friend Noadia (23 on Monday), her mother (?), great-aunt (age 77), aunt (40), cousin (22) and his girlfriend (30), plus us four twenty-somethings. So here we are, with an age difference between the youngest and oldest of 55 years, all heading out at 11 pm for a night of dancing and goofing off.
If you are thinking this is late, you're wrong. This is Rio de Janeiro! Of course, the older women only lasted until about 12:30 before taking a bus back home. But the rest of us stayed until about 2 am, with stories you will hear in the next installment...
There's just one problem. His church? The Assembly of God in Manguinhos, where I sang at the youth conference last weekend. The church where one of my most insistent pursuers is also a member. And I have almost complete assurance that the pursuer, G-, is expecting that I will go out with him after the service...but he's going to lose out because the only thing I said yes to was going to a missions service. If he'd come out and invited me to do something, I would have given him a definite no. But he's the sort of guy who orders instead of invites...and assumes that I'm playing hard to get instead of honestly not being interested.
I've met a lot of interesting and not interesting guys recently. There was R2, the hot surfer college dude with whom I spent 45 fabulous minutes conversing on the street, only to find out later that he is 19 years old!!! Argh. That's a bit young for me, but he might end up being a friend: we talked about everything from families and missions to the pros and cons of mega-churches, the surfing beaches of Peru, and the differences between colleges and cultures in Brazil and the States....
The most not interesting ones occured last night, when on a whim, we decided to go to the Feira Nordestina, a sort of Brazilian country-and-western party. Two stages with live music and dancing, plus karaoke, food, and stands selling everything from clothing, cheese, dried meat and jewelry to large, dried cow penises and wooden models, saddles, and various country remedies for coughs, colds, and impotence. I think the cow penises have something to do with the latter...that or they're for good luck!
There were ten of us: my friend Noadia (23 on Monday), her mother (?), great-aunt (age 77), aunt (40), cousin (22) and his girlfriend (30), plus us four twenty-somethings. So here we are, with an age difference between the youngest and oldest of 55 years, all heading out at 11 pm for a night of dancing and goofing off.
If you are thinking this is late, you're wrong. This is Rio de Janeiro! Of course, the older women only lasted until about 12:30 before taking a bus back home. But the rest of us stayed until about 2 am, with stories you will hear in the next installment...
Saturday, April 22, 2006
Festa Festa
Yesterday was Dia de Tiradentes, another holiday in Brazil. No one seemed to know exactly what they were celebrating when I asked, so I looked it up on the web. On this website I found the following explanation: Tiradentes Day "commemorates the execution of Brazilian national hero Joaquim Jose da Silva Xavier - a co-conspirator in the 1789 revolt against the Portuguese. If you are wondering how this holiday gets its name, "tiradentes" means "tooth-puller", and Xavier was a dentist by trade." Fascinating, no?
How did we celebrate? We had a Mexican feast.
In spite of all the complaints about salty avocado sauce (to the rest of the world, this is known as guacamole) and too much spice, almost all the food was devoured. Brazilians eat avocados as fruits, mashing them into milkshakes with lots of sugar. Getting them to try something salty was difficult. I guess it would be a little bit like trying to get an American to eat peaches or strawberries mixed with salt and garlic. That is kind of nauseating.
The party was a rousing success, even if I do say so myself. I had invited a random collection of friends and when we counted up at the end of the night, we'd had about eleven people, ranging in age from 13 to 35. We'd served three main dishes: meat tacos, chicken fajitas, and Brazilian black bean chili. We'd gone through six liters of soda, bottles and bottles of water, and almost an entire pudim, Rio's answer to flan. We played Twister, which was hilarious when done on a full stomach four large guys, discussed theology, my language bloopers and wanna-be boyfriends, played several rousing matches of Bull#*&, Portuguese style, and laughed until we almost cried.
Erica had gone to a funeral earlier in the day and had by far the funniest story of the night, involving the dead man's six-year old son walking around to the other funeral parties and commenting on the dead: "Yikes, what an ugly old woman...", stealing the coins from the saint's altars and putting them in his mouth rather than give them back, and the pièce-de-résistance: the corpse, in full Flamengo football attire, apparently singing! They had put a tiny radio in the casket with him, brand-new battery and all, and left it on...it was one of the man's dying wishes! Imagine the shock: you go up to say your last goodbyes and the coffin is playing samba music, or "My heart will go on," or any other current pop favorite!
I ate so much the thought of food hurts.
And you should see the stack of dishes we washed!
Next time, we're doing Chinese. With chopsticks.
How did we celebrate? We had a Mexican feast.
In spite of all the complaints about salty avocado sauce (to the rest of the world, this is known as guacamole) and too much spice, almost all the food was devoured. Brazilians eat avocados as fruits, mashing them into milkshakes with lots of sugar. Getting them to try something salty was difficult. I guess it would be a little bit like trying to get an American to eat peaches or strawberries mixed with salt and garlic. That is kind of nauseating.
The party was a rousing success, even if I do say so myself. I had invited a random collection of friends and when we counted up at the end of the night, we'd had about eleven people, ranging in age from 13 to 35. We'd served three main dishes: meat tacos, chicken fajitas, and Brazilian black bean chili. We'd gone through six liters of soda, bottles and bottles of water, and almost an entire pudim, Rio's answer to flan. We played Twister, which was hilarious when done on a full stomach four large guys, discussed theology, my language bloopers and wanna-be boyfriends, played several rousing matches of Bull#*&, Portuguese style, and laughed until we almost cried.
Erica had gone to a funeral earlier in the day and had by far the funniest story of the night, involving the dead man's six-year old son walking around to the other funeral parties and commenting on the dead: "Yikes, what an ugly old woman...", stealing the coins from the saint's altars and putting them in his mouth rather than give them back, and the pièce-de-résistance: the corpse, in full Flamengo football attire, apparently singing! They had put a tiny radio in the casket with him, brand-new battery and all, and left it on...it was one of the man's dying wishes! Imagine the shock: you go up to say your last goodbyes and the coffin is playing samba music, or "My heart will go on," or any other current pop favorite!
I ate so much the thought of food hurts.
And you should see the stack of dishes we washed!
Next time, we're doing Chinese. With chopsticks.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
I'm already feeling really productive...
getting up on my day off at 7:45 am, lugging my laundry over to Jacarezinho to take advantage of the Nichols' empty house and big washing machine, reading a Martha Stewart magazine, checking my email, and planning some serious food shopping. And taco rolling. Friday's a national holiday and we're celebrating with Mexican food. Not the most patriotic way to commemorate whatever we're commemorating, for me or the Brasilians, but any excuse to eat tacos is okay with me!
I found a lizard in my dried foods container yesterday and I did kind of a mean thing: I gave it to Puxa to play with. While it was still alive.
And I sifted all the nasty little weevils out of my flour and stored it for once and for all in the freezer. That will show them!!!
Someone in Manguinhos died of dengue fever, the hemorraging kind, yesterday. That's kind of scary, so in addition to cleaning my house today, I'm going to be searching out every possible standing water source in my home and eliminating those "mosquito breeding grounds."
I feel like a little suburban housewife. And I can't decide if I like it or not!
I found a lizard in my dried foods container yesterday and I did kind of a mean thing: I gave it to Puxa to play with. While it was still alive.
And I sifted all the nasty little weevils out of my flour and stored it for once and for all in the freezer. That will show them!!!
Someone in Manguinhos died of dengue fever, the hemorraging kind, yesterday. That's kind of scary, so in addition to cleaning my house today, I'm going to be searching out every possible standing water source in my home and eliminating those "mosquito breeding grounds."
I feel like a little suburban housewife. And I can't decide if I like it or not!
The cat likes me!
Puxa, Rebecca's skittery calico, actually sat behind me on the couch today and let me pet her. Maybe the problem wasn't so much with the cat as with Rich's tendency to use her as target practice with his pellet gun? She hasn't peed on anything...at least, not that I can tell, yet.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
It was starting to be a bad day...
with the rain and everything. And then the girl at the photo store looked at me like I was trying to steal someone's boyfriend because I was going out to lunch with a friend. Then the dog at Projeto Vidinha bit me, on the knee, with her evil, pointy little teeth. And I received a weird, four-page letter. And then UNISUAM, the university I've been trying to get into for this ridiculous visa, tells me that I can't enroll. Goodbye, student visa. And I watch as all of my dreams and everything I've worked for go sliding, sliding down the drain...
And now I can't even get amazon.com to work for me.
Yesterday both internet cafes shut down on me in the middle of work; in the second one, only MY half of the place stopped working...
But I have some good people on my case. A pastor with great connections, a professor who is taking the time to pull some strings, a couple of politicians. Maybe something can come through.
Now I really will just sit back and wait for something to drop out of the sky, because I'm tired of running around for nothing.
God, we await a response.
And now I can't even get amazon.com to work for me.
Yesterday both internet cafes shut down on me in the middle of work; in the second one, only MY half of the place stopped working...
But I have some good people on my case. A pastor with great connections, a professor who is taking the time to pull some strings, a couple of politicians. Maybe something can come through.
Now I really will just sit back and wait for something to drop out of the sky, because I'm tired of running around for nothing.
God, we await a response.
Saturday, April 15, 2006
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Chocolate Fish
I saw all these lines in the market today, actual lines in front of the fish stalls. And there was this momentary pause of, “What´s the big deal about tuna today?” before remembering that tomorrow is Good Friday. No meat. Easter is odd here, all about chocolate and Christ´s birth, but the Baptists don´t even celebrate Palm Sunday. It was just another Sunday, nothing special. I wanted to run down to the Catholic church and grab a couple of palm branches...it bothers me that the Protestant side of the Church isn´t all that interested in celebration or tradition or in memorials of faith. Baptists beware: your rejection of all that is interesting and mystical about faith is what drives people like me over to your sworn enemies...with incense and liturgy and garments and a church calendar!
The chocolate side of Easter is huge baskets and hollow eggs full of candy bars. No one makes anything. They buy it all, pre-glittered and wrapped and hideous. The supermarkets have these canopies of eggs wrapped in bright, primary foil that makes me hallucinate and feel very, very claustrophobic; I´m not sure if we´re supposed to reach up and just grab one out of the sky or what.
I received an Easter basket from an admirer. It was large, with all the wrapping about two feet high. The contents were as follows:
-chocolate pound cake
-chocolate wafers
-a Coke
-a boxed chocolate milk
-one hollow chocolate egg I have managed to break without opening the package. Smooth.
-about fifteen assorted bomboms
-a heart shaped plastic case containing two “special” chocolates
-a small white bunny with an “I love you” super-glued to his chest
I emptied the basket and put it to good use organizing the contents of my dresser. I ate some of the chocolate until my hands swelled from the sugar (n.b. sugar is apparently bad for my arthritis this month). Now I´m going to be cheap and buy some cute bags, repackage everything, and give it to my friends for Easter presents.
Though a sweet, cloyingly so, gesture, I am not interested in the dude. So I don´t feel all that guilty about giving it all away!
The chocolate side of Easter is huge baskets and hollow eggs full of candy bars. No one makes anything. They buy it all, pre-glittered and wrapped and hideous. The supermarkets have these canopies of eggs wrapped in bright, primary foil that makes me hallucinate and feel very, very claustrophobic; I´m not sure if we´re supposed to reach up and just grab one out of the sky or what.
I received an Easter basket from an admirer. It was large, with all the wrapping about two feet high. The contents were as follows:
-chocolate pound cake
-chocolate wafers
-a Coke
-a boxed chocolate milk
-one hollow chocolate egg I have managed to break without opening the package. Smooth.
-about fifteen assorted bomboms
-a heart shaped plastic case containing two “special” chocolates
-a small white bunny with an “I love you” super-glued to his chest
I emptied the basket and put it to good use organizing the contents of my dresser. I ate some of the chocolate until my hands swelled from the sugar (n.b. sugar is apparently bad for my arthritis this month). Now I´m going to be cheap and buy some cute bags, repackage everything, and give it to my friends for Easter presents.
Though a sweet, cloyingly so, gesture, I am not interested in the dude. So I don´t feel all that guilty about giving it all away!
Monday, April 10, 2006
Good Inventions and Language Bloopers
1. Blenders. How else can you get perfectly fresh juice early in the morning from such varied produce as melons, strawberries, passionfruits and bananas?
2. Voice recorders on cell phones; I use mine for one-minute clips of church worship, late night funk parites, and the occasional shootout. Yesterday my mother got to hear taped rifle shots from earlier in the day. I'm sure it was a highlight of her day...when we were taping them, we marveled at the number of people calmly walking down the street. After all, the gun battle was a good two or three streets away...
3. Easter baskets. I got one, from an admirer, full of chocolate and soda and candies and a stuffed animal, cookies, cakes, and a container of chocolate milk. Plus I get to use the basket to neaten up my dresser mess...
On language bloopers:
Ladies, don't tell people you have many "perseguidas." You have many "perseguidores," which means people pursuing or persecuting you. In whatever context you meant it in, the former means, in Rio slang, many vaginas. What a nice thing to bust out during choir practice!
2. Voice recorders on cell phones; I use mine for one-minute clips of church worship, late night funk parites, and the occasional shootout. Yesterday my mother got to hear taped rifle shots from earlier in the day. I'm sure it was a highlight of her day...when we were taping them, we marveled at the number of people calmly walking down the street. After all, the gun battle was a good two or three streets away...
3. Easter baskets. I got one, from an admirer, full of chocolate and soda and candies and a stuffed animal, cookies, cakes, and a container of chocolate milk. Plus I get to use the basket to neaten up my dresser mess...
On language bloopers:
Ladies, don't tell people you have many "perseguidas." You have many "perseguidores," which means people pursuing or persecuting you. In whatever context you meant it in, the former means, in Rio slang, many vaginas. What a nice thing to bust out during choir practice!
Saturday, April 08, 2006
Afinal
Finally, I am sitting in front of a computer that is connected to the internet. I've been going crazy not having an easy outlet for writing...when your wrists are swollen, doing it by hand is NOT the preferred solution.
What made me smile this week:
1. Erica has taken to calling me "negga." Yup. The white girl is being affectionately labeled...I always knew I was black inside!!!
2. I'm impressed by the self-esteem of some of the street boys. They actually have the guts and the delusion to believe that I might date them...in spite of their drug dealing, using, lack of a real job, lack of a home, lack of money to take me out, lack of easy access to bathrooms and showers...not to mention a host of oher things! I have a whole theory on why this is...but there's not enough space for it today. Suffice it to say, it's a bit humorous to have a teenager dressed in a mover's blanket hit on you and be serious. I want some of his confidence!
3. All the kids at Timonis make me smile, even when I'm breaking up fistfights between five-year olds.
4. Silver heels.
5. Learning to make fresh passionfruit juice. It's the easiest thing. The hardest part is getting up the courage to actually buy fruit that looks like it rotted four years ago. Passionfruits are only ripe when they look so disgusting that you feel like you're being cheated as you buy them...
What made me smile this week:
1. Erica has taken to calling me "negga." Yup. The white girl is being affectionately labeled...I always knew I was black inside!!!
2. I'm impressed by the self-esteem of some of the street boys. They actually have the guts and the delusion to believe that I might date them...in spite of their drug dealing, using, lack of a real job, lack of a home, lack of money to take me out, lack of easy access to bathrooms and showers...not to mention a host of oher things! I have a whole theory on why this is...but there's not enough space for it today. Suffice it to say, it's a bit humorous to have a teenager dressed in a mover's blanket hit on you and be serious. I want some of his confidence!
3. All the kids at Timonis make me smile, even when I'm breaking up fistfights between five-year olds.
4. Silver heels.
5. Learning to make fresh passionfruit juice. It's the easiest thing. The hardest part is getting up the courage to actually buy fruit that looks like it rotted four years ago. Passionfruits are only ripe when they look so disgusting that you feel like you're being cheated as you buy them...
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
quickie
hey all...my computer had a serious illness and doesn't seem to want to recover. that's the reason you haven't been seeing posts. i'll be shopping for an internet house this week and then you should see some activity here. patience, my good friends! i am alive!!!!!!!!!
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