I decided since I was so behind on my blog that I would start doing more recent events and let Tracy continue to catch up on our February 2013 adventures.
Last week I visited
Rocinha favela, which is the largest of the more than 700 slums in Rio De
Janeiro. The unplanned housing expands the height and width of a large hill
bordering, Barria de Trujica, one of the largest urban national parks in the
world. The dilapidated structure is made of brick, tiles, stones and a plethora
of recycles materials with no noticeable rhyme or reason.
At the beginning of
the tour the guide pointed out the government water plant, hospital and post
office that have been recently added since the Brazilian government seized the
community from the ruling drug lord, who was reported to be only twenty-eight
years of age. Along with the cooperative between the favela community and
police, came improved waste removal, security and a promised cable car. The
cable car will allow movement throughout the slum, while avoiding the narrow
passageways, uneven and treacherously step covered with trash, the constant
tickle of water and the occasional dog feces along the path.
A walk through the
favela engages all senses. As I passed
hair salons, tiny eateries, mom and pop stores that provided everything from
toilet paper to pet supplies, my feet slipped and splashed along the wet uneven
cobbles, while I grasped walls to remain safely in motion. The wafting scent of
sewage mixed with passion fruit flavored sweet breads baking in one of the many
small padaria filled my nose.
Throughout the favela my ears were treated to montage of Rihanna's We fell in Love in a Hopeless Place,
Brazilian Telenovelas, barefoot children laughing while playing and the
constant drum of unrecognizable Portuguese words into cell phones and along
store counters. The sights were amazing, with a panoramic view of countless
colorful, tiny, non-symmetric apartments and store fronts leading to a stunning
beach framed by million dollar high-rise apartments and enormous natural rock
formations. In Brazil, favelas are often close to affluent area to help supply
a constant stream of maids, nannies, cooks, gardeners and construction workers.
Because Brazilians
are such a fascinating mix of colors, shapes, sizes and appearances, I often
get mistaken as a Brasileira myself. And as always, I find that the most
interesting aspect of the favela are the adaptable, vibrant and hopeful people.
Women sit in doorways breast feeding babies, while simultaneously taking in the
day’s gossip and tending to a stove full of beans and rice. Countless shirtless
men with irresistible tanned worker physiques pass by with wheel barrows full
of raw materials in the collective quest to repair, enhance and expand the
sprawling favela. It is, however, the children that are most breath-taking. All
seem so joyful and unaware of their sometime filthy surroundings. With a
budding entrepreneurial spirit, the kids of the favela sell art work, dance for
tips (quick video of dancing) and learn how to say “Money” to gringos
at the age of two. As we passed by a woman with a baby that had curly blonde
locks and blue eyes, she laughs and shouts to the Swedish guy on the tour, “seu
filho”, meaning your son in
Portuguese.
At first glance you
wander how and why anyone would live in the slums. The obvious comes to mind;
the people are too poor to do better. However, I soon found that this
explanation was too simplistic. Of course there are many who are stuck in the
Favela hoping for a better life. But, more often, I believe it is the cup of
sugar or toilet paper from a neighbor. The always available help to maneuver a
new appliance to your fourth story apartment.
The forever open front and back door that allows you to yell at will to
your three surrounding neighbors. I believe the overwhelming sense of community
and collective struggle is the glue that holds this colleague of dilapidated
buildings, shops and hopes together.
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