Cachoiera

Last weekend the program took a trip to Cachoiera. Cachoiera is a town on the Paraguacu River a few hours drive inland of Salvador. The town was once a booming center whose wealth came from the fruitful sugarcane plantations. However, since the decline of sugarcane, the town, too has slowly begun to deteriorate. The town is a has a nice mix of colonial-front buildings next to modern day farmacies next to colonial ruins. There are very few cars which makes the city seem so much more tranquil.





We took a 6 hour boat ride through the bay and up the Paraguacu river to get there. It was raining when we pulled away from the dock, but once the clouds cleared it was blazing hot. The best part of the boat was the cornucopia of fruit that we were served.



Half way up the river we stopped to look at the Sao Francisco Monastary. This (I believe) was the first Monastery built in South America. It is no longer in use and is begining to turn back to nature. We found someone in the town who unlocked it so we could see the inside. Bats live in the roof and lizards on the walls. One room didn't have a roof and the ground was turning to grass. But a lot was still preserved including the notable blue-tile bible motifs on the walls.



We stayed in a convent in Cachoiera that has been turned into a hotel.



On Saturday we crossed is the oldest bridge in South America (still the original construction) and walked along the town that lies on the opposite of the river to go take a dip in the river. Here is a picture taken from the bridge of the HUGE dam. According to our guide if this dam broke, in 12 minutes Salvador's lower city would be underwater. I'm not sure if that is possible, but none the less, it holds an enormous amount of water. (Paraguacu means "big" "arm" in tupi-guarani language)


On Sunday there was the Lavagem da Nossa Senhora da Ajuda. A procession of women (and a handful of transvestites) wearing the traditional white Bahian attire and carrying white flowers in vases on their heads paraded around the city and culminated in washing the steps of one of the churches.



There were also some boys wearing this ridiculous outfits. The explanation of their significance was not exactly clear. Back in the Day slaves were not allowed to participate in any of the Catholic ceremonies, so they would make their own. These costumes represents spirits and they are mocking the Portuguese because they have big heads with nothing in them. They were absolutely hilarious to watch as they danced around or played around with people. (Since you can't see their faces it reminded me of mascoting).



It was super hot, and staying hydrated was a must. Here Daddy is giving this girl some ice cold water

Concienca Negra

November 20th is the Day of Black Consciousness here in Brazil. The date falls on the death day of Zumbi--the last leader of the famous Quilombo Palmares. Quilombos were self-sufficient communities made up of run away slaves,hidden in the forests of Brazil. They are a very important symbol of resistance to slavery in Brazil. Palmares was the largest and most famous Quilombo that lasted for 100 years and was home to hundreds of afro-Brazilians.

So of course, today, in order to celebrate there was a huge parade and music. There were actually two parades one starting in Campo Grande (right near my house) and the other starting in Liberdade (a neighborhood with the largest population of blacks). Those two parades both headed over to convene in Pelourinho (the old city).

We wanted to go to the Liberdade parade (which is larger and more renown) so we tried to hop on a bus, but the bus got stuck behind the Campo Grande Parade. After moving a half block in a half hour we go off the bus and began walking with the parade. They were playing this crazy Brazilian funk music that if you stood too near the float would beat your heart for you. Different black organizations were holding banners, but overall the parade was pretty small. On its other side we got on another bus to Liberdade, but at the suggestion of a Brazilian got off the bus super early to avoid the bottlenecking. It was still early but already dark (5 or 6pm) and we walked up and down hills through many neighborhoods in the city. Finally as we peaked our last hill we looked down to see a mass of people. There were thousands squeezed in the street. We waited for the parade to swallow us up and soon we were sardined next to strangers all stepping to the same beat the was blaring from the big rig driving along side us. There were a few moments where the crowd swelled and the street narrowed and the bodies squished me so tight that I couldn't control my own movement, but other than that it was a pretty festive atmosphere. Everyone was singing along to the music with their hands raised or clapping.

I got my necklace yanked off me from behind. It was a little unnerving because it felt like I was being strangled for a second...(you can imagine the force required to break a chain off someone's neck). But I held on to it so I still have the pieces. A friend of mine got her money stolen (50 reais...less than 25 dollars), and another got her phone taken. But even though this reflects badly on Brazil, and it does suck, its really not anything malicious...there is just a lot of poverty (and racism) that forces people to be thieves. The Brazilians we were with felt so guilty, like it was their fault.

Tired of the crowds, after about an hour or two we got in front of the parade and walked to Pelourinho.

Batizado

Today I had my Capoeira Batizado. Literally 'batizado' means baptism, but in Capoeira terms it is the day that you get your Capoeira belt. Everyone has a belt to signify their level/skill.A few
weeks prior I was given a Capoeira name as well. Mine is Sereia which means Mermaid in Portuguese. After you get presented with your belt everyone must play with a mestre or other highly skilled capoerista.

I was really nervous because you play until they beat you by either pushing you out of the roda (circle), or by knocking your standing foot out from underneath you, and some people the pick them all the way up off the ground. Anyway, it was really much more fun than nerve wracking, and I performed well. The Batizado lasted all day for there were tons of people receiving belts. It started with the little kids. They were so adorable. Some of them were probably no more than 5 years old and already they were doing head spins and cartwheels. It was a gorgeous and hot summer Sunday. And the nervous but excited energy in the room fondly reminded me of Skating Competitions.

This is my favorite little kid. He trains with us in the evening (most of the kids go to daytime classes) and is SUPER good:



The whole celebration ended with a Samba de Roda and a meal (Fejoada com farofa and arroz). Of course as soon as we were sitting around and socializing the boys began playing the drums and everyone joins in with their own beat (whether playing a real instrument or just tapping the table). I swear, Bahians come out of the womb playing the drums. The music is everywhere and enjoying music means participating.

Capoeira has really been a defining part of my trip here in Brazil Not only playing Capoeira in its birthplace (Salvador), but also we have made pretty good friends with the other capoeristas. We hang out with them outside of class and they provide me with an opportunity to use my Portuguese.



P.S. Yes, I got my hair braided yesterday for fun. It took over two hours!!

Obama!!!!

Election fever here was quite strong. We stayed up until 2 am in the lobby of a hotel that showed CNN in order to watch the votes get counted and Obama win! It was quite exciting and tears of joy were shed during Obama's speech. I don't think people in America realize how monumental this moment is for the world. In the few days prior to the election, I had countless conversations with taxi drivers, porteiros, or random salesmen on the street about the elections. These people who never in their lives will travel to America and many of whom have had a scrappy education cared deeply about the outcome of this election. They absolutely hate Bush and were ecstatic that I voted for Obama. In their minds, most Americans like Bush...otherwise how could he have been elected twice? Good question, but one I do not want to go into now.

In class on Wednesday we discussed the global impact of electing Obama. While throughout his campaign Obama did not pull the race card, his race sends a HUGE message to the world. A black man, president of the biggest superpower in the world...most people thought it impossible.

Though the population of Salvador is 85% black, they have NEVER had a black mayor (and this city was the first city founded in Brazil in the early 1500's). In the country of Brazil, which is home to the largest black population out of Africa has NEVER had a black president either. There are only 2 black people who hold even remotely powerful political positions and they are both in the ministry of culture. Obama is now serving as a role model to the world to show that a black person can be President. It is really impressive the potential impact Obama can have on the black movement here in Brazil. This unit in our culture class is about the Black movement here which was basically inspired and influenced 100% by Martin Luther King Jr, Malcolm X, James Brown, and the Jackson 5 and would not have existed without the US black power movement. The ripples made in the states crash as waves all over the world.

So thank you America for electing Obama!!!!

(P.S. but what happened California?...how could Prop 8 have passed?!?!?!)

Building Castles

I had intended to include a description of this guy in the entry about Avenida Sete de Setembro, but I decided he warranted his very own post.


Behind those eyes there is a story to tell. He looks off into the distance and his mind wanders over the ruins of the castles of his dreams. He looks with sorrow, but with this self-aware acknowledgment that makes me curious. His eyes are big and round, with the innocence of a joyful child. But the wrinkles upon his brow know his trials. I want to make eye contact, to bore deep into those dark holes and connect to his trapped spirit. But I look down and away, because society has taught me that he could be dangerous or unpredictable, and definitely not someone to initiate conversation with.
He never shouts out or mumbles to himself. He never begs or reaches out to grab your hand. He never smiles. He just looks with those wide eyes. Do I smile? Do I say good morning? Do I sit down next to him and look off into that distance? Can I offer my hand for all those stones? They scatter the ground-- some cracked, some pulverized. They lay there defeated.
He has dignity. For most of the day he sits on a piece of cardboard against a tree, because it is cleaner than the ground. He has Nike shoes and a nice bike with 21 gears that leans against the green fence in front of administration of agriculture. His hair is trimmed short and his beard well kept. His red and blue shirt stays clean. He has a backpack that is zipped up and rests on the back of his bike. And he sits there all day, knees up, and arms resting on them. People pass, cars drive by but no one acknowledges him. His mind is off, back to those castles. He is picking up the cracked stones—dusting them off, lining them up. He is here and he is there, and he is aware.
Sometimes he is laying down with his girlfriend. He spreads out a plaid red sheet on top of a few pieces of cardboard. It is a king size bed from the Venetian hotel, right there on the cobblestones. He has one arm around her, and lays there, looking up at the sky through the leaves of the oak trees. His shoes off and tucked up against the wall. She sleeps with a pained look on her face. Her dreams provide no escape from her suffering. She stays on her side, curled up. Her torn T-shirt doesn't cover her protruding belly. Her feet are bare, callused and dirty. The curls on her head are matted. She is always asleep; trapped in that tormented dream. And he lays there looking up. Out of his soul he pours the walls of protection for this girl. He waits for her, but I don't think she will ever make it there. But he has patience, with one hand beneath the back of his head and one hand under hers. He mixes the mortar to lay the bricks one by one. He has faith. Her bedroom will have a big window with lace curtains and a thick white carpet.
She disappears for weeks at a time. And when she comes back its the same; she is always asleep. But, her belly is a little bit rounder, her shirt a little bit dirty, and the bars of the hell she is trapped in, no closer to being unlocked. He says not a word, but he welcomes her with open arms. He looks at her with those wide eyes as she sleeps. He sees her with a summer dress on and shoes and freshly washed hair. But she can't see it, she doesn't open her eyes or want to see her own reflection. She is gone. She has no strength to climb up to his castle. But he knows. When he's finished painting the trim and planting the garden in the front, he will lift her up and carry her inside.

Praia do Forte

Praia do Forte is a small fishing village 2 hours north of Salvador. This fishing village has now become more of an artisan town and a Turtle Reserve. A group of us spent this past Friday and Saturday there. Here are some of the highlights of things we saw:

We arrived mid afternoon on Friday, and the sun began to set soon after we ate our late lunch/early dinner. Here is the town square, and the sunset on the coast with the silhouetted fishing boats.




Saturday morning we visited the turtle reserve which serves to save, rehabilitate, repopulate and educate about sea turtles (or tartarugas in Portuguese). They had all types and sizes of turtles including ones that were smaller than the palm of your hand (sooo cute):

Avenida Sete de Setembro

The uneven cobble stones have become familiar to my feet. Their rough edges and protruding faces no longer catch my toes or cause me to trip. I know when to hold my breath as I pass the tree of deification. This tree would take at least four people to hug its trunk sits smack in the middle of the sidewalk so you must dodge into the street to get buy. It guards the front of the haunted house whose cracked walls are stained with moss. The windows are ajar and the door shut and the house remains empty except occasionally when a few burly men spend all day carting out broken wood furniture from inside onto a flat bed truck. This tree, that once awed me, now disgusts me, for it reeks of acrid urine and occasionally is graced with human feces. It would take twenty of me to circumvent its trunk for I refuse to get too close. But as I hold my breath, and plug my nose and put my head down to try to walk I bit faster, I understand. It is prime property for the homeless, because ghosts can't protest pissing on million dollar property.

I always wave to the Porteiro at Edificio Lisboa. He always has an a black fez hat and a twinkle in his eye, and despite the fact or only interaction is waving 4 times a day, it never ceases to brighten his day. Just past his building is a huge construction site. This is the unpredictable part of the path. Its capricious state keeps you on your toes. Sometimes the sidewalk there is all together impassable and you have to brave your way into the street, suck in your stomach and hope not to get hit. But usually you can leap your way across the broken side walk on the metal electrical manholes like a frog across lily pads. The construction workers are also unpredictable. Sometimes they make no notice of passersby. But other times they call out in a cacophony of pick up lines. And this, mind you, is not correlated to how you look. One day, in a baggy tie-dye t-shirt, one man must have said “linda” a hundred times in the time it took me to pass. Whilst his friend told the other that he would fight him for me, and yet another called out for me to stop and come talk to him. But everyday I keep my head down, leap over the sand, and try to keep from laughing out loud at the ridiculousness of their attempts.

Next comes the high school which is like grand central station with kids coming and going in every direction in their blue t shirts and jeans. Right in front of the bars that make up the schools facade a man sells all sorts of fried snacks. To be honest, I am not even sure what he sells for the crowd of kids around him is always two or three heads deep. Whatever it is, it must be the tastiest thing on the block. Here, I always must slow my pace and squeeze my way past the congestion with “Com licensa” on my lips. Right next to this food stand there is another with an extensive menu of cheeseburgers and sandwiches. This too always has a few people crowded round, but no one is eating. They all are watching the 9inch screen tv that sits on a plastic stool and that perpetually plays Woody Woodpecker cartoons.

Past that, its the home stretch to school. I pass a couple more journeleiros, skip over the puddle that always gathers in front of Edificio Jose Costa, and “Ladies & Co” Boutique. I finally reach the blue and yellow gate of ACBEU. The guard at the front always says 'bom dia' or 'boa tarde' and stares at you with these piercing eyes. I return the salutation, but do not hold the gaze, duck in through the gate and join the gringos gathered in the courtyard.