Bragança - The Woes and Highs of Living in a Tropical Country

I am currently in Bragança, a small town (population approx 100,000) a 5 hour bus ride (half the time in car) from Belem near the coast of Pará  It looks like it is in the middle of nowhere, and there is very little about it on the internet. See if you can spot it on the map:

Bragança is HOT. It is not just hot, but it is also very HUMID. And where it is humid, there is also RAIN. In tropical countries, it does not just rain – black clouds swoop down upon the sky every afternoon at a moment’s notice and open up to the most thunderous downfall imaginable. The rain consequently makes washing clothes a day-long activity of running in and out and in and out. All these elements mixed together make for the perfect recipe – MOSQUITO heaven.

As you can imagine, I took a little while to adjust to these conditions. Check out my leg mauled by mosquitos (and this was just the one):

My nightmare day.

I woke up in the morning in a hot sweat and itching like mad with the above leg, despite having slept with a sheet, pyjamas and a mosquito net with the ventilator on full blast. I go downstairs to have a shower. There is no water.

Peeved and still sweaty, I go to make breakfast. Coffee has run out. I fetch the cereal from the shelf. Out runs a mouse. (I like to think it was a mouse. It seemed too small to be a rat, but I am probably deluding myself). I check the back of the packet – it had gnawed a little hole and crawled and defecated right in amongst the flakes. Out goes the cereal. Lesson learned – do not leave anything out, even on shelves. All food must be in fridge or wrapped in numerous plastic bags dangling high above any surface.

I am down to my last pair of knickers and need to wash my clothes. Even my clean clothes smelt of mould- that’s humidity for you. I fetch my washing, bundle in the machine and turn on the machine. The machine does not turn on because there is still no water.

I attempt to use the internet. Computer says no. (Internet connection for my first month was incredibly sketchy – it sporadically connected for a short time just to tease, and then decided enough was enough for a few more hours. Apparently this was the company’s method of informing its clients that they hadn’t paid the bills, instead of writing a stroppy letter.)

It starts to rain. My room does not have glass in the window, so the rain splashes in. There is a leak. Rainwater now occupies half of my room.

I leave the house sweaty, itchy and foul tempered and wonder how I am to survive 3 months in this inferno.

Mariana, an AmazonArt volunteer, made me a delicious lunch. Life’s woes were instantly solved.

One month later 

It is incredible how quickly one adjusts. I became thoroughly accustomed to having a wet floor and the mice/rats were quickly disposed of with a few juicy pellets. Internet was still sketchy (the wifi had stopped working and I had to make a choice between internet and tv), but I rather like the excuse of ‘no internet’ to avoid wasting time idling away at writing blogs.

The heat, although still hot, does not bother me so – I have taken to the Paraense way of life by having a huge lunch and collapsing in a shady hammock to digest during the heat of the afternoon. My American friend Sara provided me with 40% DEET to scare away mosquitos (and humans – I had a few complaints about the unpleasant ‘eau de gringo’), which has to be sprayed even underneath my clothes. Now, rainy season is over – the summer here is drier, slightly cooler (still over 30 degrees and humid) and there are fewer mosquitos.

My housemates –  a couple Fagner and Paula - are brilliant people (and even more so for putting me up freeloading for over a month). Their house – a funky yellow setup with an outside kitchen full of plants and plenty of hammock space- is situated right in front of the river Caete. Fagner is local, Paula (the blondest girl in Bragança – she is half French) from Rio. Fagner works as the Minister of Culture in Bragança and Paula is on the environmental team. I can now see why she agreed to accompany him to this town in the middle of nowhere – it has grown on me a lot.

Despite being such a small town, there seems to be quite a bit going on. It is a University town, with its academic specialties in Bio Sciences, which means there is a large crowd of educated environmental folk. When anything happens in town, everyone knows about it and makes the effort to go, unlike London when each day requires a painful decision between so many options that you more often than not go for none. The Vacaria, a cosy hang-out with quirky artwork and tasty food and cocktails, is by far the best venue in town (acai and cachaca cocktail = recipe for instant sleep). There are a  surprising amount of artistic opportunities available for such a small place – during my short time here, there have been numerous dance, choral and percussion workshops. Bragança was the host of a 5-day long free music course (during which I studied conducting) which catered for musicians from the entire region of North Brazil. The spotlight was on Bragança as the town celebrated its 400 year anniversary- July witnessed a whirlwind of shows with top Brazilian artists and talented local musicians.

The beach at Ajuruteua is a 40 minute drive away through a lush ecosystem of mangroves and lakes, with bright red birds (guará) scattering the skies. At first the beach was a slight disappointment. Compared to the breathtaking beauty of the beaches in the South, where jungled mountains sweep down into sky-blue seas , Ajuruteua seemed somewhat plain with murky waters and vast expanses of tidal sands. However, I now find its emptiness enchanting. There are rivers, lagoons and miles of empty coast with wooden huts to be explored. Plus, there’s kitesurfing!

 Vila de Pescadores, next to Ajuruteua beach

 A rainy day at Ajuruteua. These 'palafitas' - huts on stilts - have great restaurants on board

Lakes and mangroves on the road to Ajuruteua. I didn't manage to photograph any Guara, but here's a stolen photo: 

                              

Bragança also has a plethora of folk traditions, including festivals, music and dance. It hosts the Marujada every year, a tradition dedicated to the city’s black patron saint Sao Benedito which originated in 1798 when slave communities took to the streets in song and dance and created an 'Irmandade' (Brotherhood) to celebrate their construction of a church. The festival today is a month-long carnival of song, dance and red and white dresses. The music of the Marujada is retumbao, which is played with large drums, a rabeca (a rustic violin typical of Braganca), and an onça, a drum played with a wet sock which sounds like a bear groaning. There are also regional varieties of the many music and dances which travelled over from Europe and were modified by the indigenous, black and caboclo (mixed race) communities, such as xote (some argue that this has roots in Scottish dancing), mazurka and forró (the name of which apparently is a bastardisation of ‘for all’). Interestingly today, there is little trace of African slave communities in Bragança. There are numerous quilombos (communities of fugitive slaves) in the state of Pará, but on the whole the state has little visible Afro-Brazilian presence. 

 Braganca's de Sao Benedito, which over looks the river Caete (below)

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The traditional dress of the Marujada. The dance consists of much twirling and bowing, accompanied by percussion and the rabeca, but internet is too slow to load videos... 

All in all, Bragança is not a bad place to be!

A New Beginning – Belem do Pará

Looking out of the plane window I saw a mass of green jungle, brown rivers and grey skies. Then Belem came in sight, a peninsular of high-rise buildings springing up unnaturally from the fertile ground. The next phase of my journey was enshrouded in as much mist as that city, which had now become invisible in the rain. I was off to teach music in a place called Bragança, a small town 4 hours away from Belem. I knew nothing: didn’t know where I’d be staying in Belem, nor Bragança, knew nothing about the music project. I was placing all my trust in a mysterious figure called ‘Diego Carneiro’, a concert cellist from Belem who had studied in London, who I had come to hear about casually while playing in a concert of Brazilian music in London. I had never even met Diego in person but he spoke so eloquently of the necessity of the area that I was persuaded to pack my bags and leave the buzzing metropolis of Rio for the Great Unknown. Whenever I told anyone in Rio that I was off to the state of Pará they all seemed perplexed – “What do you want to go there for? It’s hot and full of mosquitos. Stay here!” However, very few people from Rio had actually been to Belem – they were just full of short-sighted prejudice, as I suppose I would be if a foreigner told me they were leaving London for Slough.

See Belem here, right at the top where the Amazon meets the Ocean

I was met at the airport by someone who I thought was Alex. This person very kindly showed me around the sights of interest of the city, taking me first to the swanky riverside development to eat ice-cream (50 flavours, the majority consisting of tropical fruits with names that I’d instantly forget such as muruci, cupuacú, bacurí, taperebá), then around the historic centre.

The harbour of the old town. There are vultures everywhere here.

Ver o Peso market

The highlight was certainly the ‘Ver-o-Peso’ market (see the weight), which was full of exciting foods, artisan products and indigenous Indian potions to cure all ills. A woman took one look at me and decided that I was in need of natural Viagra, showing me a liquid concoction of Amazonian plants that was supposedly perfect for getting females in the mood. However, I thought that natural insect repellent was much more tempting (for males and mosquitos alike).

 My guide then takes me to the nearest river beach, around half an hour drive out of town. It is beautiful for 10 minutes, and then it pisses it down with rain. “There are two seasons in Belem”, he tells me: “Either it rains every day, or every day it rains”. Home from home, really.

River beach shots - Icoraci, a short drive down the river from Belem

At the end of the day I find out that my guide was not Alex, but Diego’s cousin Damon. Damon was a great guide with some interesting anecdotes about fights, families and family fights. He had served as an army general and trained American soldiers in the techniques of jungle warfare and survival, despite never having experienced a war himself – luckily, Brazil has not been involved in any wars since WW2. Somewhat at odds with the image of a tough army general, Damon is also incredibly spiritual and consequently afraid to enter old buildings. He shuddered as I marveled at the beautiful multi-coloured crumbling colonial facades, and was much more at ease when surrounded by the monolithic ‘predios’ (skyscrapers) of the new town. Damon is in fact a Spiritist, an evangelical sect which advocates communicating with spirits, charity and reincarnation. Spiritism, which developed from 18^th century French philosopher Allan Kardac, is particularly strong in Belem.

That evening, I was finally dropped at my destination: Alex’s apartment. Alex, who is a friend of Diego, lives with his wife Fabi and adorable 2-year-old Fernando (or Fefé as he is best known). They very kindly agreed to house me for the week. After living in a hostel for 3 months, it was a luxury to have my own room with air conditioning. I very much enjoyed being a typical woman and taking to the kitchen to cook and gossip with Fabi, a Rio girl (well, 27 year old lawyer) who had met Alex and had been dragged up to Pará. She takes careful note of the bathing habits of all the foreigners that they house, and tells me that I was the first foreigner they’d hosted who didn’t smell. Apparently their last guest was a Frenchman who took pride in the fact he never washed. Upon attempting to leave Belem, he smelt so bad that he wasn’t let on the aeroplane and had to go back to theirs and take a shower. Make believe? I don’t know, but I like the gossip.

Lost for ideas at the request to prepare a typical English dish, I decided instead to attempt to cook a Thai curry. This is in fact a curry a la Rachel – butternut squash, aubergine, curry powder, cashew nuts & coconut milk. Prepared a Vietnamese-style green mango salad with prawns the next day. Not too bad though I say so myself.

Alex, like Damon, is Spiritist, and is involved in many community projects as a volunteer. He has a motorcycle club called the ‘Expeditionaries of Pará’ which travel out to isolated communities in order to bring healthcare, education and entertainment once a month.

They also go to an Old Age Home in Belem once a fortnight to take the pensioners out in the sidecars of their motorbikes. I went along with them one Sunday and played the flute alongside a guitarist to entertain. The poor old folks seemed to have nobody else to visit them. They seemed to be on the whole pretty deaf to our efforts, until suddenly one old lady starts clapping and stamping. I hope this was a sign of enjoyment, though it could just as likely have been in protest. I played a few Brazilian tunes and Beatles numbers. It is fascinating how the Beatles reached such remote corners of the world.

One old man decided to take me to his room to show me his collection of English books. He had always been fascinated by British culture, and in his 90s had finally started studying English. His roommate grumbled and glared at me as I entered the room. I don’t think he appreciated the foreign invasion.

Music

Since music is the reason I came to Brazil in the first place, it merits a section alone. My entrée to the music scene in Belem was Glenn Shephard, a friend of Diego and an American ethnologist who studies indigenous communities in the region. He is himself a great musician and plays the banjo, along with just about every other stringed instrument. Here's his blog: http://ethnoground.blogspot.com.br/

Belem has a strong tradition of classical music, and one of the finest theatres in Brazil to house performances: Teatro da Paz. I first came across the Teatro as a carnival float back in Rio, and had climbed up onto the stage and sipped tea out of a china tea cup. It is a beautiful building and a relic of Belem’s heyday in the rubber era, around the turn of the 20^th century. I went to hear Belem’s orchestra play music from Classical composers from the region. I couldn’t identify many regional influences, but there was one excellent Stravinsky-like piece that snapped me out of slumber.

My first Sunday night in Belem was spent playing choro music in the Bar do Gilson, a shack on the outside but an expansive music hall inside. It is famous for samba and choro, both music styles which originated from Rio de Janeiro. I was somewhat a rarity there – an English girl who speaks Portuguese and plays choro music in Belem is, after all, not what they see every day. One of the old vetarans, Amador do Bandolim, who is known for having spread the choro tradition in the Amazonic region, presented me with his book of compositions and CDs. 

                                                Playing 'Cadencia' in Bar do Gilson, Belem

I was invited to participate in a choro concert the very following week in the Teatro da Paz to commemorate the anniversary of the death of Pixinguinha, one of the principal composers of choro music - and a flute player. The orchestra consisted of around 50 musicians, and was a mixture of amateurs and professionals, young and old, men and women. They had been rehearsing since March, but I was allowed to jump in on the final rehearsal before the concert. I managed to confuse the starting times and arrived to the rehearsal 2 hours late – much to their surprise, not all Brits are punctual. The most exciting part was being interviewed by the TV crew which was covering the event – my first TV interview ever! Not that I’ll ever see the fruits of it…

Teatro da Paz, Belem. Me and the Teatro da Paz are destined to be. I clambered upon it as a semi-complete float in the Samba Factory, watched it glide by in the Sambodromo, marvelled at its grandeur from the plebeian masses in Belem and finally got to play in it.

The principle traditional styles of music found in Pará are, in order of personal preference, Carimbó, Lundu, Brega and Technobrega, which all have their corresponding dances. The music is heavily influenced by indigenous music, principally in terms of the rhythms, dances, and the use of flutes – Western classical flutes, bamboo flutes and recorders pepper the music of Pará. I am now playing in a band of Carimbo.

The term 'Carimbó' comes from the drum called the 'curimbo' made out of a hollow tree trunk that is traditionally used in the music. It is a fusion of Indigenous and African traditions, and its characteristic rhythm was popularised in internationally with the genre Lambada. Modern carimbó also has touches of Cumbia and Merengue from Brazil's Latin American neighbours. The music is typically danced in pairs, the woman wearing a long flowery skirt and the man a sombrero with corks dangling off the end. The fusion of Portuguese folk dancing (maracas, flamenco style) with African sensuality is evident. Here is an example of Carimbó:

A very 80s Carimbo video with all  Belem's tourist marks - Ver o Peso, old fort and twirling women

The style of music called Lundu comes from the Ilha de Marajó, the largest island of Brazil which is the size of England found at the mouth of the river Amazon. Like a true prudish British girl, was shocked at the extremely sexual nature of the dance. I felt as if I were watching a programme on animal mating rituals on the Discovery Channel. The music, however, is harmless. It is principally instrumental, and consists of a heartbeat on a drum, and a slow decorated melodic line commonly played on the flute.

Brega is tropical pop music from the 70s- it is bearable background music. Technobrega is, as its name suggests, a modern and synthesised version of brega- not my cup of tea. Technobrega has become popular outside of Pará, and the doll-faced popstar Gaby Amarantos even managed to play at the Barbican in London recently.

Nightlife
Belem has a surprisingly varied music scene. Rio de Janeiro lives and breathes samba. As much as I love samba, it was refreshing to hear new sounds. I went to a riverside bar which was playing a mixture of soul, reggae, Balkan beats and electro – what more could you want? (I find it amusing how reggae in Brazil is a sensual couple’s dance. Back home reggae is a single stoned man’s bop.) I was also dragged out to a rock bar, and photos were taken of me with the iconic British rock bands I barely know. I must admit that I am extremely ignorant when it comes to ‘dad rock’ – I can’t identify a single Led Zeppelin or Sex Pistols tune.

Religion
Belem means Bethlehem in Portuguese. It is, unsurprisingly, an incredibly religious city, home to the biggest Christian festival in the world. Every year in December, the city comes alive with 3 million people dressed in white to participate in the ‘Nossa Senhora de Nazareth’ celebration. The festival commemorates a ‘miracle’ which occurred 400 years ago in the early days of the city of Belem. The story is the following: a man finds a statue of the Virgin in a stream a little way out from the centre of the settlement which is now Belem. He takes the statue to the church in the city. The following day, however, the statue had disappeared from the church and appeared in the same stream where it had been found the previous day. Astounded, the devout man built a shrine in the Virgin’s desired riverside resting place, and with time the Cathedral of Nazareth was built to mark the spot. The festival of ‘Nossa Senhora de Nazareth’ celebrates this happening with a giant-sized Virgin statue being dragged by hoards of people from one church to the other, and back again the following day. It is apparently a joyous occasion which brings people together, and unlike Carnival, is peaceful. Students are the Virgin’s principal rope-pullers - it is a great excuse to take the day off studying, says my student friend.

Cirio de Nazare celebration

Belem's Cathedral

Religion is everywhere in Pará. Every street is littered with Evangelic and Catholic churches, ranging from terrifying modern buildings to crumbling colourful shacks in the ‘invasões’, invasion being the unpleasant word here for favela. One of the most popular churches here is the evangelical church ‘Assembleia de Deus’ (Assembly of God). Its chief Minister was involved in a major corruption scandal a few years ago, but this hasn’t seemed to affect its popularity amongst the poorer sectors of Brazilian society. It is very rare to escape from religion in Pará: every shop, every car, every home and every public building has some form of religious paraphernalia or slogan. Religion is also a certified road to political success: the mayor of Bragança is a former priest. Every time I turn the radio on I hear soppy God pop. Jesus sells everything here.

Food

Being the foodie that I am, I was incredibly excited to try the exotic tastes of Pará. Its reputation as a food capital has apparently been established since a famous Brazilian TV chef recently lauded its flavours. The population of Pará consists principally of mixed-race descendants of indigenous communities, which is reflected in its cuisine.

Mandioca – a white potato-like root sometimes known as cassava in England, and the basis of most dishes. There are two types of mandioca: the sweet mandioca is known as macaxeira and is fried to make chips. The second kind, known simply as mandioca, is poisonous and must undergo a rigorous distillation process. The mandioca is squeezed in a net-like sock. The liquid is collected, and naturally separates into a gluey substance called ‘goma’ and a clear substance called 'tucupi’.  The goma can be dried to make ‘farinha de mandioca’, little puffy balls of mandioca flour. The mandioca which remains in the sock is used to make ‘farofa’ – a flour-like substance which is cooked up with garlic and bacon to garnish most Brazilian dishes.

Farinha on sale at the market

Jambú – a spinach-like vegetable which makes your mouth instantly numb when chewed- a very strange sensation. Pasteis de jambú, or fried up pasties with jambú inside, are delicious. It is also made into a cachaça, which leaves you numb and burning.

Tacacá – a soup made out of tucupi (the poisonous broth from mandioca) with jambú, prawns and goma at the bottom. It is served in a bowl made out of a pumpkin shell (cuia) and sipped directly from the bowl, with a tooth pick to get the prawns and jambú – spoons are not allowed. It is a common street food snack. (When it is hot, Paraenses – inhabitants from Pará – like to drink hot soup. When it is rainy, they go for ice-cream. The logic? Don’t ask). The soup itself is tasty, if slightly acidic, but having your mouth buzzing at every bite of jambú is perhaps more of an acquired taste. I was enjoying my tacacá until I got to the snot-like goma at the bottom... How anyone could enjoy that is certainly beyond me.

Eating/Drinking Tacaca with Cibele, Braganca's volunteer co-ordinator (and amazing person)

Maniçoba – Pará’s answer to the feijoada, Brazil’s national dish of a been hot-pot. This contains, unsurprisingly, jambú. It looks like sewage but is apparently very tasty. I haven’t tried it yet.

Açai – now we’re talking. Pará is the home of açai, the super-food berry that is consumed in vast quantities all over Brazil. I used to have açai on an almost daily basis in Rio, but there it comes as a frozen paste mixed with guaraná (a natural energetic syrup that tastes like red bull) and is served with banana and granola. Paraenses turn up their noses at this way of preparing açai and have it au natural, with sugar and little crunchy balls of farinha. Açai berries are tiny balls that grow on palm trees, which collected by men who climb up trees with contraptions on their feet to hold them in place. During early mornings the main harbour comes to life with the barter of açai bundles as the boats from the nearby islands arrive with their stock. The açai season is in January, when it is dirt cheap. It is still readily available, but the price triples.

Note – acai is not very sexy. It gives you purple teeth and a black tongue.

Acai berries on a palm tree

Pupunha – these are small yellow balls with stones inside which you peel, a cross between a chestnut and an avocado. Great slightly salted with coffee.

Acerola & Cupuaçu – of all the tropical fruits, these are my favourites. Acerola looks like a pink cherry, but is extremely sour. When sweetened and turned into a juice, it is delicious and refreshing. Cupuaçu has a strong and creamy taste and is delicious as ice-cream. 

Other things which are abundant in Pará are brazil nuts (known here as Pará nuts), fish and sea food. I am incredibly happy to have fish back in my life – despite Rio being a sea-side city, fish was surprisingly hard to come by and seafood was expensive.

There you have it – Pará in a few paragraphs.

Favela Life

The Background Story - a Brief Intro into the Favelas of Rio de Janeiro

                                                     Favela collage, MAR museum, Rio

I shall start from the beginning. The earliest favelas (slums) in Rio were formed in the late 19th century when masses of soldiers and ex-slaves from the North of Brazil migrated southwards towards the city in hope for better economic prospects. The word 'favela' comes, apparently, from a prickly bush in the North of Brazil. Favelas have always been a thorny issue in Brazil - an ever-expanding mirage of makeshift dwellings on the steep hills of Rio, they are home to drug gangs, police invasions, shootings, demolition, and now 'pacification' and 'gentrification' - a process of 'cleansing' the swanky Zona Sul in the build up to the World Cup and Olympics, pushing the violence into the suburbs.

Art is used to denounce the gentrification and middle-class takeover of the favelas, forced evictions and police racism - MAR museum, Rio

Many favelas in Rio work like this. The 'Dono do morro', or owner of the favela (morro = hill), is a drug lord. Since the police don't do their rightful job of protecting & preventing crime in the favela, this is taken care of by the Dono do Morro, aside from presiding over the drug trade. His job is to protect the favela and all its inhabitants from crimes that he deems unacceptable. Each favela is a law unto its own - the Dono will set out his rules by example. In Rocinha (the largest favela in Latin America, with over 200,000 inhabitants), rape is unacceptable, and is apparently met with the following sentence: being rolled up inside a tyre and burned to death. I would like to think that no crime merits that punishment.

Morro dos Prazeres, a favela up the road from me.

However, neither drug consumption nor dealing are deemed crimes, and both go on in broad daylight. If you want your cocaine fix, simply ask the child runner at the entrance of the favela. This child is either paid a handsome sum or, as a friend witnessed, with a line of cocaine. The Dono has people working for him in all corners of the community, and pays his workers generously. Who wouldn't give up their minimum wage job (currently R$622, or £210 per month) to earn R$1000 per week doing virtually nothing? Such a vast difference in the two income options is also what corrupts the police, who are also paid a measly base salary of R$964 (£320)  a month, one of the lowest police salaries in Brazil - just enough to cover rent in Rio. And life in Rio is certainly not cheap - food, transport and accommodation prices are soaring. The whole procedure is risk free- there is often an extensive network of spies - again, often children - who will light bangers to warn the community if they see the police coming. Most of the time, the drug lords receive a tip off long before the police arrive to give them a chance to get away. 

"Lilia", who used to live in the favela close by, told me the drug lord took a liking to her son and started playing with the child on a daily basis. Luckily, she had the foresight to get out of this situation and leave the favela for good - she did not want her child to be groomed as the Dono's right-hand boy, nor put herself at risk by refusing. She now lives over 2 hours away, but continues to commute to work in Santa Teresa despite the travel costs.

With Pacification, this is now changing. The UPP - specially trained 'Pacification' police officers, supposedly university-educated and idealistic - are stationed within the favelas. The aim of Pacification is to return law and order to the State, with the UPP police working alongside the residents of the favela to strengthen the community, weaken the influence of the traficantes and change the negative image that residents have always had of the police. Pacification has been successful in this respect - many of the traficantes have ceased to operate in the favelas where the UPP are stationed, and are either in jail or in hiding. Many of the favelas which used to be plagued night and day with gunfire are now peaceful, with children playing in the streets without fear of getting hit by stray bullets. The film Elite Squad, the sequel to the film City of God, depicts how relations between the favelas and police were filled with mistrust and gunfire.

Although it cannot be denied that Pacification has been largely successful in reaching its objective of peace in the favelas, it is by no means flawless. It is said that the Donos continue to operate their trade from behind bars - it is in fact a safer existence for them in prison, and they are unlikely to be reformed by the time they are released. The drug trade has not disappeared, but continues to flourish covertly. The UPP are by no means exempt from tales of corruption- if the Dono pays his monthly bill, the police remain quiet. Many favela residents complain of an increase in petty crime, as the police are not as effective at enforcing law and order as the drug lords were. The longevity of the pacification is another great concern. It is argued that the Pacification process is simply temporarily relocating the gangs, drug trade and gunfire away from the tourist areas which will host the World Cup and Olympics to the sprawling slums in the suburbs of Rio de Janeiro. Only time will tell. For an insight into the controversy surrounding the ‘Pacification’ and ‘Gentrication’ of the favelas, see the short documentary Public Domain.

'Pacification' police at the entrance to a favela. Slogan reads 'It is possible to beat crack'

However, not all in favelas is doom and gloom; where the state is absent, NGOs and grassroots community organisations (and of course, the Church) have stepped in. The heart of samba is found in the favelas, with samba schools organising events, dinners and rehearsals throughout the year. Born out of necessity, recycled materials are used in ingenious ways and transformed into art. The mini-houses below are made out of recycled materials by the woman's collective in the community centre where I worked, the Atalie Mulheres de Santa, and sell for handsome sums in the tourist markets of Rio.

  

                                  

An example of the mini house built in the JO community centre. They also made beatiful artistic paper out of recycled cardboard, which is sold  in the boutique stores in Ipanema.

One of the most impressive projects I saw in Rio was that of the Project Morrinho. Whilst walking along the South Bank in London last year, I came across a mini-favela built out of bricks right outside the National Theatre. I stopped to take it in. It's details seemed endless: this life-like favela was complete with people, churches, sexual health clinics, baile funks, graffiti, schools, police fights, drug traffickers, bars and slogans demanding social justice. When I arrived in Rio, I found out that the ProjetoMorrinho was born a 10 minute walk away from my hostel, and I decided to visit it and meet Cilan, the founder of the project. According to Cilan, it all started out as a children's game. Faced with a lack of alternative forms of entertainment, Cilan and his friends created a world out of the redundant bricks lying around their favela in which they could simulate gun fights and muck around. The mini-favela grew and grew. It has since transformed into a large-scale project, taking him and his team around the major cities of Europe to recreate the favelas of Rio and demonstrate that Art can be used to promote social change. The installation in the South Bank was built in collaboration with a group of disadvantaged youths from Lambeth. 

This was in the entrance to the project's headquarters in the favela Pereira da Silva, Rio. The signs read "Project Morrinho. The fight is only over when life finishes" / "Focus, strength and faith".

Project Morrinho's headquarters, in Favela Pereira da Silva, is the hut at the top of the hill. Humble on the outside, inside it contains the latest Apple technology and all material relating to the project. It is surrounded by the original mini-favela. Most of the work had been destroyed due to rain and falling mangos, but Cilan said he would repaint it in the dry season.

The installation at the MAR museum

Art is used in a similarly constructive way by the Dulcinéia Collective, who worked with the community in Morro da Providencia, the oldest favela of Rio, to create this impressive array of hand-made books. All profits go supposedly go back into the community. (Whether or not the literature is appreciated by the community is a different matter). Here they are on display at the MAR museum:

                                      Book covers created by the residents of Morro da Providencia, MAR museum

The documentary ‘Waste Land’ is a must-see for anyone interested in exploring the potential of Art as a medium for social transformation. Renowned Brazilian artist Vik Muniz travelled to Jardim Gramacho in Rio, the largest landfill site (or rubbish dump) in the world, to work with the team of litter pickers there who fight through mountains of putrifying rubbish for little reward. I say no more – watch the film. Here's the trailor: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sNlwh8vT2NU

Finally, here's a snapshot of favela life - or at least my time spent working there - to leave you with. I was sitting at the bar attempting to learn to play the cavaquinho (Brazilian ukulele ubiquitous in samba and choro music) with Niger, the Brazilian volunteer at the Community Centre I worked in. An old man started joining in with one of the sambas we were singing, and we struck conversation. He proceeded to recount his life story: he was orphaned at 10, was a slave to the drug trade, went to prison, sold his younger sister for sex, but managed to turn his life around, holding down a low-paid but honest job and support a family. Not the story you expect to come from an afternoon of music making, but you have to remember that joy and suffering are both an integral part of life here, each experienced to the extreme.

                                         

Niger playing samba 'Canto das 3 racas' on the cavaquinho in the street of J.O.

The Gun

Everyone who has watched the film 'City of God' knows that guns are commonplace in favelas. But to witness this for yourself is a different matter.

It was a Wednesday afternoon and the sky was threatening rain. I was on my way to Music class at the community centre, walking as usual through the grimy alleys of the favela. Only the community seemed lifeless and still, somewhat ominous. The habitual greetings were nowhere to be heard. Instead of the usual friendly faces were a group of sullen faced men who stared at me demandingly as I walked by.

Class starts. Six gunshots sound. I jump out of my skin and stop playing the guitar. The class is laughing at me - they are not gunshots, they're just fireworks, they all tell me. How can they be so sure? I check with the adults of the community centre, and yes, apparently they were fireworks. The fact that these children know to differentiate the sound of gunshots from bangers is in itself disturbing. It happens again. I jump, they laugh. We volunteers felt uneasy leaving the centre, but the adults assure us that all is fine.

It is raining. I head up the main alley, past the bar. And then I see it. It shines up at me, polished, gleaming. It is visibly positioned  mid-lap. I sneak a look at the owner. A new face, and not a pleasant one. He is tough, old and black. His eyes are red and glazed - perhaps crack, perhaps alcohol, perhaps life. He is sitting importantly on an office chair under a green gazebo, walkie-talkie in one hand, the other fondling the gun on his lap. He looks like he means business. Stunned, I didn't know whether to greet him or nor, and frankly don’t remember if I did. His eyes burn into me as I walk up the hill.

That Wednesday afternoon, the bubble burst. The small community that had seemed so pleasant, so peaceful, so much preferable to those monotonous tower apartment blocks in the land of the 'asfalto', became a favela.

During subsequent visits I started seeing things that I had previously either chosen not to see, or had not existed. Walkie-talkies guard the upper and lower entrance to the favela. The group of men who hang around  the bar outside the community centre have huge transparent plastic bags stuffed with balls of cotton wool, which they dole out in broad daylight. Spliffs are no longer hidden.The gun has changed hands, but is ever-present. Male volunteers have it pointed at them, demanding who they are and what their business is. Females get the greedy glare.

We ask about. No one in the community knows – or is willing to tell us – exactly what has happened, but there is certainly a change in the air. The cleaning lady, who has lived in the community the best part of her life, walks an extra mile to avoid the gun. Speculation is that the old bandido is back in town and, after serving his probably minimal time in jail, is back to mark his territory.

Two weeks later I have re-adjusted. The gun is now part of my daily routine. I greet and joke with its holders, even take a picture with one of them - a smiley middle-aged black guy with a podgy crater-marked face. Is he the same man as before? The mind is a powerful tool - perhaps the old, scar-faced man with red eyes was a figment of my imagination.

It is amazing how malleable we humans can be. What had shocked me two weeks earlier had ceased to do so, and, like the children, I simply accepted drug-trafficking, guns and bandits as part of everyday life. But that, for me, was a temporary life. These children  know no different – they grow up under the law and order of the traffickers, idolise their I-pods and women, learn that being a criminal is easier and pays more than an honest day’s work. Having known and worked with these children made this harsh reality strike home. Let’s just hope that they see the alternative. Let them be the drummers, singers, Capoeira maestres, actors and football players that they have the potential to be; anything but life with that gun. And let us all remember that ‘reality’ is not always to be accepted.

Cinderella & the Julio Otoni Project

WARNING - watching this Baile Funk video before reading this blog entry is essential.

Baile Funk = urban music from the favelas of Rio, with terrible but catchy lyrics and many gyrating bums. Cinerella's ball is located at the Baile Funk, and she dances Lek Lek Lek forever with her prince charming Thiaguinho (Brazilian popstar pictured below).

                                         

To direct a play is bound to be hard work. To attempt to direct a play in another language with manically energetic children from a favela is quite a different ball game. Nonetheless, the play was directed - and it seemed to be a great success, if the popularity of the songs is anything to go by. My reggae-Cinderella song seems to have stuck in quite a few heads, and even sprouted out to haunt me on my peaceful hike up the mountain today...

Julio Otoni

Julio Otoni is a small community (a euphemism for favela) which houses around 2000 people, many of whom are (or claim to be) related to each other by some degree. Its entrance is located a 5 minute walk down the road from my base in Rio, Casa guesthouse, proving a stark contrast with the beautiful colonial houses on the 'asfalto' surrounding it. (This is often the case in Rio - rich and poor, cheek on jowl. Sao Paolo's favelas are located mostly on the outskirts of the city, making the city centre appear more 'westernised' but no less dangerous.)

                                                            The entrance to the community.

As favelas go, Julio Otoni is tiny and, on the surface, idyllic. It was always a pleasure to walk through the community to the sound of samba blasting out of the shop speakers, treading dogshit through fragrant clouds of marijuana, past men who seem to do nothing but hang around the bar all day, brushing off the invariable comments that such men make when they see a 'gringa' passing by, greeting a child that I knew, saying 'bom dia, tudo bem?' to everyone I encountered along the route. I say it was a pleasure without being sarcastic- Julio Otoni. has such a strong sense of community, something which rarely exists in middle-class urban life. 

Although Julio Otoni is a tiny community, it also falls prey to the same vices as elsewhere. It is not unusual for children as young as twelve or thirteen to become involved with gang culture as well as dealing with other social problems such as teenage pregnancy, lack of schooling and illiteracy, and lack of professional qualifications. Living in a favela more than often means living with the drug trade - and its accompanying violence - on your doorstep. It's small size means that it gets overlooked, and is not provided with the infrastructure, investment and NGO development funds that larger favelas receive.

The Julio Otoni Project was founded in 2004 at a time when the favela was far from safe, and converted a run-down bar into a vibrant and colourful community centre. The focus of the project has always been the children of the community, providing alternative and enriching educational activities in order to keep them off the streets. It is currently attended by around 35 children.

Side of community centre. Sign reads 'safefy zone for heavy rains' - landslides are very common in Brazil, since many favelas are built precariously on steep hills without solid foundations. Over 30 people were killed in a landslide last week in Petropolis, Rio de Janeiro state.

Rehearsing in the music room. The colourful blobs on the wall are our handiwork - we repainted the music room and playground during the summer holidays.

The centre has two permanent employees from the community who help with management, sell mini-houses and paper made out of recycled materials and provide food for the children, but the rest of the staff are volunteers who come and go (both Brazilians and foreigners like myself). This unstable staffing situation is never ideal since it relies upon the will and 3-month visa restrictions of international volunteers. However, the recent wave of volunteers has helped revitalise the centre, which for a short time had shut due to lack of volunteers and management. The classes currently provided are English, Theatre, Photography, Music, Breakdance, Capoeira, Sport, Citizenship and Learning/ Reading Support. Casa is currently hosting volunteers and offers a hostel work/volunteer placement in exchange for free accommodation. At the time I arrived, the only classes were Learning support, Music and Capoeira - the centre was thus a blank canvas for us to fill up with activities according to our varying interests. This was great for me, since I was able to carry out a project that I had long been hatching - teaching English through music, theatre and movement to produce the play "Cinderella in the Favela". 

During the summer camp in February, we took the children on a trip out in the countryside to a museum of popular folk art, where they were led around by an enchanting pied-piperess who sung songs about all the artists. They were very excited to see the open sea - despite living so close, they rarely get to go to the beach.

Little Miss Posers!

Sport class in action. If I had a better camera, you'd see Christ looming on the hill in the background

Cinderella - the Idea

The story of Cinderella - a young girl from a broken family in a favela, forced to work day and night as a cleaner, who forgets her troubles for one night as she dances the night away at the Baile Funk Party  - rings true for the life of many young women in favelas. 

But since the story is a fairy-tale, a bit of make-believe must be part of the recipe: Lady Gaga appears as the fairy Godmother, and the popstar Thiaguinho is Prince Charming (the childrens' casting ideas).

The play involved the collaboration of all the volunteers and staff of the community centre, and combined elements from the English, Music, Breakdancing and Capoeira classes to create a show which combined all art forms. This is the first time such a project has been run at the centre, and I hope it will be start of many more to come.

Sticking posters up all over J.O...

Putting the Idea into Practice

First things first, Cinderella doesn't live in a 'favela', but a 'community'. This is one of the many delicate issues that had to be addressed - I talked through the idea with the women at the community centre, and they thought that the catchy title 'Cinderella na Favela' could be offensive, so the word 'favela' was eliminated.

I had originally envisioned the production to be a culmination of 3 months of English classes, but I did not foresee a crucial point: the 2 month-long summer holidays. This meant that the project had to be carried out in a limited period of 5 weeks: a hectic race against time when working in an environment in which everything - the children, attendance, the staff, the other volunteers, the language, the audience - was unfamiliar or unknown. I perhaps obstinately insisted that the project go ahead despite all adversities, and ran into a few obstacles (namely a marketing blunder) along the way. However, the play itself was a great success: the children and audience loved it, and we managed to raise some money for the centre. That the children gained something out of the experience is, for me, the most important part. Forget the organisational hinter-politics...

At first, the project was not met with too much enthusiasm. The children enjoyed coming up with their own ideas for the plot outline (we discussed ideas for the identity of the fairy Godmother, location, and prince charming), but when it came to concentrating during rehearsal time this was a different matter. The children were just about manageable when sat down with a pen in their hands (aside from the inevitable pen squabbles), but when asked to stand up and divided into groups, chaos ensued. The simplest excercise (A - B - A - B, As on this side, Bs on that side) resulted in heated arguments about unfair teams and, at worst, fights before the game had even been explained. I had ideally wanted the children to work together in groups of mixed ages and gender, but it seems that the girl/boy divide had been engraved into their heads from an early age. This meant that the working style had to be altered, and all aspects of the play had to be directed as opposed to developed from the childrens' work in groups. The result- a sore throat. 

Lessons were two hours long. Generally the first hour was spent learning vocabulary and completing worksheets in a classroom setting, and the second spent rehearsing and consolidating the vocab learnt through games, music and theatre. Myself and Suzie (my friend from University who came out to Rio to join me) wrote the script for the play, and we came up with the format of a narrator who would speak in Portuguese whilst the rest of the dialogue was in basic English. 

Here are a couple of extracts:

(Beginning)

Narrator – Era uma vez uma menina que se chamava Cinderella. Ela morava com a mãe, o pai e o cachorro dela. A familia era muito feliz.

Cinderella - Hello. I am Cinderella.

Mother – Hello. I am Cinderella’s mum.

Father –  Hi. I am Cinderella’s dad.

Dog –  Woof woof. I am Cinderella’s dog.

Narrator – Eles moravam em Julio Otoni, e estavam muito contentes.

Everybody – We live in Julio Otoni, Julio Otoni is great! 
*song*

See that part in the performance, with Lady Gaga 'hello how are you' song 

When Thiaguinho meets Cinderella:

Thiaguinho: Hey sexy lady, come to my Baile Funk.   (yes, the kids picked up on the Gangnam Style reference!)

Cinderella: Yes I'd love to.

Stepsisters: You're not coming.

You get the picture.

One thing that proved extremely difficult to work with was the children's irregular attendance, and the fact that there were two classes so that there were two of each character. (School in Brazil is divided into morning and afternoon. The kids who went to school in the afternoon came to the centre in the morning, and vice versa). We ended up doing the first half of the play with the afternoon kids, and the second half of the play with the morning kids. This meant that the final play had 2 Cinderella's, 2 Thiaguinhos, 2 lots of Stepsisters etc, and roles would switch each week due to absence or refusal to participate (one family of three kids were locked in their house 2 weeks in a row since their father had gone out to work, so they just watched from their window). Confused? So was I, don't worry.

We also were lucky enough to have the two worst times:  Friday afternoon, when the kids were hyper with the weekend awaking, and Monday morning, with children as sleepy and grumpy as ever after a weekend of staying up until 2am. If the Monday children turned up at all, they would roll in 45 minutes late.

The morning children were far worse than the afternoon children. Anything deemed unfair or not to their liking would trigger either a silent rebellion by one of the trio of sulky brothers or a vocal/physical rebellion by Fabio*, the big boss of the show. Whatsmore, the whole class would laugh each time I pronounced a name slightly wrong - a common tactic for working up foreign volunteers, I discovered. One 7-year-old boy had the attention span of a goldfish and would break into Capoeira moves at any given moment, and a 7-year-old girl with an angelic face had the most devilish tendency to never EVER stop talking. 

Then came the afternoon kids. A lively bunch, but on the whole controllable and a brilliant fun to work with. The class clown Bruno adored being an ugly sister, as did tiny Paulinho adore being Cinderella's dog. Marco was a great and caring mother-come-ugly sister (he did a wig transformation mid play), Carlos - a mixed race kid with bright green eyes - did a stellar job as Thiaguinho, always listening attently and helping with crowd control. Fernando  was a solid narrator, and knew all the cues much better than I did, shooting me looks of exasperation if I failed to provide the drum beat which announced Cinderella's mum's death.

*childrens names have been changed

 Ode to Fabio

Fabio was a right character. He was the oldest and biggest of the group, and would frequently boss and bully the others around (yes, there was a penis-pinching incident). However, Fabio is the most hilarious kid I have ever met. He was chosen for the part of Thiaguinho, which instantly gave him the power to manipulate us poor volunteers, threatening each week to quit his part. We decided enough was enough, and gave the part to Walter, but when Walter missed class the following week, the part was reluctantly handed back over to Fabio  (Walter didn't turn up to the performance in silent protest.) With Fabio I felt like I was in an abusive relationship.We were dependent on him because he could be a bloody good Thiaguinho, playing up perfectly to his role as popstar-seducer. This dependence gave him power, and naturally, power is there to be abused... He would flip from being charming and hilarious to becoming angry and violent at a moment's notice, and threatened not to participate each week.  He once raided our costume supply and dressed up in women's clothes tickled girls with a cat's tail, moments before he was sent out because of the penis-pinching incident. His comments many times forced me to stifle my laughter - or simply crack up whilst standing up about to conduct a song. Oh Fabio.

The Rocky Lead-Up...

The final week of rehearsals was an emotional roller-coaster. As is usually the case when working for a huge event, it crept up on us rather too quickly. There was much to be done, and very little time. This led to an oversight / severe blunder in the marketing 'department' (me and Suzie). I sent a few emails out to guests who would be staying at the hostel to invite them to the event, and drafted 3 versions of the invite in English, Spanish and Portuguese. I naively sent the same email to the project manager hoping that although she could not make either event herself, she could at least invite a friend to watch it. I got a fuming email back. The reason: a mistranslation. Explanation: in the Spanish & English versions I had put that the owner of Casa  had 'helped to found' the project, but I had accidentally omitted the word 'helped' so the Portuguese version read that the Casa owner had founded the project. I had also failed to include the logos of the project's official funders on the email. BIG MISTAKE. Instead of planning for the following day's dress rehearsal, I spent the evening ironing things out with the enraged boss, who thought that I was using the event as a marketing ploy for Casa. 

We had barely rehearsed the scenes individually, let alone tried to piece them together. As it dawned on them that I was actually serious about this performance business,  for the first time ever the morning children got quite a lot done in class (albeit with a lot of me screaming at the human door because it would not behave itself). I stole the sport, music and dance classes and turned them into Cinderella rehearsals without warning the children (mean of me, I know - oh the moans and groans when they heard that there would be no football made me feel like the Wicked Stepmother).

Our masterpiece - Cinderella backdrop. You can see evidence of the paint fight splattered on the sheet...

However, excitement kicked in when their costumes and set-design came into play. The Sunday before the show was spent planning costumes and painting scenery with a few of the kids - until they were kicked out because of a paint fight. During the classes the children made bunting and stage decorations out of funky material, toilet paper rolls, coloured tissue and foil, all put together beautifully by our Dutch volunteer Annette.

The children raided the fancy dress supply on paint day. Fabio poses as seductress, above

The Dress Rehearsal - Lady Gaga Goes Gago

When working with children, you would ideally get to know the kids before throwing them into roles. We cast Matheus, an earnest and serious child who is an incredible percussionist, in the cameo role as Lady Gaga. Not ideal, but his English was up to the job. 

The dress rehearsal was mid-flow, the 'Gaga ooh la laa' keyboard entry and drumroll sounded, Lady Gaga was.... nowhere to be seen. We all waited expectantly, magic hands wavering. Musical cue sounds again, drums are rolling. The suspense is unbearable. Lady Gaga finally emerges, dressed in a tight black miniskirt, a glittery gold top, red fairy wings and a blonde wig. The whole cast bursts into laughter - he looked amazing. Poor Mathues failed to see the funny side, and started sobbing. Music teacher Vania took him to the side and gave him a few words of encouragement, and the cast were given the 'it's theatre - loose yourself, loose your inhibitions, respect each other' prep talk. Everyone was close to tears. Mathues agreed to try the scene again, one one condition: he was to loose the skirt and to be called 'Lady Gago', and was then to rip off his wig and take to the percussion. Problem solved. I just hope he isn't scarred for life by the experience.

The afternoon class had got it together, but the  morning class was worse than ever - it was late, the children were tired, I was exhausted. I knew, however, that I had done all I possibly could, and it was now all in the hands of the kids. I could only hope that the kids would rise up to the challenge of the stage.

The BIG DAY (well, the 2 big days)

To my relief, it was all alright on the night. It was more than alright - the two performances went really well. All the children (even the Morning kids, shock horror) behaved and performed impeccably in both performances: the Cinderellas were sickly sweet, Thiaguinhos were delightful dandys, the Stepmothers & Stepsisters oozed wickedness and the chorus of houses, doors and dancers managed to contain itself. The baile funk & breakdancing scenes were brilliant - these kids are certainly talented in the dance/percussion department. Delighted parents chimed in with the singing and lines - the challenge was now to get the audience to pipe down!

The first performance was on a Friday night at the Community Centre. There was a jumble sale, hot-dogs & popcorn for the kids (cooked by the lovely ladies at the centre) and a makeshift hairdressing salon where Robki (breakdancer-come-hairdresser-come-artist) was shaving the kids' initials onto their heads.

Nb. Watch this space for decent photos/ videos of Cinderella. Decent photographers seem to take a while to edit...

Finale - Tempos Modernos.

The cast of Act 1 (afternoon group) preparing for show-time. Cinderella has the pearls and work short.

Robki's makeshift hair salon

The second performance was at Casa, and was supposedly for a R$10 entrance fee (although we are not very efficient bouncers). Hosting an event at the hostel was slightly more complicated than I anticipated - an event had been hosted a few years earlier and there was a burglary a few days later. No fingers pointed, but the management decided that future events were not to be open to adults of the community. However, we didn't have the heart to stop parents from seeing their own children perform, so all were allowed in. Let's just hope that tales of a huge house full of laptops, iPods and rich gringos don't fall into the wrong hands...

Roda de Capoeira on the terrace

After handing out their certificates on the terrace and having a photoshoot with the photographer of the team, the children made their way back down to the favela. This was supposed to be done in small groups, only the remote-control door failed to close,and herds of hyper children galloped uncontrollably down the hill back home. Oh dear, health and safety sirens are sounding...

Handing out certificates after the performance

After all that preparation, the events seemed to pass in a frenzied whirlwind of song, dance & fancy dress and life quickly returned to normality. For the first time in weeks I could relax without Cinderella to fret over - yet it was a strangely empty sensation. That, I suppose, is the life of Theatre.

The children of J.O. are incredible. Manic, volatile and hard to manage they may be, but smart, hilarious, superb dancers and rhythmic geniuses they are for sure. True little artists! They taught me far more than I taught them - I have never had so much fun working with children.

And of course, Cinderella would not have been possible without the many hands involved - Suzie (assistant director and the world's best Cinderella drawer), Niger, Vania, Annette, Niger, Rachel M (yes, life is difficult with 2 Rachels in the house), Robki, Eliane, Karina, Kiri at Casa for agreeing to hold the performance, the list goes on - cheers guys, if you ever get down to reading this!

Also - thanks to Haringey Shed, an inclusive theatre company which works with disadvantaged communities in London, for sparking many ideas in this play. One day these kids should get to know each other!

Goodbye Rio, goodbye children of J.O., goodbye Casa. Next destination: The Great Unknown (teaching music somewhere near Belem in the Amazon) with Amazonart.

Saying goodbyes - last day at the centre

Two incredibly energetic children.

Almost the entire cast (there was a long line of kids with pre-show toilet necessities) posing for our professional photographer on the terrace of the Casa. Again, I will grab the photos off her one day!

Preparing for Act 1 at the Casa. One of the Centre's permanant staff, Eli, helped kids prepare. Top middle - Cinderella's mummy (who puts on stepsister wig half way through), top right -Cinderella's doggie, and bottom a dancer.

Check out the wickedness of this Ugly Sister (make-up was to come)