Through my (open) eyes

I started this blog originally at my mom's suggestion so that my family and friends could keep up with my life in Brazil. Then she insisted on buying me a Typepad account and a domain name. And I was like, well ok. So really, this whole blog is because of my mom. Thanks, Mom.

But it's turned into something else, and one of my main goals for the blog is to show Rio to the rest of the world through my eyes, as if I had one of those hidden cameras clipped to my collar every day. Sometimes, though, it's hard to imagine what it's really like here without seeing it for yourself. Have you ever had your eyes cranked open by one of those creepy machines at the ophthalmologist, so that try as you might you can't close your eyes? That's what living in Rio is like, except it's like having both of your eyes held open while someone punches you in the face.

In order to live here, you have to desensitize yourself to things you would normally be sensitive to in order to stay sane. Namely, you have to numb yourself, effectively becoming indifferent to suffering you see within two minutes of walking out the door each day. It's not easy, but it's necessary.

But today I realized that maybe I haven't succeeded in doing that, because all day I felt acutely aware of everything unjust that I came across, and aware of just how incredibly unequal this place is.

The news doesn't help; flipping through the paper before one of my classes, I read about how the dengue epidemic in Rio has grown to the point where there are up to 45 cases reported PER HOUR, at around 900-1100 cases per day, and how people are getting turned away from the hospitals, which are overflowing, even though they clearly show symptoms of the disease. I read about how a 14 year-old girl was shot in the neck in a carjacking on the way to her parents' anniversary party. She is now a quadriplegic. I read about how muggings in Barra have increased, specifically in the exact areas I used to work and catch the bus. I read about how a woman in Goiana was arrested for keeping a girl enslaved and physically torturing her daily; she was found handcuffed and starved, and bloody chains and pliers were found in the home. The same woman was then accused of torturing two other young girls. The girl in question, aged 12, who was found this week after an anonymous tip, said:  "I just want to be happy [living with] my dad and studying. And to have a bicycle." I discovered a daily column in Globo, called "A cara da morte" (The face of death), where they list the unidentified bodies found by police around the city. On the bottom it says: "The homicide listed above doesn't represent the total amount of cases from yesterday. Rio has an average of seventeen murders per day." And finally, in a city where people are starving, Apple has decided to open its first South American branch of an official Apple Store (at Barra Shopping, of course).

Then, after I left the Oil Company office where I teach, which is nicer than most of the offices I've ever worked in stateside, I saw the dozens of ambulant vendors on the sidewalk leading to the subway. These people really got to me today, for some reason. There are the regulars, like the skinny lady who sells coconut milk for one real per cup, and on a good day will advertise her wares to passersby, and on other days just stares blankly into space. There are the people who are there passing through, like an old man selling keychains on a little slab of wood. There's the guy selling sunglasses, and the guy selling piggybanks, and the overly optimistic guy selling old-fashioned records, and the guy occasionally there selling alarm clocks. How these people manage to sustain themselves, and presumably, families, is beyond my comprehension.

Then, on my way into the Metro, there was the 10 year-old girl selling gum with her toddler brother on her lap. Then on my way home, there was the mom with her skinny little boy chewing on something, sitting on the sidewalk. There are the half dozen illegal mobile vendors with tiny stands with candy and gum, and the dozens of "legal" vendors in their green huts surrounding the Metro, selling everything from Barbie clothes to hot dogs.

Later today, I took a walk along the beach in Botafogo. The weather today was perfect: not too hot, not too windy, with some fluffy clouds lazily floating through the sky. Walking along the beach, with the Sugarloaf lit by the setting sun, the white heron anxiously perched on a rock hunched down against the delicious breeze, the Cristo disappearing and reappearing from behind the clouds, and a pale moon rising above the bumpy hills of Niteroi, I couldn't imagine a more beautiful city on the entire planet. But then again, there was the group of young homeless people camped out on the median; the woman with long braids wrapped in a blanket and apparently no bottoms, whose husband/boyfriend/partner handed her half a coconut, which she accepted gratefully; the very pregnant homeless woman with a bag of cans thrust over her shoulder; and there was the young couple sitting on the beach with five children, all of which looked under the age of 6, which were frolicking in the extremely polluted water of Botafogo Beach. I tried not to stare, but at first I thought I only saw three kids and then I realized there were more. I saw the couple hug limply before I turned the corner. Meanwhile, million-dollar yachts floated a couple hundred yards away in the marina.
                                                                                                                   
Then I went to visit Eli at the hostel, where he was belaying (?) a Mexican with a frighteningly bad haircut on the the rock wall, and I overheard a British guy trying to negotiate with the bartender so he wouldn't have to pay his R$200 caipirinha bill. Then I wandered through kids playing soccer while their very tanned moms chatted on their cell phones, and a little girl in full ballet clothes climbed a jungle gym very, very slowly and carefully. Then I passed three homeless people setting up camp for the night on my street, and now, I'm home.

 

The other day, I was talking to the Portuguese teacher at the Oil Company, who told me that a Dutch student once told her that living in Rio had made him "a better person."  I don't think I've become a better person: I'm still the same neurotic, bitchy, cynical New Yorker I've always been.

But my eyes are definitely wide open.

Comments

[Helena]

I don't think you're neurotic, bitchy, or cynical at all. I think you're a amazing human being. You care. And you are.. Human. It's really nice to read your blog Rachel. :)

[Emily]

"That's what living in Rio is like, except it's like having both of your eyes held open while someone punches you in the face."

I could barely control myself as I laughed at this. I know, I know, the issues are real, and, even in little ol' Belo Horizonte, these two gringos are being acclimatized in a major way! The poverty is unfathomable and daily I am reminded of how blessed I am! But your descriptions are so awesome!

My husband (who rarely reads blogs and thinks I spend way too much time them! HA!) was reading your post over my shoulder. He said, "Wow! That is incredibly descriptive. She's a really awesome writer!" That's quite the compliment coming from my hubby - and I with him agree 100%! :) I love reading your posts!

[Stephen]

Hi, I've been reading your blog for a few weeks after it was featured as a TypePad 'featured blog', and this seems like a good moment at which to say how much I enjoy it. This is a really great piece of writing, capturing the maddening cocktail of beauty and poverty. I visited Brazil for the first time last year (Salvador) and this was exactly my first impression. I found the poverty and desperation quite overwhelming and unsettling, even while lapping up the beauty, drama and sensuality of the place. Anyway, I really enjoy reading your stuff every day - I feel like it gives me a window into this world which goes much deeper than my own brief encounter.

[Thelma]

Wow, Rachel, what an amazing post! I never been in Rio but the way you wrote, it felt like I could see it through your eyes...

[Isabella]

Hi Rachel, now you know what's to be a carioca.

I grew up in Rio in the 60's and 70's and kept going back when on vacation and nothing of what you've described has changed... It seems it only worsens by the minute...

I was actually made aware of all this unfair social and economic inequality when I lived in the US in the early 80's. I was 16 and sooo naive...

I haven't been home since 2005 but everytime I go I get so angry. And I feel so helpless and at the same time so to blame for not trying hard enough to make a difference.

The Brazilian saying "morrer na praia" it's what describes best how I feel about trying to improve anything in Brazil. You swim and swim and die at the beach because the system is complete against you.

I rather raise my son here than in Brasil. I would not know how to do it...

Be sure this whole experience is going to change who you are forever and I really doubt you are a neurotic, bitchy, cynical New Yorker.

When September 11 happened I was about to come here to work and I thought to myself: this is the perfect time for Americans to realize how lucky they are and unite and put things like racism and intolerance behind them... But no, other choices were made...

We are all made of these choices, you know?

I would like to thank your mom as well for getting you this blog. You are doing a great job!

I just hope if an economical crisis hits teh US, my long and enduring Brazilian knnowledge of (failed) economic plans will help me survive! As for Americans, I am not so sure...

bjs

[Silvia]

Yeah, Rio has this thing going on where you can't possibly ignore poverty and all the people suffering. You just can't, it's everywhere you look.

It can be overwhelming to constantly deal with that, specially if you don't dedicate yourself to something, a project, a charity, whatever it is that can make you feel that you're doing something to help things improve. Rio definitely isn't for the pessimistic, it would be absolute torture to live there without keeping at least a bit of hope that things can still get better.

I lived in Rio (capital) for ten years, to me it felt like its decline picked up on a faster pace on the last 3 years. That's my impression at least. I've been away for over a year now - today all I know is what the media reports, I'm hoping that things aren't as bad as they look from here.

[Germano]

Very good blog! =)
It is helping me to understand the "other side", as I am moving to the US soon.

[Trapped in NJ]

Too powerful for (my) words.
Damn, I envy you.

[Isabella L.]

Hi, Rachel
Your post brought tears to my eyes. Your words were like a movie camera handled by a very sensitive film maker - clear and compassionate.
Thank you.

[cecilia]

wow rachel, you are officially a carioca now. carioca "da clara" since you cannot be "da gema"
amazing post, you are a very talented writer.
we must all thank your mom for the blog!

[DRL]

Wow. An amazing post. I agree, a camera clipped to a collar would make it easier to help people understand the sheer volume of what we absorb in one day... but you are so good at remembering what you see on a daily basis. I am still so overwhelmed by how much I see in Rio that I can't even remember half of it by the time I get home...
I agree wholeheartedly with the above posters, your descriptions are incredible.