September 9, 2007

• Independence Day

  Thursday i had an amazing English class…we discussed Matthew 25 and the stories Jesus told. My students (this is my adult class) had amazing insights…and they shared them in English. i was very proud of them.

  Friday was Independence day for Brasil. I really wanted my camera. but i decided since i didn’t have it, i needed to write like a picture for you to enjoy just a little but of it:

  A full belly makes you lazy. so i ate less and got on a combie for Paudalho, while everyone else was still drowzy from the churrasco. Celebrations reveal culture. culture that only shakes your hand when you are not listening. the drum beats reached my ears outside the town as i paid the driver. i walked past the houses that i wanted to stop and look inside. The steep hill with sun blazing across each cobblestone until it reached my worn black flip-flops. the palm trees shook their praise. i crosssed the bridge with its brass buttons and rusted crossbars. moto’s passed me with a honk. Everyone is out in the rua today. I have no plan, only to enjoy and tantalize my senses. the street that follows the river is lined with people. i pick out a familiar face–i don’t remember his name, but he was at church last week and so we are on speaking terms. but i cannot stay still. each person is a study, and there are so many more to see. the curls and powdered faces dressed to impress. Each school is out representing, with outfits that resemble carnival with their color and fringe and sparkle. The trumpets join the drums and cadences mix as i walk forward to the next school waiting to march. the little children are my favorite, the girls with gold slippers, looking up from their tall rectangular hats with big eyes…eyes of wonder and dlight, others of tears and exhaustion. it is a long walk, with long sleved marching band outfits.

  I figure that in a small city i should run into many people i know, but i run into memories first. walking past places is almost reliving them. the past is not so far away as to forget. And i shut my eyes angrily after i find them seeking certain faces from the crowd. i stop every few feet to see everything around me. the laughs and waves to friends. the determind trumpet player. the drummer with the gold earing and jaw firmly set before him. Was everyone watching him because he was so confident, or was he so confident because everyone was watching him? They marched and played for hours. his set gaze behind sunglasses never wavered.

  someone stole the smell of a friend as they passed me. past the park. past the rain refuge where i learned of rainbows. past the calda de cana and thirst quencher. i finger the real (.50$ US) in my pocket and regret only having money for a ticket back. the corner of the grand, hollow Catholic church leads to the pastel place and Danny. He is there with his arm sluggishly over his girlfriend’s shoulder. i wonder if it is heavy. they ask me the popular question of if i am alone and i nod happily at their dismay and make my excuses of moving on. The people are thicker now. Do they come out of the cracks to forget there is a tomorrow? Put on your best clothes and have a good time because how is the day and the day is now. Brasilians do this so well. i still plan at least a couple days ahead. i save up my free time and carefully snack on it before meals. but i am learning. how to be extravagant. How to be brilliant and not worry about fainting from exhaustion. learning about living in a time where there are no watches or days of the week…simply being there. accomplishing nothing but conversation and meals and perhaps a game of futebol.

  i want to keep walking, but the people coming towards me want it more. i soon find out that it is the biggest and the rudest who win in this game, the big mean man behind me quickly picking up speed, bowling people over in strikes. i fall in behind him, enjoying a second of space created by his wake. But kindness separates us as i stop for an elderly lady. i am pushed around for it and wrap my arms tightly around my chest thinkng “guard your carnal treasure!” Precillia makes space for me and intruduces several cousins and aunts to me. the end of the parade is soon, but i want to see it for myself. i hit another thick spot of people and the guy behind me lights a cigarette that goes up my nose and down the back of my throat. his hand firmly presses my back and i pray he doesn’t burn me. i look down to the cowboy books of a little boy sitting on the curb. his brim hides his face and i am pushed on. the parade ends. the sun is in its golden warm setting of 5:00pm, giving another 45 minutes of light.

  i am pushed into an even tighter crowd, the loud girl behind me continually bumping her ice cold beer into my arm. the condensation leaves a mark on my shirt. i feel one with the crowd. one with Brasil. alive in the drums and shaking fringe. i turn off the main road towards the front of the city where i will catch my ride. the venders line the street and i wonder if i could mooch some money for a pastry, fresh fried french fries, or a churro. Another beat of music calls me to a circle of white–Capoeira. I stand on the bench with the gazing little boys so i can see the smooth fluidity. Always asking to fight, always bowing to pass. no angle is surprising or difficult, even balancing on your head. The girl with the arm bracelet calls her partner in, the backs away in deference. i watch to see if someone is keeping score, but only see those keeping rhythm. it is dance, it is fighting, it is beauty. Pipoca doce must be passed over as i hand my worn, lonely real to the bus driver and wish i was riding the moto instead. hop on and kick the pedal back.

  I ate crabs authentically for the first time yesterday at the beach. at first i couldn’t handle removing joints and biting open the legs, but hunger drove me to it. I didn’t manage to eat the head, it was just too graphic–but made up for my wussy-ness by winning a push-up contest. well, sorta winning.

  • 2:53 pm
  • 1 Comment