I am feeling outside myself. It happens often enough I can begin to notice it coming. Maybe it is from eating peanut butter every night. I don’t even really like peanut butter. But I like it because right now I have a jar of it, and the rest of Brazil doesn’t. That makes me feel special.

The room is alone, and square. It is so empty. How do I fill it? I feel the coconut and beans mixing in my stomach. I saw Cesar today (one of the kids from Living Stones). I don’t know why there is a special bond  between us. There just is. I don’t remember choosing it, it just did. Some things are like that. You can’t figure them out, and you are darn glad you can’t. But sometimes you like to sit back and think about them.

The problem is, once you know one child, and learn to love them, you begin to find them everywhere. The boy on the kombe, working a man’s job. He should be in school. 12, 13 years old. He looks like one of mine. He could be one of mine. Is he one of mine? Why do I feel responsible? It is such a heavy thing to be responsible. Isn’t it supposed to be fun? Oh it is, with Milena playing her fingers across my arm, wiggling every direction but up, asking me to hold her tighter.

Every hug. Are they only nice because I am American, because I have something to give? What if I had nothing left—would  you still love me? In all of the unknowns, would you still be there? Oh God, I feel Saudades. I feel tears, but don’t know why. I want to add a name to my deep longing, but no names satisfy me.

I am simply grieving. And I don’t know what I lost. Where has it gone? So many things I could do. Right now. But what are the ones that count?  

What would it take to write a book like “The Help?” Why do I like it so much? Because it gives voice to people who didn’t have one. It empowers them. I want to do that for my kids. In the USA as well as in Brazil. I don’t want to just write about them, I want to write THEM. But I need to find the right one. I need to understand better. There are no books to read. Ok, I have some. But really, it is about knowing them. Living with them.

And for goodness sake, I need to learn how to take myself OUT of the picture. I am really pathetic at that in my writing.

The Ongoing Argument

Henry: Do you really think there is only one perfect mate?
Leonardo da Vinci: As a matter of fact, I do.
Henry: Well then how can you be certain to find them? And if you do find them, are they really the one for you or do you only think they are? And what happens if the person you’re supposed to be with never appears, or, or she does, but you’re too distracted to notice?
Leonardo da Vinci: You learn to pay attention.
Henry: Then let’s say God puts two people on Earth and they are lucky enough to find one another. But one of them gets hit by lightning. Well then what? Is that it? Or, perchance, you meet someone new and marry all over again. Is that the lady you’re supposed to be with or was it the first? And if so, when the two of them were walking side by side were they both the one for you and you just happened to meet the first one first or, was the second one supposed to be first? And is everything just chance or are some things meant to be? –Ever After

My theories go from this quote above to this quote below: 

Conan: I live, I love, I slay, and I am content –Conan the Barbarian

There has to be some middle ground. I don’t know if there is “The One.” But I think that after you get married, they are the One. I really love this quote:

One advantage of marriage It seems to me Is that when you fall out of love with him Or he falls out of love with you It keeps you together until maybe you fall in again. -Judith Viorst

And you can’t end anything without quoting C.S.Lewis: People get from books the idea that if you have married the right person you may expect to go on “being in love” for ever. As a result, when they find they are not, they think this proves they have made a mistake and are entitled to a change -not realizing that, when they have changed, the glamour will presently go out of the new love just as it went out of the old one. In this department of life, as in every other, thrills come at the beginning and do not last… but if you go through with it, the dying away of the first thrill will be compensated for by a quieter and more lasting kind of interest.  - CS Lewis

hmm. That is not completely comforting, but will do.

That is what Carnaval means to me: time off.

I love the laid-backness of camp. of the beach. of Brazil. Someone is always walking around with a guitar, singing a song. I hear the drums. People everywhere and always a line for the bathroom. 80 people, two story house, three bathrooms, and no running water.

Impromptu conversations. The one guy that speaks English seeks me out to practice. I’ve known him since middle school when he was my student. Now he is in college and speaks fluently. That is the nice thing about being in Brazil over 8 years now. You get to see things happen.

He tells me how his family lived in a home for street kids. Now those kids are grown up, and one just visited them–a successful chef in Recife. Another just died–killed and cut up into pieces. He had been a druglord for five years. Not that it hurt him more to be chopped up after he was killed, but it just sounds so much more painful.

One of the women is married to a hip-hop dancer. She tells me she is going to find me a negao. She is trying to teach us some moves. My hips don’t lie–they just don’t work properly. Anything that is cool, or any person she is talking to she calls “Sexy baby,” and it makes me giggle.

I like watching people. I finished a 522 page book in two days. Aninha said I abandoned her for a book. It was true. I wander to the beach and Junior joins me. We sit and watch. He is a sit-and-watcher too. The kind that doesn’t have to talk. he is one of the older boys from Cajueiro Claro. He tells me about how he almost cried when someone paid his way to go to the beach camp. He told me about his crush.

I jumped in the water, shrieking when I hit a patch of seaweed. Scandalous. I am fine as long as I don’t touch bottom. As long as I don’t imagine what is down there. But it feels like a bunch of bees just stung my food. I get out and see red spots and puffiness. Jellyfish, probably, they tell me. The stinging continues. Great.

Not only did the shower stop working yesterday, but now the outside faucet is dry. There is a big tank of water, and the top of a coca-cola bottle. It is called banho de cuea: ladeling myself clean. I wash off the sand and stinging jellyfish and proudly announce to everyone that I had my first banho de cuea, and the applaud. The comment on it in the evening “News Report.”

I watch girls straighten their hair and put on make up in a little mirror. Brazilian women are something else. They will go around wearing whatever until dinner time. Then it is Cinderella all over again. Camp is supposed to be a week of no watches, mirrors, internet, or make up. They didn’t get the memo. This is what camp and the beach do to my hair:

I make fun of the cute guy, because he has shaved. Everywhere. Shaved chest and legs…good thing he is cute, because that is just weird. I watch the couples. So many different kinds. Two weeks ago Clara told me her boyfriend of 7 years cheated on her and broke up with her. But they are together at camp. I read somewhere that 33% of guys cheat. Are cheaters. And not to blame the other 66% of them for it. I don’t know where the other 1% went. Hiding, probably.

He is sharing about children and entering the kingdom of heaven, but i am looking at the random light fixture that looks like Aladdin lamp. It needs to be dusted. One spoon in the whole kitchen. We get up to cook breakfast for 80 people with one spoon and one working oven burner. We manage. Because this is Brazil. And somehow, the things that need to get done get done. With just one spoon.

I am getting the “camp-y” feeling. A soft heart that wants God like the first time I got excited about it and knew it was the only way for me. No, I hadn’t tried other religions, but I knew it, like you know you love him, even though there are so many guys you have never met.

There is nothing better than a shower after swimming in the ocean all day. Washing off the salt and sand and dry feeling. There was less seaweed today, and I didn’t get bit by a jellyfish. I told the guys that the plan was for them to make a circle around me. That way, the jellyfish would get them, and be full before it came for me. This is my same plan for sharks and bears.

I saw a jellyfish though. The little boys followed the fisherman around and brought back a dead squid and a live jellyfish in a plastic cup. The beach glistens in the early morning as Livia and I walk and walk. Livia has known me longer than most anyone in Brazil. We met and became pen pals after my first trip here in 1999. I still have some of her letters. She is now a dentist and working hard to pay off her master’s degree. She is an amazing person.

In the evenings after devotions we have the “News report” of funny things that happened that day/ I am excited that my Portuguese is good enough to understand humor and inside jokes now. They read all the “love notes” people send each other. I write all of mine in English just to make the readers try to read them. Everyone thinks it is something terribly romantic. I let them think that.

Only the stars shown while I built sand castles as we all sat in a circle on the beach, singing songs and sharing. Then I made a lizard and called him Fred. At the end we prayed, and I prayed loudly in English. It was exhilarating. The beach at night is delicious. But I couldn’t go the next night, because there was a bloco and a rave going on for Carnaval, and they took my beach to do it.

Tapioca ice cream makes my tummy happy. Especially after eating cuzcuz and eggs for every meal since arriving (Except for lunch, which also had beans). Vegetarian camp food isn’t always the best. Dress up for dinner, they told me. I didn’t know it was optional; that is what you do at camp. But I put on freckles and pigtales and got third place.

I opt to head home a day early, not feeling too well, and needing to do some business (the kind of business you flush) and wanting running water to do it. But it has been a wonderful time. With people like that, I would expect nothing less. All the grocery stores are closed except for the dinky one. I buy things for lasagna. How do you make lasagna? My lion must be painted; I’ve been saying I would–across that big blank wall. But all I have are finger paints. Fingerpainted Aslan it is.

Gerald is the frog that was hopping across the floor of my apartment to tell me howdy. This is the apartment that I share with him:

This is Aslan. I fingerpainted him. The door with the umbrella is the entrance. I am on the first floor of what seems a bit cave-like. So no plants:(. Also no couch. This is the bed disguised as a couch, with my computer, Pete, playing music (you will have to imagine the music). You can just see the table.

Continuing around, the table with the teapot on it. I haven’t named the teapot yet. It sits there to remind me to drink more tea. It isn’t very successful. Lotsa pictures, and then the three rooms: 1st one is mine, 2nd one is currently all the donations people are giving me for Living Stones, and 3rd is in solemn mourning for Emily. Perhaps I will be getting a roomie (besides Gerald) in April.

My room. This is my creative wall. The other wall is the wardrobe (non-Narnian) with books overloading the top, the other wall is my bed, and the other wall is a trunk of English teacher supplies.

Back in the living room I am adding picture frames and such. The problem is attaching anything to concrete walls. Trunks of art supplies and games for Living Stones, and doorway to the kitchen.

Off the kitchen is the bathroom. Notice everything is tile. This means to clean (and in Brazil, you basically have to sweep every day. or every other day-ish, and wash your feet) you just throw water everywhere and have a big slip and slide. No bathtub. Only one knob as well. What comes out is what you get.

Off the kitchen is a washroom for washing and hanging up clothes, and the kitchen is big enough for two, if careful. I am really happy with this place–it is such a blessing. Hope this gives you a general idea.

Michael Jordan is 49 today. I have a strange obsession with finding something to celebrate every day. Being a teacher, I want to make each day special for my students (that doesn’t always include candy). Besides, I think the best way to celebrate MJ’s birthday is by wearing my Nikes, and who doesn’t want to get out of those horrible black dress shoes?

It would be the one day it rains/flash floods. I looked out and saw a foot of water in the street. I was not sacrificing my Nikes for that, so off came the Nikes, and I rolled up my dress pants, walking barefoot to the bus stop barefoot, on the bus, and through the town. Like most things in life, everyone was too busy with their own lives to notice. But I loved it. I should do it more often, except for the pointy objects and incredible amount of germs (tape worms anyone?) everywhere.

Officially, everyone in Brazil is finishing up their preparations for Carnaval. Three of my students have already left to go to the beach. The town I live in, Carpina, has a different take on Carnaval. They have decided that because there are so many cool parties and Blocos other places, they are going to do all of their parties and Blocos the week BEFORE Carnaval. Yep. So while I still have to get up at 5:30am to teach English, they are outside my apartment living it up until around 5:30am. All week long. At least the rain will wash away all the pee, beer, and vomit.

Let’s back up. In Brazil it is spelled with an “a”= Carnaval. If you haven’t heard of it, don’t let the Brazilians know. It is their claim to fame (along with the string bikini). The biggest party in the world. Wikipedia says that 70% of annual tourism happens during Carnival, and Rio de Janeiro’s Carnaval alone drew 4.9 million people in 2011, with 400,000 being foreigners.

The official picture of Carnaval is one big party that revolves around parades that are presented by different Blocos. Think Macy’s day parade with sexy women dancing the samba instead of Snoopy. Blocos are different groups/clubs that get together and give themselves names (like “o cachorro lambo tua cara” –the dog licked your face), sell matching shirts, have a band, and at least one Trio Electrico (fancy ones have floats), which is a truck with huge speakers on the roof and a dance floor on top of the speakers with singers/dancers going crazy on top of that.

The Bloco I saw last week completely blocked the way to my friend’s house. I made my way to the front of the Trio Electrico, where I saw some friends–they explained to me that this was Frevo, one of the traditional Northeastern Brazil rhythms. We “danced” (more like got pushed quickly so as not to be run over), and I avoided the occasional rain shower of beer, to the end of the street where then I continued on my way to my friend’s house, laughing at the randomness of it all.

Recife (the capital of Pernambuco, the state I live in) and Olinda host some of the biggest and brightest Blocos–according to Guinness, Galo de Madrugada (in Recife) is the largest in the world. Carnival is the time to forget, it is the time to dress up and be someone else, to let it all go.

Carnaval culminates on Fat Tuesday. The basic idea is to get in as much as you can before Ash Wednesday, which begins Lent, the 40 days until Easter. That is the only part that resembles anything religious. The trifecta of Carnaval is drinking, drugs, and sex; but after being here for four Carnavals, it looks to me more like vomit, pee, and trash. Carnaval leaves a big mess everywhere, especially in people’s lives with prostitution, addiction, and violence. Carnaval accounts for about 80% of annual beer consumption in Brazil, and probably the same statistic for prostitution.

While Carnaval is full of bright colors and laughter, there is a darker side as well. For the many in poverty (Recife has posted statistics of more than 35% of the population living in deep poverty, and rural Brazil, where I work, is 41%), Carnaval is dangerous and victimizing. Some families earn their yearly income through their daughters during Carnaval. Foreigners come with money and take anything they want–and then leave the pieces.

From an outside look (not Christian); here are some good articles about what people have to say about Carnaval:

 http://www.neontommy.com/news/2011/04/brazils-carnaval-exposes-socioeconomic-differences (basically it is a party for those who have money)

http://riogringa.typepad.com/my_weblog/2009/02/the-truth-about-carnival.html (basically a party girl saying it is not what it seems)

http://www.abs-cbnnews.com/world/02/14/10/crime-curbs-and-controversy-rios-carnival (basically there are still a lot of issues to deal with)

For most Christians in Brazil, you do anything you can to get away from Carnaval. I am surprised how strongly Christian Brazilians are about not participating in Carnaval at all. Me and my curiousness have participated more than most Brazilian Christians. To me it wasn’t a big deal: jumping around to music (with that many people, it is about not getting stepped on, not anything sensual), but it is something you culturally DO NOT do as a Christian.

Brazilian Christians normally use this time to have a church camp at the beach. I happen to love the beach, camp, and church MUCH more than the smell of pee and beer, so it is no contest for me.

For most of the children in Living Stones, they do not have the luxury of going to the beach—and if they do, it is to work. They will be selling beer and snacks, running back and forth, doing little errands for whoever has some moedas (coins) for them. It is not uncommon for children to go missing or get lost during Carnaval.

Please keep Brazil in your prayers, especially the children. I feel frustrated, because my hands are tied—they are going to what they choose to do. Meanwhile, I am personally spoiled, where the only thing you need to pray for me about is that I don’t get too sun burnt while playing soccer on the beach. Please keep the drivers in your prayers, as car accidents go way up during Carnaval: a couple years ago, there was a car accident with one of the Community churches as they were coming home from Beach camp, and two people died.

Not exactly the best way to end, but there you have it. The good and the bad, the hype and colors, and the trash and smell. Brazil: the land of irreconcilable extremes.

“I don’t understand why Cupid was chosen to represent Valentine’s Day. When I think about romance, the last thing on my mind is a short, chubby toddler coming at me with a weapon.” –Author Unknown

That is what I like about Valentine’s day in Brazil–I get to make it up for my kids, because they don’t know what it is (so no cupid involved). All I have to do is make sure I spell “Valentine” right, make cookies, and tell funny stories. No one expects anything. Perfect. And lots of fun.

Happy Valentine’s day everyone!:)

My sweethearts: Milena and Mariana

My 6/7th graders at the International school

My darlings at Cajueiro Claro

“Without love, what are we worth? Eighty-nine cents! Eighty-nine cents worth of chemicals walking around lonely.” – M*A*S*H, Hawkeye

“The way to love anything is to realize that it might be lost.” –G.K.Chesterton

After three and a half years of saying “no” to meat, I have a couple of things to say:

1.       I am a vegetarian without any morals. You can kill the cute little animals. It is not my battle. It was a childhood dream to become a veterinarian, but then I realized that I only had one life and didn’t have time to help everyone—so I decided kids were more important. No eating kids, ok?

2.       I am a vegetarian by accident. It was a month long experiment with Carina—let’s try not eating meat. I liked it. It worked for me. I always say I will stop when I REALLY feel like eating meat. Once I came really close—sausage never smelled so good—but I was like “Really? Quit for SAUSAGE?” And went on with veggies.

3.       I am not a thorough vegetarian. I still want my biscuits and gravy. Sometimes I miss some of the sausage chunks. I am not saying no to Lasagna. Sometimes the little hamburger bits might slide through. I am going for the principle of it.

4.       I am a vegetarian because of my lack of self-discipline. I figured out that abstinence is easier than moderation. Saying no to all the meat is so much easier than saying “eat healthy.” Balance is tough stuff! So my hat goes off to those of you with a consistently healthy diet, with meat in moderation.

5.       I live in Brazil—no way I am a true vegetarian. Not because I am sneaking meat. Nope, never done that. But do you know how many ants are in Brazil? Those little ones that eat the glue out of your computer keyboard and the binding from your books—YOU CANNOT GET AWAY FROM THEM.  Or realistically think you’ve never eaten them. They are everywhere, including in my belly.

The veggie thing works for me. I hate the idea of dieting. Feeling hungry and then thinking “Oh my word, if I want to be skinny, this is what it is going to be like for the rest of my life.” No, it will never be worth it in that moment. No diets for me.

But there’s a secret no one tells you—well, no one told me: when you start eating healthy stuff, your body starts to like it. After I became a vegetarian, I started to like mushrooms and zucchini and eggplant and all those weird things you gag on as a kid. I never forced anything. I never look longingly at meat and think “a whole lifetime without you?” I choose fruits and vegetables NOT because I want to brag about the “v” word, or write cool articles like this, but because it is actually my first choice.

Someone told me it is your blood type—that some types need meat more than others. Maybe. I don’t know. But that sounds right. It works for some and not for others. So just use the blood type excuse when people want to argue. And be happy if you have friends who are vegetarians like me: it means free double meat at Subway because I will give you mine.

Last thought: Does imitation crab count? And am I the only one who pokes the meat part out of the sushi rolls?  

Get in, get out, and get it over. I always feel a little dirty after a trip to Recife. Like something wore off on me. But it is a lovely place. They are preparing for the largest Bloco in the world for Canaval later this month (over half a million people for one part of one celebration: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Recife#Carnaval.2FCarnival). I pity the line of cars stuck in traffic: I take the bus.

By car, the trip from my lil city to Recife (over 4 million: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Recife) is about 40 minutes. It is almost two hours by bus. But you see more. I see more in Brazil than in the USA because I haven’t quite learned to see only what is expected. I am still open to novidades. To learn to see, you must learn to forget to expect. You only find what you are looking for. I am looking for beauty.

All of the buses from my town go to one place at the end of the line. I don’t know what the name of it is, but it is close to most everything, as well as the metro, which gets me close to everything else. What to see in my Recife:

1. Airport. You need to know how to get there because there are always going to be complications with your visa. Always. From the end of the bus line, take the metro to the Airport stop (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Recife#International_airport).

2. Shopping Recife. A short walk in the opposite direction of the airport from the metro station. This mall boasts in being the largest in South America (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Recife#Shopping_centers) whether this is true or not, I get lost more often inside it than anywhere else outside of it. If you need your “USA fix,” they have McDonalds, Burger King, and Subway, as well as a large theater that turns the air conditioning up (or is it down?) more than any other place in Northeast Brazil. Bring a sweater.

3. Boa Viagem Beach. Beaches in Northeast Brazil are some of the best in the world, but around the big city, they are pretty dirty (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pernambuco_beaches#Recife_beaches), and boast some of the highest rates of shark attacks (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Recife#Shark_attacks) . So if you don’t want to swim, there are some nice beach shops, and some amazing churrascarias with their unlimited meat on machetes. This is all in walking distance of Shopping Recife.

4. Mercado San Jose. Without taking the metro, a short walking distance from the end of the busline is a huge open market with street after street of fresh fruit, clothes, and bootleg DVDs and CDs. All the street vender food you are supposed to stay away from is there, which is probably why I like it so much. Be careful to keep hydrated in the hot sun by stopping for a coconut, which they open quite impressively with a machete. There are plenty of typical arts and crafts, as well as beautiful old Cathedrals where you can sit in and feel very small.

5. Casa Cultura. If you walk a couple more blocks, you come to the old prison that was remade into a huge tourist attraction (which is right next to the Central Metro Station). You will get sick of shopping before manage to enter every single cell which is now colorfully decorated with Brazilian culture and a price tag.

6. Shopping Boa Vista. Much smaller than Shopping Recife, but not too far from Casa Cultura, they have a small theater that is not so cold and a Thai food place called “Walk to Wok.” Really. I am not making that up. And it is delicious.

7. Recife Antigo (Old Recife). If you take the main road from Shopping Boa Vista to Old Recife, it is a good distance, but on Saturdays the used book sellers line up their books for a dollar or two. Otherwise, a good book can’t be had for less than $20. You cross two bridges and hold your purse tight, for this is the highest concentration of homeless people and street children in Recife. The beautiful old architecture mingled with crooked old trees is dazzling. Turn left and go to the oldest synagogue in North and South America (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Recife#Museums).

8. Livraria Cultura. On the little island-like Old Recife, if you turn right after the two bridges, you reach the largest bookstore in the city: Livraria Cultura. The only card in my wallet (besides ID and debt card) is my Livraria Cultura card. I love that place. Next door, they restored an old slave market into a trendy mall, so buy a book and then go enjoy some delicious (and expensive) fresh fruit frozen yogurt.

9. Marco Zero. Going straight until you hit the ocean, you run into Marco Zero (zero mark) where Recife began. You can take a boat out to the breakers to see the torch statue, and see cruise ships leave the harbor.

(and yes, I did take all of these pictures myself. grin)

10. The trip home. But even lovelier is rumbling home, as the bus lulls you to sleep and jerks you awake with speed bumps and holes in the road. And if you are lucky, you catch sunsets like this:

Mariana: Do you have a boyfriend?

Me: No

Mariana: Oh! Is that why you are so rich?

(Mariana and I)

I find children’s brains interesting. They are a whole person in a little package. Sometimes, when talking to them, I try to figure out where their train of thought is coming from. Mariana had the above conversation with me during church, and I must say, my self-control did not stop me from laughing much longer and louder than was appropriate. To Mariana, who lives in a a mud and stick house with banana leaves for a roof, I am rich. And apparently, I got that way because I don’t spend all that money on a boyfriend.

Cajueiro Claro Living Stones will be starting up this week. Last week was all the planning and cleaning and organizing. Pastor Flavio now lives at the church (he turned one of the classrooms into a little ‘apartment’), but everything having to do with the project wasn’t touched while I was gone. Meaning that it was now covered in dust and bat gifts. I have a growing hatred for bats and all of their gifts.

Mariana, Jon-Jon, Milena, and their cousin ran over as soon as I showed up. Milena got quite upset once she found out we couldn’t play together–we were just there to clean. They took some of the tall grass and began making me flower strings.

Jon-Jon, who used to be too shy to say anything, now greeted me with words, a smile, and a hug.

Milena was still grumpy about not getting to play.

She presented me with a flower sting, but refused to smile for a picture.

When we finished up, I walked the kids home (next door) and they showed me what they do. They get bags of old material

And then the children, the mom, the grandma, whoever…unwind it. The stringy stuff is then sold to people who use it to wash cars.

You learn something new every day.