Flavio’s car broke down, so it meant I was stranded too. I helped Vovo Bel water her plants while she told me her story. Her father died when she was 7, so she helped her mother raise her six brothers and sisters, was raised Catholic, and married at 17. She never thought much about religion until her favorite uncle committed suicide when she was older. Then she searched every religion to find answers.

When she went to church and met the Holy Spirit, her search ended. Tears came into her eyes when she talked about Mussurepe, “And there are four more towns just like it farther in that need to hear about Jesus!”

She and her husband bought the farm seven years ago, wanting a place to rest outside the city and to help the impoverished community. He died soon after, and it became her haven for healing. Vovo Bel kept trying to find more ways to help the community, and then met Flavio last year and brought Living Stones to Mussurepe this year.

I walked down through the town to the school, seeing the community up close for the first time. Houses made from sticks and dirt that looked the size of children’s play houses—but people live there. The view is spectacular. The children all crowded around me, just let off of school, “Tia Ha-kel, are you going to stay with us forever?” One girl held a quarter in her hand and said “Want a popcycle?” it was flavored sweet potato.

Sitting and waiting. When you don’t have money, that is what you do. And anything you want, you have to work at it, as last twice as hard. Money makes things go easier, faster. Things you don’t even realize until you don’t have the money. When you don’t have the money, you make it or do without it. You have to be a million times more creative, and creativity takes time and energy—something you are already lacking because you are poor.

Not having a car (most everyone I know) means you are waiting for public transportation or other people (which is worse because you feel like a burden). And being poor means always carrying around heavy stuff, because you never know what all you will need and when you will be able to get something. I spend so much extra time planning ahead to make sure everything will actually work through.

*Warning—talk about poop and periods ahead.*

My period always sneaks up on me. It is always less than four weeks, but I never know which day. And I’ve figured out I have like 14 periods a year, which I have told God is exceptionally not fair. I was caught in the middle of Mussurepe this time. Luckily, I did have toilet paper. I asked Vovo Bel what women in the community did, who couldn’t afford pads (most everyone).

“Well, probably what I did all growing up: rags. You have a couple, and you trade them out, washing out each one afterwards.” Ewwww. Eww. Eww. And imagine for all those who don’t have an inside toilet or running water.

Most everyone in Mussurepe has an outdoor toilet. When I asked what they do instead of toilet paper, the answer was leaves or the outside of food wrappers. You dig a hole until it is full and then dig another. I need to write a children’s book: “Where’s the Restroom and Other Hard Questions.” I can imagine it now, illustrations and all.

I remember the first time I ever thought about where poop went. I saw a TV show where a snake crawled up and bit someone while they were sitting on the “throne.” I was terrified this would happen to me. Where did the poop go? Mom explained the sewer system and I felt better. Here in Brazil each person has their own hole where the poop goes. And it seems to work.

I am beginning to see why people move to the city, even though it has so many other problems—drugs, prostitution…because there is more water. More holes to poo. It is a hard life.

The water situation is another story. On Vovo Bel’s property is the water tank for the whole community of Mussurepe. Each house has one spigot and they get water 30 minutes every other day. They have their time slot, and if they miss it, too bad. The woman from the community told me it is enough water to cook and drink (it is drinkable). Everything else—washing their hands, flushing the toilet (for the few that have one), taking a shower (mostly located behind their houses in a plastic tub), washing the dishes…is all from the very polluted river water. Lugged to their home.

And sometimes the water tank breaks down. Then, the lady told me, they get donkeys to lug in water from the next community over. What if the town grows? Will they get less than 30 minutes? I have so many questions “Well,” Said Vovo Bel, “It is still better than when I was growing up and we had to walk far down to the well to bring up water and then carry it home—like they talk about in the Bible.” I didn’t have anything to say to that.

I get up at 6 and Marlene has bread and cake and fruit sitting out on the table to grab for breakfast. I know they do not have a lot, but they are sure putting out everything they have for me. I do not know this kind of hospitality: I need to learn from them. I have devotions and then walk 15 minutes up the side of the hill and past the dogs and horses and donkeys to the main road. I wait for a kombe or bus to take me to the International school. After teaching English I come back and work on filling out individual forms for each of the children in Living Stones and doing house to house visitations.

I wanted to have someone help me, so I can fill them out in English, and they do the Portuguese part, but volunteers are few and far between. And once I do find them, getting them out to where I am at is almost impossible. So with many grammatical problems and spelling mishaps, I am doing them in Portuguese as well.

The thing is, Brazilians work hard to survive (the ones I am working with, and the ones willing to volunteer). So anything that is outside of working to survive (like my projects), I have to work extra hard to make happen. Even if they want to help me and believe in what I am doing—it won’t happen unless I am in front of it, pushing. Pushing hard consistently. The minute I drop the ball it is all gone. And that hurts because it feels like it is all on my shoulders. Heavy.

It takes me about 30 minutes to do the interviews with the mothers and kids, and then another 30 minutes (at least) alone to fill out all the forms for each child. I sat under the tree outside the church finishing the forms while the kids “did my hair” and put flowers in it to make me beautiful. I got nine done this week; my goal was 20.

Zezinho, the father, told me his story. How his father had left before he could remember and his mother was sick and then remarried and begun a different family. He was “given” to another family, but they were abusive and so ran away. Then he found the sea. “The sea has everything,” Zezinho said. “I lived up and down the coast, digging a hole in the sand at night—covering myself with it when it was cold. Climbing coconut trees and eating them with fish or other fruit.”

He started selling fish, then started catching fish: put on goggles and grab a harpoon and dive for the big ones. Garlic, he says, strengthens your lungs for long, deep dives. He traveled to Rio and Sao Paulo and learned to be a mechanic and got a job with a guy who had a house in the interior. He went to visit for a week and has been here 20 years so far. “I loved the mata (desert/forest area inland Brazil).” Zezinho continued, “And I met Marlene. Never really wanted to settle down, but it was so easy with her—it worked. We had two daughters and here we are today. But it isn’t the sea.”

He sat on the couch across from me, talking. He likes to talk. I was trying to fill out forms. We were talking about education, travel, mythology, whatever. “I didn’t have time for much school.” He said. I didn’t realize until further in the conversation what that meant: he had started living on the streets by the time he was 11, so didn’t even finish 2^nd grade. He took care of himself. And then, once he was grown, he sat in night classes, heads taller than everyone else, and finished through 11^th grade. He learned to read.

Who are these amazing souls walking all around us every day? Everyone has a story, and they all have beautiful and tragic parts. At Living Stones this week we talked about prayer, and praying for the world and others…I have a book with pictures of children from around the world. I bought it out for this father to see. He sat there for over an hour with his reading glasses, looking at the pictures, for the rest is in English.

I watched him, as I filled out my forms. He was once a street child. Now he has a beautiful family and grandchild, and opened his home to this American girl who decided she wanted—needed to do something different. I watched him and though of how he’d learned to read as an adult. I wonder what other adventures he has lived. And I realized that right now was another adventure: sharing life with a stranger, seeing pictures of places he’d never imagined or knew. When he finished, he handed me the book, turned on the TV and started watching a documentary about dogs. In 20 minutes he was snoring, looking just like my dad when he falls asleep in front of the TV.

I am slowly unpacking my soul. It hasn’t been very long—just a couple of days, but I have been living a different life. During the week I am living in Cajueiro Claro, one of the poor communities Living Stones works in. A family offered to house me—they are better off than most of the families, but still have only the basics compared to American living.

Nouwen wrote “Compassion is not a bending toward the underprivileged from a privileged position; it is not reaching out from on high to those who are less fortunate below; it is not a gesture of sympathy or pity for those who fail to make it in the upward pull. On the contrary compassion means going directly to those people and places where suffering is most acute and building a home there.”

I think the biggest difference about these days is that is isn’t about me. Nothing is. It isn’t about what I can add to the conversation. Or where I will go, or when I will eat. I know nothing. I am a little child again, relying on others. And it is beautiful.

“Your vocation is always and only this: to be a servant of God. You are always a success when you are serving because in the upside down kingdom the way to be great is not to climb higher but lower.” –Ann Voskamp

I have an instant family. They’ve opened their doors and hearts to me. We watch a movie and Marlene makes us popcorn and I remember how much I miss my mother. I went jogging and a couple of kids from Living Stones went with me, jogging on either side—one barefoot, one with soccer cleats. At the end, they climbed up a coconut tree and got me a coconut, chopped off the top with a machete. Fresh coconut water over Gatorade any day!

The family has three rooms in their house: one for the parents, one for their oldest daughter (18) and her husband and new baby, and one for Laiza (17) and I. It is a decent sized house, and luckily, has a huge reserve of water so we are never out. They have a beautiful area of land where Marlene has planted many flowers and Zezinho has many fruit trees and plants. There is a shower (cold) and a toilet that flushes, so I really have nothing to complain about.

Behind their house it looks like jungle. Ha—because it is. There is a bunch of banana trees and a couple coconut trees and then beyond that it is “the wild.” You can see nothing but trees and sky. I wake up in the morning and listen. I know some of those noises are the little monkeys—I’ve seen them jump from tree to tree. So many kinds of birds. So many other noises I can’t identify. Laiza took the top bunk. Because, she said, sometimes things drop down on you from the roof. It is true. They have a basic brick and Spanish-style roof, and many things come through those cracks. I was very happy that she volunteered.

Band-aid help is something I don’t like to talk or think about.“Band-aid help” is my word for when you have a huge gaping wound (symbolizing poverty here) that needs constant cleaning and physically therapy (time, energy, and resources) to heal and instead you just stick a band-aid on it (drop off something) and leave.

A group came into the trash dump and give the kids a party—it is a nice thought. Lovely people giving money to provide for it. People coming and passing out presents. But it is just band-aid help. They don’t know the names of the children. They don’t know which house they live in or what school they do or don’t go to. But they come, give hugs, take pictures, and post them on Facebook. They have done their part.

I like to give band-aid help. Americans like to give band-aid help. It makes us feel better. We want an instant fix. Band-aid help is much easier than consistent dedication of time and money. It means I can go home at night and relax and snuggle into a bed that isn’t so different from yours. Band-aid help means I can snap those pictures and give those hugs and hear those people say “Oh, isn’t she a good girl? Look at her giving her life for those children.”

And basically—everyone in ministry does band-aid help. At least at first, at least at times. Because it takes a lot of training, a lot of time, and a lot of relationship building before anything deeper can be given. And band-aids do help. They can help us survive until the next day. They can help the wound stay a little cleaner. It can guard from infection. But it will never solve the issues. It will never be a solution. Because “A mind can reach a mind, a heart and touch a heart, but only a life can change a life.”

In ministry at the youth center, the first year I was giving my mind: knowledge that I had about God, life, helping, having my first real job. Slowly I began open up and understand more. Slowly I began friendships. Slowly I opened my heart to the kids, and a little slower, they opened back to me. By the second year, I had finally formed real relationships with the kids—investing my heart. And then I noticed a change after 3 years: I was beginning to learn how to invest my life. To know that I was called to give everything. And that is when I really began to see fruit.

In Brazil, it took the first year to wrap my head around a new culture and learn a new language. It took another year before I really could begin to help in a ministry, and one more for me to learn how to do that ministry in the culture I was in, instead of my own culture. It was only after the third year that I was able to begin leading/training in this ministry. True ministry takes time.

By the end of 2012 I will have been in Brazil for four and a half years, beginning in 2004. This has been a huge chunk of my life, but I am still only doing band-aid help in so many areas. This past year, I’ve felt the calling to do more. I am investing my mind and my heart here, but it is hard to take the step to invest your life. It is also hard to know what that looks like: there is no manual—it is simply living life with God.

The practical step in front of me is to live in community with some of the children I work with. Eat like them, dress like them, live like them, have what they have. This is easier said than done. First, I had to have a family that I knew well enough invite me to come. Second, I had to have time for it. After a family invited me the end of May, I was so excited—but finding the time was harder. It has turned out easier to go to China than to live in poverty.

But here it is. Monday I am beginning my journey, living with this family in Cajueiro Claro. I am excited. I am scared stiff. Maybe I am kidding myself. Maybe all ministry is band-aid help unless God is changing their hearts. I like to think that teaching the children to read and basic skills to support themselves is a deeper level, or giving them a home.  It depends on what your view of success is. Maybe I’ve got it all wrong and I need to quit thinking about things and just follow Jesus today. Whatever that looks like.

The people who threw the party for the kids left in their big truck. As they did, they hit and got tangled in one of the wires that was strung up from the electrical post to one of the homes built from trash. CRACK! It fell, and no more electricity in that house. The band-aid fell off.

I worry that if I really “get” poverty, really understand, there will never be any return. Not really. And I like my comforts. I like my clean house and refrigerator and internet and when I really want something in the store—I like buying it. I like feeling at home when I am with my family and friends, most of whom do not understand poverty at all. I don’t want to give that up. I don’t want to always feel the stranger—just a little bit off. It is lonely. 

It isn’t the day to day hardships. I am pretty tough, as long as there is a time limit (and there is—I don’t want to overstay my welcome in this home). It is the incredible responsibility that goes along with knowledge that is turned into experience. I know what it is to only eat rice and beans for a month. But I shudder at the idea of having to do that for the rest of my life, because I’ve tasted it.

I stared at Maria Jose, who will soon have a home that is beyond her dreams, yet still smaller than my living room. I shudder at the idea of living there, next to the dump. Of my children growing up there, in the dirt and flies that breed deadly diseases. Of never knowing anything other than that reality. But the question slams into my face once again: how are you different from Maria Jose? How are you any more special? Does God love me more than her? What did I do to deserve the life I have? What did she do to deserve the life she has?

It would be easier if I believed in reincarnation: that somehow, I was good in a past life and so got blessed with the amazing family that I have. With the incredible education I was given. But I don’t believe that. So I don’t have that answer. I have no answers. And it hurts like my heart will burst apart if I just keep going, keep living life like I am.

I am compelled. And I wish I wasn’t. I am not a saint, marching on in bright colors: I am girl with her head down in shame, feeling overwhelmed by guilt in having so much when so many have so little. And soon this feeling will let me go, where I can forget and sit down and watch TV like most everyone else. I don’t know what all the next steps will be—I just know this one. Please pray with me and for me this next month as I live with this family in Cajueiro Claro. I want more than band-aids.

 

 

It isn’t “A picture is worth a thousand words,” it is “A picture (that makes me feel guilty) is worth a thousand dollars.” Trust me, I know—I try to find these pictures. Our culture is extremely ADD—we want an instant fix. I have to create a new project, a new campaign every month to get and keep people’s attention. If I don’t—the money does not come in.

What I really need is faithfulness. People who come along side and really believe in what we are doing and say “I understand that working with children takes YEARS before you see results, and even then, you might not see them. But I am going to continue to give.” Think about your own kids: if you had to “sell” the idea of raising them, would anyone give? Would you be a success story?

That’s what I do. I am a seller of dreams. Of ideas, of myself. Being a missionary—or in ministry—you are presenting yourself to people. Your sacred dreams of changing the world. And saying “Please—please trust me—believe in me—and support me financially.”  The desire to put on more polish and flash is always there—and it is for a good cause. I am not saying this is all wrong—I am just saying this is how it is.

In Brazil, it took the first year to wrap my head around a new culture and learn a new language. It took another year before I really could begin to help in a ministry, and one more for me to learn how to do that ministry in the culture I was in, instead of my own culture. It was only after the third year that I was able to begin leading/training in this ministry. True ministry takes time. By the end of 2012 I will have been in Brazil for four and a half years, beginning in 2004. This has been a huge chunk of my life, but it is still just the beginning in so many ways.

The truth is, I’ve been working with children in poverty for 15 years and still don’t really understand it. As I sat and watched the kids at the dump, I asked myself:  what they do when they poop. Leaves, I guess? Are their certain kinds of leaves to use? What about for babies? What do girls do when they are on their period? Do they really never floss? And so on.

If I am honest, I don’t want to understand more. I am scared that once I really get it, I can never go back. It is already hard to go back and forth between rich and poor, between have and have not. But I have, realizing that everyone has their hurts, their loves, their fears.  That everyone has their own reality and sinner/saint potential. And most of all, that I can just let it go because God loves them all and so must I: we are all people.

 And I like my comforts. I like my clean house and refrigerator and internet and when I really want something in the store—I like buying it. I like feeling at home when I am with my family and friends, most of whom do not understand poverty at all. I don’t want to give that up. I don’t want to always feel the stranger—just a little bit off. It is lonely.  I don’t want to walk so far away from “normal” that I can’t return.

It is an incredible responsibility to KNOW.  

Here is the 30 days of Rice and Beans in 5 minutes:

If it doesn’t work, here is the link to click: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uBMhi_bAYPg

 

My name (Rachel), means “Little lamb.” It has the idea of innocence and purity. And that is part of my personality. But this world isn’t innocent or pure, and I spent most of my life trying to hide or be ashamed of that part of who I was.

I tried not to blush at the sexual innuendos. I learned how to not look clueless when the lewd talk went over my head. I laughed at inappropriate jokes. When I went to the gym and a guy said, “So you’re a virgin huh?” I looked down at my body and thought, “Gosh, it shows? Where?”

As I grew, I began to understand the power  and value of my innocence and purity. But like most lessons, you learn to appreciate most what you do not have anymore. I learned those jokes. I didn’t have to hide my cluelessness—I knew what they were talking about. And every time, I would look up and wonder where I went—where was me—that part of me?

Hormones and sex drive hit me later than most girls and then I realized that innocence and purity are easy to keep when the box of experience is never opened. I then understood that most of my “virtue” was due to the lack of opportunity rather than strong morals. It is never a true virtue until tested.

I fell off the purity bandwagon. I can still wear white to my wedding, but Jesus says the mind and heart are where it’s at and I muddied that up pretty well. And it has taken awhile, but I am getting back up. Serious enough about it that I am sharing this.

But you know what my struggle is now? Now that I am really striving for purity, God keeps calling me farther in and further up. And I feel like if I go any farther I will become a prude. I learned it young: purity = prude. And now I get it: I felt like I had to hide my purity and innocence because that is what made other people feel bad. It made them feel uncomfortable and convicted about their own indulgence and impurity. And convicted people either change or lash out.

A couple times of getting lashed out at and you begin to feel that YOU are the one in the wrong. I felt there was something wrong with me because other people didn’t want to stand up for their innocence and purity. We’ve got it all twisted. But majority rules in democracy and there was more of them than of me and so I lost.

I want that part of me back. I want Rachel as the real Rachel: who values her purity. That is not a prude—that is beautiful, real, and vulnerable. I want to be the change I want to see in the world (thanks Gandhi). That is going to take awhile, and a lot of consistent work. But I want to see a whole generation of  “Rachels” who stand strong in the beauty of their innocence and purity.

I did it!

Rice and Beans Experiment: One month of rice and beans (September 13-October 12, 2012).

First week: Just rice and beans. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Like 1.4 billion people who live off of $1.25 or less a day. Three weeks: Rice and beans as the staple, but can add other things. Like the 3.5 billion people who live off of $2.50 or less a day.

Further reading: http://www.solidrockinternational.org/riceandbeans, http://prairieprincess.hubpages.com/hub/The-Rice-and-Beans-Challenge, http://irememberthepoor.org/2009/02/05/rice-bean-reflections-from-other.

Day 1: I woke up grumpy. How do you cook rice and beans? SLOWLY.  Fact: Eating what we want is a simple pleasure. Being poor takes that away. Further reading: Top popular foods in the world that I am NOT eating: http://www.china.org.cn/top10/2011-06/28/content_22875896.htm.

Day 2: The secret is to be busy with things other than food. Is it possible to overeat on rice and beans? Fact: Variety is the spice of life. My current life is quite unspicy. Further reading: Fascinating Food Facts (http://www.edenproject.com/blog/index.php/2012/06/fascinating-food-facts-and-how-to-feed-the-world )

Day 3: I didn’t eat until dinner. My body was on strike from rice and beans and just didn’t want it. Fact: Poverty does not look like rice and beans: it looks like rice and/or maize. Beans (the nutritious part of rice and beans) are too expensive for the world’s poor. Further reading: About rice and beans in Zambia:  http://rwinzeler.xanga.com/767938303/beans-from-africa-day-3

Day 4: What causes poverty—people being only able to eat rice and beans—or not even beans? “There was never a war on poverty. Maybe there was  a skirmish on poverty.” –Andrew Cuomo

Fact: “Partial understanding of poverty will lead to a partial solution. The problem of poverty is multi-faceted. Our response to it must be equally so.” (http://www.relevantmagazine.com/current/op-ed/incomplete-politics-poverty). Further reading: http://www.worldhunger.org/articles/Learn/world%20hunger%20facts%202002.htm ) http://www.npr.org/blogs/thesalt/2012/05/03/151932410/man-cannot-live-on-rice-and-beans-alone-but-many-do .

Day 5: I find it interesting how people are worried about my health. I am not the one to be worried about. Fact: www.live58.org  says we can end extreme poverty, and has a plan: “In the past thirty years, extreme poverty has been cut in half. In 1981, 52% of the world’s population lived in extreme poverty (defined by the U.N. as living on less than $1.25 per day). But by 2006, that number was 26%.”  Further reading: http://www.live58.org/about/what-is-58

Day 6: Soak your beans first! I’ve been eating crunchy or burnt beans until now. Soak them and they are much harder to mess up. Fact: The choices we make make us. Further reading: The story of the cook: http://rwinzeler.xanga.com/768022700/the-choices-we-make-make-us-day-6  

Day 7: “The simplicity is great—the monotony is killing me.” –Rachel Winzeler Fact:“Thanksgiving creates abundance.” –Ann Voskamp. Is this the secret to my rice and beans quest? To working with children in poverty? Is it all about learning to be thankful? Further reading: “See that I am God. See that I am in everything. See that I do everything. See that I have never stopped ordering my works, nor ever shall, eternally. See that I lead everything on to the conclusion I ordained for it before time began, by the same power, wisdom, and love with which I made it. How can anything be amiss?”—God to Julian of Norwich

Day 8: I am American: I want a life with food on the side. It takes time to make rice and beans yummy. Fact: milk, raisins, sugar, and rice for breakfast—works for me! Further reading: 15 things with rice and beans I want to try: http://rwinzeler.xanga.com/768099812/so-many-options-day-8  

Day 9: When I don’t have time, I just put sweet condensed milk on rice and eat it cold with beans on the side. Fact:“Poverty is no disgrace to a man, but it is confoundedly inconvenient” — Sydney Smith. Further reading: http://allrecipes.com/recipe/black-bean-hummus/, http://vegetarian.about.com/od/maindishentreerecipes/tp/leftoverrice.htm.

Day 10: Accidentally discovered something wonderful: coconut rice blended into a smoothie with banana and cinnamon. Fact: Mangos and rice don’t taste very good together. Further reading: Brownies made with beans: http://www.5dollardinners.com/2010/04/pams-365-day-rice-beans-challenge.html. Too bad I don’t like chocolate.

Day 11: God and I had a conversation about how unfair poverty was. God won. Matthew 6:25: “Hey Rachel! Don’t worry about your life, about food, or about clothes.”

Me: “But God—there are so many of them—them that don’t have! My kids that are hungry, that don’t have proper clothes, that can’t read or have any opportunities in life!” Matthew 6:32: “Don’t you know I (God) already know that? That I know what you need, what they need? You are acting like someone who doesn’t know me.”

Me: “But I am just being realistic. What is see is LACK. What I see is that You are NOT providing and they are going hungry, they are living empty lives.” Matthew 6:30, 26-27: “You of little faith. Look at the little things—you will SEE. Look at the birds: and I love you more than them—I love your kids more than them. Look at the flowers: and each one of those children is much more precious than anything in nature. I WILL take care of them. When has worry ever helped you? Hum? That is what I thought.”

Me: “So what am I supposed to do?” Matthew 6:33: “Work to find me (God) in everything, and put me first. Learn to see me working in families that have no food, no kitchen, no bathroom, no education. And everything else will be taken care of—I (God) will take care of these children, whom I love even more than you do.”

Me: “But it is hard. I still struggle.” Matthew 6:34: “So quit worrying about the future—because you can’t even handle today. Just work on finding ME in everything today.” (All Scripture was paraphrased by Rachel if you couldn’t tell). Further reading: What the Bible says about the poor: http://www.zompist.com/meetthepoor.html

Day 12: Best meal ever: tortilla made out of tapioca flour with beans toasted, then mangos/lime juice/onion mixture put on top. Fact: I weigh less than I used to. Happy thought!

Day 14: I explained about 1.4 billion people on $1.25 a day to well-off 8^th and 9^th graders. They opened their eyes a little wider. Fact: Beans on pizza wasn’t that great.

Day 15: Half way there! It is hard to be creative. I only make yummy food about 40% of the time. Fact: Time + Resources + Motivation + Creativity = Tasty Meal. How often do those four things line up for someone in poverty?

Day 16: Out of the way restaurants, hiding behind car washes, serving barefoot workers, have the best rice and beans. Further reading (or watching) : http://www.ted.com/talks/matt_cutts_try_something_new_for_30_days.html. My ramble about large families: http://rwinzeler.xanga.com/768350286/day-16-poor-but-not-lost

Day 17: Banana/rice/wheat flour pancakes works for me. Fact: Voting in Brazil is October 7^th. You vote, or you pay a fine. This sounds absurd to my North American brain. Further reading: On Brazilian politics and culture: http://rwinzeler.xanga.com/768350355/day-17-brazilian-about-brazilians

Day 18: Sautéed onions/corn/beans/tomatos/cilantro. Wheat noodles with vinegar/salt/ mustard/olive oil. Mixed together for yum-ness. Fact: Go to Ted.com and watch everything about rethinking poverty. You will learn much.

Day 19: Anything with cheese…I miss it. And popsicles on a hot day. Fact: “Cheese – milk’s leap toward immortality.”  –Clifton Fadiman. Further reading: “We have grown literally afraid to be poor. We despise anyone who elects to be poor in order to simplify and save his inner life. If he does not join the general scramble and pant with the money-making street, we deem him spiritless and lacking in ambition” — William James

Day 20: A scorpion joined us at Living Stones today. Life is just different here. Fact: “Poverty is like punishment for a crime you didn’t commit” — Eli Khamarov

Day 21: “The trouble with being poor is that it takes up all your time” — Willem de Kooning

Day 22: One more week of my rice and beans experiment. I guess I could become vegan if I wanted to. Fact: Why would I ever want to become a vegan???

Day 23: Weekends and experiments don’t go together well. Everything I want to do involves food other than rice and beans. Fact: “Poverty entails fear and stress and sometimes depression. It means a thousand petty humiliations and hardships.” –J.K. Rowling

Day 24: Going to Living Stones at the trash dump is hard. Because I would rather forget there are so many people with so little. Fact: “Sometimes you have to watch someone love something before you can love it yourself. It is as if they are showing you the way.” –Blue Like Jazz (Movie). Further reading (and watching): http://www.youtube.com/watch?gl=US&feature=share&v=KqwAuIH3e9E. My Saturday adventures: http://rwinzeler.xanga.com/768528963/day-24-dirty-feet-and-loving-first

Day 25: Flour and rice blended, add sugar/baking powder/pumpkin spices/raisins. Blend in pumpkin/milk/egg: Pumpkin raisin rice muffins,  PRRfins for short. Fact: Prrfins make great snacks and presents to give people who ask “So what have you been doing lately?”

Day 26: What do you buy as a present for someone who has nothing? And other questions I ask while working with Living Stones. Fact: I don’t know the answers yet.

Day 27: This experiment was just a little layer of experiencing and understanding poverty. It is easier not knowing. Fact: It was never about rice and beans: it was about sacrifice, limitations, small frustrations, and the patience and creativity to overcome. I hope this is not the end of this experiment.

Day 28: veggie burgers! Beans/eggs/parmesan cheese/mustard/lemon juice/spices/olive oil/rice/wheat flour, blended into hamburger-like texture. Shaped into patties and fried up. Further reading: top creative rice and beans meals: http://rwinzeler.xanga.com/768748868/day-28-my-favorites

Day 29: Celebrated Marcone’s birthday (we made up the day because no know knows for sure). We think he is 16.

Day 30: The End. Happy Children’s Day! What did I used to eat before this experiment? I should have made a list. Fact: One kilo (2.2 pounds) of rice and a kilo of beans every week for a month: $20. Three weeks of adding things to rice and beans to make them more tasty: $40. Total cost of eating: $2 a day.

 

Day 30: so it has happened. I am used to rice and beans. I thought about what I wanted to eat, and besides fruit, couldn’t think of anything else. Wow. Amazing how our body adjusts. I ate a kilo of brown rice and a kilo of black beans every week (about 2 pounds each): cost: 5$. The last three weeks, I added things to my rice and beans to make them taste good: $40. So about $60 for the month, or two dollars a day. Nice. Interesting how that worked out.

It was four weeks yesterday, and today is Children’s day in Brazil. I am also gone all day and don’t have time to think about food. Popcorn for breakfast at one party, frozen lasagna for lunch, and I didn’t even want the cake from the second children’s party I was at: my body wanted rice and beans, so that was dinner. No time to buy fruit, so I settled for juice. What did I used to eat before this experiment? I should have made a list.

Happy Children’s Day 2012! Happy end of the rice and beans experiment!

 

Day 29: When I started working with Living Stones in 2008, I met a family with 5 kids: Mercia, Marcone, Taciana, Eduardo, and Roberto. They were very poor, and “lived with” their aunt, basically taking care of themselves. Marcone was deaf. He has never been to school, and spends his days begging in the streets and grunting or putting up his middle finger to get attention.

I kept in contact with this family, and continue to visit them even when Living Stones ended in Paudalho the end of 2010. I got all of their birthdays—except for Marcone: no one knows when his birthday is. I don’t think he is even registered—and if there ever was a birth certificate, it is long gone, just like their mother.

So this year, Mercia (the older sister who takes care of everyone) and I decided to make up his birthday, to make sure it got celebrated. And we chose Children’s day (October 12). This week I was stumped: what do you get for a (I think) 16 year old deaf boy? I finally got him Uno, because we always played it at Living Stones. When I got off the bus today to get to his house, I realized: how was I going to find him if he wasn’t at home—and if he was, how was I going to explain to him it was his birthday? I got a little worried.

But he was home, and it wasn’t a problem. He had watched (normally from a distance) as I’d come to celebrate his brothers and sisters’ birthdays. And his sister had mimed for him I was coming. As soon as I came close, he came running, grunting a greeting. I took the birthday glasses out of my bag and he got a big smile on his face: he knew it was his day!

With his family sitting on the porch, I got out the cake and we all sang Happy Birthday to him, and clapped. He couldn’t hear—but he clapped along. He loved his present, and he grabbed it and ran off to examine it closer. Then he came back shyly for a piece of cake. Then off again, and back. He wasn’t sure what to do with himself. When it was time to go, I motioned to him that I wanted a hug. He has grown so much taller than me! But he reached down and hugged my tight. Marcone’s first birthday. Happy 16^th(I think).