Good Cop, Bad Cop.

Friday 4th May began with a shaky start. I wanted to visit the Policia Federal to get info on how I could legally leave the country, go around the world and come back before my maximum stay of 6 months per year is up. It turns out that if I leave on the 1st August (one week before the end of my 6 months) I can return next year legally for a week, once the week is up I will be staying illegally. What this means is I will get charged R$4 for every day I overstay my legal welcome, with a maximum charge of 100 days this equates to a total of 100 quid. The reason for my imperative return: I have just leased a bar for one year. Now, I have a certain itinerary that involves meeting with Gaz, Nefs and Colin 10th June in Peru, followed by a two week trip to Colombia. I then return to Rio for another two months and leave for New Zealand. The other arrangement, that I definitely do not want to miss is Thailand for NYE, where I will meet 10 or 12 of my UK mandem. So you see, it is all a bit complicated. The reason why the day started shakily is due to when I went to renew my visa, I was informed that I would have to pay an extra R$250 for losing my immigration slip. I refused and went home to find it.

On the way home, I bumped into Joe, my American friend, who I am co-renting the bar with. We discussed the details of the bar and basically came to an agreement that while I was away, I would receive only half of the profits for the bar. This I think is fair and will mean that I will have a nice chunk of cash when I return in January 2008. We sat on Selaron's stairway to chat about the plans and my reservations over a beer. Just then, I military police car drove slowly passed and the passenger started staring at me out of the window. I stupidly - in hindsight - stared straight back. The car stopped. What followed was most unnerving. The cop who had been staring at me, jumped out wielding an M16 assault rifle and shouted something at me, which I didn't understand, he then pointed the assault rifle straight at me. I raised my hands in the air, not like I just don't care! The 'bad cop' continued barking at me and I replied 'Eu inglês, amigo, calmo' keeping my hands raised. He then pointed at my bag and a second pig, the 'good cop' jumped out of the car and came over with a pistol in hand. He was calm and behaved politely. I must have seemed to panic, (naturally with a fucking m16 pointed straight at me) and Joe then told me to stay calm and replied something to them in Portuguese. I then sat down and opened my bag, and the guy shouted 'levante-se!' (stand up) so I stood up again! The good cop with the pistol came up to me and calmly told me to empty my bag and my pockets, which I did. I had relaxed somewhat by this point but was praying to myself that I hadn't left anything illegal in my bag. I decided I had never used my bag to carry anything illegal and stayed cool. He went through every nook and cranny and when he was done, he pulled forward my shorts and took a good look down them! The bad cop searched Joe just as thoroughly and eventually once they had finished checking out our cocks, the bad cop finally hollered 'obrigado, acabo de fazer meu trabalho' meaning thanks I'm only doing my job.

They were really hoping to find something, to them that means a bonus on their salary. I have been told that if you're caught carrying drugs you get taken to a cash point rather than the police station.

The Policia Militaria remain the most feared gang in Rio.

Imposed Peace in Rio

Vigilantes impose peace in Rio slums (Associated press)

RIO DE JANEIRO, Brazil - For as long as anyone can remember, the cracked asphalt soccer field in the Roquete Pinto slum was off-limits to children — "reserved" by gangs selling marijuana and cocaine. Then, a few months ago, a mysterious squad of beefy men with submachine guns started patrolling on foot, and the drug dealers disappeared.

A few days ago, while gunbattles were raging in two other Rio de Janeiro neighborhoods and bystanders were shielding their kids from the bullets, the barefoot teens of Roquete Pinto smiled and shouted as they kicked a ball around their freshly liberated field.

Startling transformations like Roquete Pinto's are increasingly visible across Rio, as for-profit "militias" made up of active and former police officers, private security guards, off-duty prison guards and firefighters evict drug gangs from slums where violence used to be out of control.

Although some worry about the implications of vigilante justice, the militias have powerful sympathizers, among them Mayor Cesar Maia, who calls them "self-defense groups" and says that compared with the drug gangs, the vigilantes are the lesser evil. The surprise is that the gangs aren't fighting to hold their turf. In the few known cases where they did, militia gunfire turned them back.

Critics say the city risks going the way of Colombia, where violent paramilitary groups that sprang up to battle guerrillas came to hold more power than authorities in some areas.

"It's the state that establishes law and order, not the militia," said Sergio Cabral, governor of Rio de Janeiro state. "We won't accept this under any conditions." But President Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva hasn't spoken out against the militias, and it seems that law enforcement has fallen into a gray area in many Rio slums, and city authorities may be content to leave it at that as Brazil prepares to host Pope Benedict XVI next month and Rio stages the Pan American Games in July.

In this city of 6 million people, one of the world's most violent, "the police provide security for the rich" and "the militias are the security of the poor," said Marina Maggessi, a congresswoman and a former senior drug-control official. She has mixed feelings about the militias, saying they represent the "collapse of the state."

First gaining strength in 2003 as an alternative to ineffective, often corrupt police, the illegal security forces have mushroomed since late last year and now control about 90 of Rio's 600 "favelas," Maggessi said. Success in slums like Roquete Pinto, meanwhile, fuels their expansion into others. "This place was dead," said Joao Batista dos Santos da Silva Jr., president of the Roquete Pinto residents' association. "It was war every day." Like many slum community leaders, he refuses to acknowledge the existence of the militias, saying the cleanup is entirely the work of the police, even though there is no station in the slum, and not a single officer or patrol car was seen during two recent visits.

On the other hand, Roquete Pinto's new protectors were hard to miss: Seven big men in shorts and T-shirts, silently eating lunch in a pool hall, a submachine gun and automatic pistols on the table between their plates.

In another favela, Rio das Pedras, a woman selling shampoo on the street had no doubts. "There are no muggers and no drug sellers," said Margarida Rodrigues dos Santos, 57. "The militia won't let them in."

At Roquete Pinto's soccer field, the gangs "would come down here, shoot the place up and tell everyone to go home," said 19-year-old Rodrigo dos Santos. Now the only reminders of the gangs are the bullet-pocked street lamps around the soccer field. Residents say robberies have become rare. Delivery trucks once barred from entering now drive through, and there's a new Internet cafe and a lively outdoor market.

There are no official estimates of how much money the militias make, but residents of one slum told the O Estado de S. Paulo newspaper that families pay $7-$14 per month. That adds up quickly in the steep hillsides where tens of thousands of families live.

Militia leaders did not respond to requests for interviews.

"They're very leery about reporters," said Jose Fontes, a member of a militia that took over the Kelson's slum last November. "The commander is in hiding and won't even answer his phone."
At least one high-ranking police officer has endorsed their work while acknowledging that they are illegal.

"The communities are now free from the traffickers," Col. Mario Sergio de Brito Duarte, who heads a special favela operations unit, said in an e-mail. "Children and teenagers living in these neighborhoods are no longer exposed to drug wholesaling."

Baile Funk

A couple of weeks ago, I went to a party in a favela. This type of party was called Baile Funk. Baile Funk literally translates as Funk Dance. I wonder if you remember the scene in City of God where lil' Ze shoots his friend in the club, well if you do, you know what the place looks like, the scene was filmed there. Baile Funk has become an institution out here in Brazil, especially in Rio. Basically, it is place where all the young and frustrated youth from the favelas go to vent there tension and look for some action of the sexual variety. The music is not dissimilar in its sound to London grime, with its basic beats and loud, raw MCing over the top. The lyrics are equally unimaginative, and pretty much just talk about sex constantly, in an effort to set the mood, oh, not to forget the occasional mention of guns, gangs and drugs. Although it has a gritty and exciting edge to it. Pure gully.

I went with a hostel tour, which was not as bad as I had imagined it would be. There were 60 odd people on the tour. We all paid R$50 for the round trip. This included a 'VIP' pass, travel and entry.

The favela hosting the Baile Funk is run different kind of command know as 'The Militia' allegedly these guys are a faction formed of off duty, bent cops or military police. There are no drugs or drug dealing permitted in this favela. The faction is heavily armed through their state and military connections and they govern their territory with an iron fist i.e if you are caught dealing or even taking drugs, you risk being executed on the spot; and they certainly wouldn't be arrested for the murder. I have heard they have plans to eventually invade every favela in Zona Sul, including Rosinha.

The bounders in the club were the hugest I'd ever seem. Pumped up on so many steroids, it is a wonder that they are in control at all. To back them up are the security, kept out of general sight but armed with AK-47s, just in case. Basically you do not fuck with these people.

There were dancing competitions going on on stage; girls each trying to shake their asses better than the next, the dirtier and more revealing the louder the cheers.

The VIP area was designed purely for tourists who want to get out of the action or socialise with other gringos, as it does get feisty down there. The guys generally behave like uncaged wild animals and the cave-man attitude appeared to be welcomed by the girls. There are choreographed dances to go with the music but to me, the guys performing them looked really gay; although, to be fair to them, the girls seemed to love it.

I bumped into a girl called Billy, who I knew from a hostel I'd stayed in when I first arrived back from the North. Billy (real name Courtney - apparently a strippers name) from Canada, moved here when she was 17 and speaks fluent Portuguese. When I first met her last month, I thought she was a jumped up bitch who loved herself - she seemed to love letting everyone know she could speak Portuguese. Actually, my opinion hasn't changed too much, although, I have warmed to her a great deal. I suppose like most arrogant people, she is an acquired taste. She is about 5'5", tanned with striking green eyes with lots of peircings in her belly, and she can wind her body like a pro. After exploring the club for a while and checking out the show. I returned to the dance floor for a boogy, with my Aussie mate Zak. Zak is 20, white and has dreads. He is a crazy party boy from Sydney, who loves getting on it; I suppose like I was when I was his age; come to think of it, like I am 6 years on now! There were so many gorgeous ghetto sluts everywhere. Some moved with such amazing rhythm that you just couldn't help staring and they certainly didn't mind the admiration. I bumped into Billy again and we had a bit of bump 'n' grind, then a wild, ferocious kiss. After about 30 minutes of dancing we left to find a van home. Vans are like unofficial buses that ferry people to and from every corner of the city. When we eventually got to mine, we stripped, and jumped straight in pool. It was like something out of a Hollywood film. I have a balcony next to the pool, which overlooks the city and what a view it was that night. I won't go into anymore detail.

Contrasting cultures

My work schedule is at last growing; I now work for two business English Language schools, who send me to random places teaching random people in different positions. I enjoy it and believe that I'm doing good job, although, I get paid R$25-30 per hour and they are charging up to R$75. This is annoying and eventually I intend will poach all my students from the school for cheaper private lessons. All in good time. Despite this, I can now survive on my wages, which has relinquished much pressure and made me generally happier.

Today I worked in the town of Barra Tijuka. It is one posh neighborhood. Tall apartment blocks housing the upper echelons of Brazilian society; namely the white southerners. I entered numerous office blocks to find my destination: the well know oil company Shell. I didn't spot a single black guy working in the vicinity - sorry yes I did, the security guard. No surprise there. It seems there are positions reserved for the unskilled and uneducated in this rich white metropolis. The office was much the same as any I had experienced during my time in the corporate world; sterile new surfaces lit up with fluorescent strip bulbs and kept cool with gallons of gassed water. My lesson consisted of getting two guys Marcelo and Danilho, both from the finance dept, to argue over how much to pay their staff in a false role-play scenario. They both seemed a bit slow and I don't think it was the language problem. We then moved on to a reading exercise consisting of them reading about American 'fat cats' and discussing whether the amount some CEOs get paid is fair, or not. It directly linked onto an ad-lib discussion on the distribution of wealth in Brazil. Apparently 80% of the countries wealth is owned by 10% of the population; a staggering figure. The two hour lesson drew smoothly to an end. Tonight, I am lucky enough to be helping Mauricio - head of marketing for a French cement company - draft an email to his VP in France; oh the fun I could have ;)

On the other side of the fence, I ventured back into Rosinha yesterday and I agreed to take over the role of English teacher at The Two Brothers Foundation. The role will be challenging and not only will I be teaching classes of ranged age and ability, but with my little experience have been asked to devise the syllabus for a whole term. I have the help of the coordinator; who I believe is more interested in his Mao Thai training than the organisation. I'm starting to think that no one in the organisation actually does anything, and they rely solely on volunteers, who are few and far between.

I have explored the torrain somewhat and it is absolutely crazy; a world stuck years behind the surrounding cities. It has hundreds of small businesses and I believe one can get everything one needs from within the favela. I particularly remember seeing a dairy store; this would have been normal had it not been for the 50 odd hens being battery farmed for their eggs. I was later shown some accomodation options and was surprised at how different they were to what I'd expected. I can't imagine all the residents live like that; one place was a modest one bedroomed apartment with seperate kitchen/living room. The price: R$160 PCM - 40 English Pounds Stirling. Ironically I would be generally safer living in the favela than Lapa where I currently reside; apart from I Commando Vemelho decided it was time to take back their lost territory and invade Rosinha. You can check on me here: www.riobodycount.com.br

Rosinha

The other day I went to check out The Two Brothers Foundation in Favela Rosinha. It was my first real experience of a shanty town. I met the guy outside the Copacabana Palace at noon and we caught a van along the coast. We alighted just outside the entrance. The town in which Rosinha is situated is a pretty middle class well to do area and walking in was a shock; it was literally like walking into a third world country within a country. A self contained society, which works and functions with predominantly different rules and regulations to the rest of the country.

No one actually knows how many people inhabit the favela but some say it is close to 400,000. This number will not and can not be confirmed. These people officially don't exist in Brazil.

I was led down various winding alleyways and eventually into a small office. A door on my left opened to reveal a very sweet little classroom. Clearly meant for children with its small chairs and basic colourful number and alphabet charts all over the walls. It reminded me of visiting my old girlfriend Louise at her primary school. I was then shown upstairs and into another larger classroom for teens and adults. Above this was another floor, which had flooded from the morning's tropical rainstorm. Finally, I took it upon myself to climb the last staircase up onto the roof. WOW. I was absolutely amazed with what I saw there. Miles of clumsily constructed brick box houses, in some cases crudely painted in an attempt to brighten the raw orange brick colour up. I stood there staring for about 20 minutes in complete awe. It was very hard to believe that people are living like this, juxtaposed with the people living in luxury apartments only ten minutes along the coast. I laid down to ponder and fell asleep.

I must have been out for two hours, when my body clock prompted my revival. It was 15:05 and the lesson I had planned on observing should have started. I rushed down stairs and met the 'teacher'. Obviously, the kids were already working on Brazilian time as they hadn't yet turned up. Marina is a trained nurse over here from the US to travel and work; she is of part Afro decent and could quite easily pass as Brazilian; as could most mixed race people. She had been living in Rosinha for the past few months teaching voluntarily. She seemed nice enough.

A few moments later, the first of her two child students arrived. A small pretty-faced girl of about 8 or 9 years; her name I cannot remember (yet). I followed teacher and student into the class. It was obvious after five minute that Marina had had no formal teacher training; although, in her credit she was making a good effort and any volunteer gets my respect. I was impressed by her grasp of Portuguese but slightly concerned by the amount she used it. 10 minutes later, a slightly pudgy 8 year old named Douglas turned up and politely shook my hand. He had a huge cheeky grin on his face, which revealed a big gap in his first front teeth. The lesson continued and I felt sure I could make a difference here.

After the lesson had finished, the kids scrambled off home through the maze of alleys and Marina joined Washington and me for a brief chat. She explained that she was leaving to travel northern Brazil. Washington put the pressure on me 'We really need you Niko,' he exclaimed, 'in two weeks we will be without an English teacher.' I paused for thought, before agreeing to look at my current schedule and check when I'd be available. He was very happy at this and promised to send me the timetable. We all shook hands and he gave me a warm genuine smile of gratitude before I departed.

As I left alone venturing through a favela for the first time, I felt no fear or danger. I made my way in reverse of the way I'd come and back down the main road. The organisation is located right next the the favela's aptly named 'bocca' or mouth; this is the point where most of the drug trafficking goes on. Metaphorically, how the favela speaks to the city. I locked eyes with a guy sitting down speaking on his mobile phone as I crossed the small internal road, I then glanced down to his waist and noticed he was propped up on a massive AR15 assault riffle! It was at this moment when I remembered where I was. There were 3 or four others, all about my age, each sporting automatic weapons and casually chatting over beers. Wisely, I didn't hold the gaze any longer and walked by as calm as if I were shopping in the supermarket. Further down the road, there were kids with bumbags full of money selling merchandise - unarmed but heavily protected. I carried on down the street, which ran adjacent to the sewage stream; this, I was told earlier, only provided sanitation to half the population; I wasn't told how the other half managed. A little further was a road block of boulders, there were teenagers manning this and only authorised vehicles could pass. Even more shocking was what is saw next: I left the favela and literally 50 yards from the armed beer drinkers in the favela stood and heavily armed policeman. His gun was fucking massive and looked like the railgun Rasmas uses in Alien. He stood with a grimace on his face, calmly watching over the entrance. The funny thing is, both sides are blatantly aware of each other's presence but don't cross the line in some agreed truce. The police are paid well and therefore play a part in the problem instead of preventing it as they were first employed to do. I crossed the road unnoticed and waited for my bus home.

Return to Rio

There is something extremely different and powerful about this place. Something in the air, something in the vibrations. In a country with such powerful life-force bursting from every rock or grain of soil, not to mention the Amazon, it seems understandable that the human population would possess such a passionate thirst for excitement. Rio de Janeiro is a city demanding respect from every angle. There are real gangsters and drug barons; amazing and crazy parties; hugely corrupt police and military; Acai; exciting attacking football matches; beautiful beaches; beautiful people and this is all in the set of breath-taking scenery with music pouring out of every door.

I could quite easily stay here and forget about the outside world completely. And this is not a feeling that is unique to me, no, certainly not. Pretty much everyone I speak to who hasn't just passed through Rio has caught the same infectious bug. Like a morphia, this city is highly addictive.

So now I am back, for a while it would seem. I have a cool double room to myself in a hostel which is closed to the public, it has a swimming pool and a great night time view of the city. The place is also leased out to three others all Spanish speakers from Latin America. I try to ignore their speaking Spanish in the most polite of ways as it confuses my Portuguese.

For the few couple of weeks I have been socially frequenting a local hostel named Samba Villa. It is under the Archos da Lapa in Zona Sul. I have made friends with the owner, Elvis - the son of a Serbian General. Elvis is a huge, blond, bear-like man, born and raised in Australia. Elvis has had a fruitful past you might say, a trained military lawyer who spent some time in the import-export arms business. In other words he was a gun-runner. He is certainly someone you want on your side. He and his more quieter business partner, Austin, a South African fellow who spent the past 7 years in Brighton, seems nice although certainly the more submissive of the partnership. They acquired the building in September 2006 and have basically come into the area offering rooms cheaper than anyone else in Rio at 19$R per night (about 5 quid). I have befriended two guys who are living there: Joe from Boston, North America and Zac from Sydney, Australia. During week nights we chat over a couple of beers and play poker with other residents for small amounts of cash. I am so far undefeated and could actually survive on the wages I've earned from it! Although, obviously I know it would not be wise to ever rely on this type of 'work'.

Favelas

What is most fascinating and also disturbing to me is the favela situation. A favela is the Brazilian term for shanty town or slum. The largest favela in Brazil, Favela Rocinha is home to some say up to 400,000 residents. That's a possible 400,000 people with no formal address. Miles of slums. Until 2006 this favela was controlled by the largest of the three criminal factions in Rio: CV or Comando Vermelho, which is Portuguese for Red Command. With state-of-the-art arms they govern the majority of the favelas with a stern hand. Don't be fooled, this is not some two pence operation, the CV have 60,000 gang members (same as the number of Vodafone UK employees!) making them the largest street gang on the planet. The organisation was founded in 1969 in the prison Cândido Mendes, on the Ilha Grande island (see Feb 07 blog), as a connection of ordinary cons and political prisoners who were members of the Falange Vermelha (Red Phalanx), who fought the military dictatorship.

During the entire 1990's the criminal organisation was at it's strongest, but today the principal leaders have been arrested or are dead, and the organisation is not as strong. The second largest faction Amigos dos Amigos (ADA, Friends of Friends) arose from a conflict between the Comando Vermelho and Terceiro Comando , Terceiro Comando being the third main criminal faction and another principle rival of ADA and CV. ADA controls many drug selling points in the North and West zones, while CV control pretty much the whole South.

You can walk into a well organised favela and be pretty sure no harm will come to you providing you behave and cooporate entirely. The guns are extremely alarming although are not for gringos, they are for rival gangs; especially the largest and most dangerous gang in Rio - the police.

I have yet to experience a visit first hand. I have avoided the seemingly voyeurish favela tours in favour of a real experience.

There are armed guards stationed at the entrance to most favelas. They will search you for weapons and ask what the nature of your visit is. If you answer that you want drugs, they will point you in the direction of the favela's aptly named 'mouth' where the drugs are distributed. The point is, they want to sell their drugs and if you have the money to buy, they would rather sell you their product than rob you and risk execution from the powers to be. They would also be in a lot of trouble with the police if a gringo was murdered. Police have a tendency to react to these killings with ferocious vengeance. Last year a bus full of people was burnt while in service; 10 people were burned alive. The police responded with bulldozers, destroying multiple homes in the favela, home to the guilty party.

Some view the factions as modern day robin hoods; through selling their drugs to the rich segments of society and supporting the poor. These factions are famous for providing much needed resources such as support for day care, medicine for the sick, and money for the poor. They also have been known to build asphalt roads, host huge parties, and even sponsor other recreational spaces and activities, such as football pitches. These groups normally maintain a very high level of control over social behavior, strictly prohibiting street crimes such as rape, muggings, and break-ins within the favela.

Despite the low incidence of street crime in favelas, the frequency of gun battles between police and rival gangs in these communities present real dangers. Police and drug traffickers co-exist in a very complicated balance of power that involves a high level of corruption and cooperation. Even so, police invasions of favelas such as Rocinha are common, and the results can be dramatic and intense large-scale gun battles. To be fair the factions are also infamous for murder, gun smuggling and torture. The standard practice, should you be discovered as an undercover cop, is to be incased with tires up to their neck, the tires dowsed in petrol and set them alight. The effect is savage, carbonising the body allowing the victim to stay alive while feeling and smelling their own flesh melt. Nice.

What the media fail to show us in England is the reality that there is civil war going on here. I wonder if George Bush even knows where Rio is let alone what a favela is...