I thought I'd post a brief post detail the disturbing images I observed the other night.
Me, Shelley and Joãn planned on going to the cinema to see Spiderman two the other night. It is located just up the road from Lapa (where I live) in an area called Cinelandia. When we got there it was closed so we decided to go for a stroll in search of some scran. We walked round the corner to marvel at the sights of the Museu Nacional de Belas Artes (National Museum of Fine Arts) the Teatro Municipal and Centro Cultural da Justiça Federal; all relics built about 100 years marking the rich wealth and grandeur of Imperial Brazil.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Imperial_Brazil
A boy of about 9 came up to us begging for change. He had a big smile and an innocent (probably well practiced) face. He was about 5' tall and skinnier than a rake and was clutching a can of Skol, although, this can didn't contain beer. I pulled out 2 a two Real note and handed it over to him before he scarpered off into the night. To confirm my suspicion Joãn asked 'you know that wasn't beer in that can don't you?' 'Yeah it was glue, wasn't it' I replied. Joãn nodded in agreement. We then sat on the steps in front of the Centro Cultural da Justiça Federal discussing Brazilian history with Joãn (an international relations student who works as a translator for Elvis). He went on to tell us that there still existed a Brazilian royal family who dwell in the State of Petropolis, although they have no power or say in the running of the country.
The same young boy who had been begging us for money just 10 minutes earlier was attempting to tackle a football from some slightly older boys in the square. They kept throwing him on the floor like a rag doll when ever he managed to touch the ball. None of the children had flip-flops on and this wasn't to help their footballing skills, it was likely to be because they had been taken from them. They were all clutching empty plastic coke bottles and just like the can of Skol they contained no coke.
Behind us, further up the stairs we heard voices and commotion. There was a small alcove on the top left of the staircase. This alcove had become home to about 10 you boys and girls; one of whom, no more that 16 was pregnant. They were darting in and out of there 'home' all throughout the time we sat there. Each of them clutching their bottles of glue.
I will never forget the powerful juxtaposition of seeing those poor solvent-addicted homeless kids, playing in a square surrounded by such splendid and rich architecture.
The link below contains some startling facts:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Street_children#Street_children_in_Brazil
Saturday, 12 May 2007
Wednesday, 9 May 2007
Skol Beats - Day 2
We finally reached Central Sâo Paulo and meandered out of the bus station. The streets surrounding the bus station were alive filled with market traders vending their cheap & tacky merchandise.
After grabbing a disgusting x tudo burger we wandered the streets of Sâo Paulo to check out the local action. There were free parties in the street everywhere. Sâo Paulo has had a bad write-up and pretty much everyone I'd spoken to had completely slagged it off as a city; however, personally, I enjoyed it and would definitely like to spend more time there. I can imagine that the days must pretty bleak, like any other big city but the nightlife seemed to be heavy and full of action. We took a detour into a chemist where I tried to sneak on some ladies cotton fresh antiperspirant, although was caught and had to buy it. I then had the idea of buying a toothbrush and toothpaste; everyone followed suit and we were soon the only four people to be wandering through the city streets brushing our teeth in unison while dancing to the free trance music blaring from every street corner.
We were soon in a cab on our way to day two the festival where the second days mashup tent awaited us. Along the way, we passed through the main city centre and were all amazed by the fantastic architectural splendor that remained from Imperial Brazil. The Teatro Municipal particularly caught my attention with its huge Doric columns and intricately sculpted statues; there were queues of people lining up to enter an apparently free night of theatre.
Again we bought tickets from touts outside and I handed them the ladies antiperspirant as a gift; they we overjoyed with excitement and scuffled with each other over who would spray first. We left them to it.
The festival was even busier than the previous day and we started off in the live tent listening to hard trance; not my cuppa tea but Zach and the girls love it and I do believe in democracy. I got chatting to a rather chunky little teenager with braces, who reminded me of a puffin with a rucksack. She was very friendly and offered me a few caps of supposed amphetamines in exchange for a beer. She introduced me to her friends who equally friendly and I chatted practicing my Portuguese. The puffin girl then told me that her fat friend wanted to kiss me I responded polite yet negatively, she then added that she wanted to kiss me. I told her I had a girl friend. The trance was replaced by some funky breaks and we had a little brock out before moving on to the next arena. I knew I would spend most of the night in the DnB tent so thought it'd be a change to experience a bit of variety first.
It was soon midnight and time for the main event. DJ Marky, Sâo Paulo's first and most famous Drum & Bass DJ and producer. It couldn't have been better; the tent was rammed full of Brazilians all gathered to worship their new-age messiah. He kicked off with a remix of Coolio's 'Take a ride with me' which contains some fucking sick, distorted, analogue basslines. Every tune he slammed on caused the arena to tremor with excitement and mayhem. I was satisfied with my fix of DnB although dissatisfied by the non-existent effect of the amphetamines. We all went for more beer and to the neighbouring tent for some funky house and electro; not sure who it was on the decks.
It was then time for Fabio and Grooverider who were unimpressive; I guess my hopes were set too high after the last time I say Grooverider play a 3 hour private set with my jungles amigos Colin and Gaz; I'll never forget the eclectic range of characters including fast-forward issue wall man; massive black dude with size thirty white trainers; hippy with steamed up glasses and gay rainbow Marvin Gaye impersonator; but there another story.
Eventually the party was winding down and we joined the Spanish girl Sarah and her friend for a final dance, before leaving to find their hostel. By this time Zack and I were steaming mad drunk and started arguing and wrestling in the back of the cab, over what I cannot remember, Sarah jumped inbetween us to separate the violence and keep the cabby tranquil. Shelley wanted to bail so we drove to bus station. All the while, the cabby is on the phone trying to sort e's out for Zack and Sarah. I left with Shelley with the intention of helping her get the coach and briefly darted in the toilet, when I came out she had gone and I drunkenly rolled through the station looking for her. I was soon lost. I tried to go back to the taxi rank and find the others although couldn't find that either. Just then I saw Shelley and we both bought tickets before KOing for most of the 6 hour journey home.
After grabbing a disgusting x tudo burger we wandered the streets of Sâo Paulo to check out the local action. There were free parties in the street everywhere. Sâo Paulo has had a bad write-up and pretty much everyone I'd spoken to had completely slagged it off as a city; however, personally, I enjoyed it and would definitely like to spend more time there. I can imagine that the days must pretty bleak, like any other big city but the nightlife seemed to be heavy and full of action. We took a detour into a chemist where I tried to sneak on some ladies cotton fresh antiperspirant, although was caught and had to buy it. I then had the idea of buying a toothbrush and toothpaste; everyone followed suit and we were soon the only four people to be wandering through the city streets brushing our teeth in unison while dancing to the free trance music blaring from every street corner.
We were soon in a cab on our way to day two the festival where the second days mashup tent awaited us. Along the way, we passed through the main city centre and were all amazed by the fantastic architectural splendor that remained from Imperial Brazil. The Teatro Municipal particularly caught my attention with its huge Doric columns and intricately sculpted statues; there were queues of people lining up to enter an apparently free night of theatre.
Again we bought tickets from touts outside and I handed them the ladies antiperspirant as a gift; they we overjoyed with excitement and scuffled with each other over who would spray first. We left them to it.
The festival was even busier than the previous day and we started off in the live tent listening to hard trance; not my cuppa tea but Zach and the girls love it and I do believe in democracy. I got chatting to a rather chunky little teenager with braces, who reminded me of a puffin with a rucksack. She was very friendly and offered me a few caps of supposed amphetamines in exchange for a beer. She introduced me to her friends who equally friendly and I chatted practicing my Portuguese. The puffin girl then told me that her fat friend wanted to kiss me I responded polite yet negatively, she then added that she wanted to kiss me. I told her I had a girl friend. The trance was replaced by some funky breaks and we had a little brock out before moving on to the next arena. I knew I would spend most of the night in the DnB tent so thought it'd be a change to experience a bit of variety first.
It was soon midnight and time for the main event. DJ Marky, Sâo Paulo's first and most famous Drum & Bass DJ and producer. It couldn't have been better; the tent was rammed full of Brazilians all gathered to worship their new-age messiah. He kicked off with a remix of Coolio's 'Take a ride with me' which contains some fucking sick, distorted, analogue basslines. Every tune he slammed on caused the arena to tremor with excitement and mayhem. I was satisfied with my fix of DnB although dissatisfied by the non-existent effect of the amphetamines. We all went for more beer and to the neighbouring tent for some funky house and electro; not sure who it was on the decks.
It was then time for Fabio and Grooverider who were unimpressive; I guess my hopes were set too high after the last time I say Grooverider play a 3 hour private set with my jungles amigos Colin and Gaz; I'll never forget the eclectic range of characters including fast-forward issue wall man; massive black dude with size thirty white trainers; hippy with steamed up glasses and gay rainbow Marvin Gaye impersonator; but there another story.
Eventually the party was winding down and we joined the Spanish girl Sarah and her friend for a final dance, before leaving to find their hostel. By this time Zack and I were steaming mad drunk and started arguing and wrestling in the back of the cab, over what I cannot remember, Sarah jumped inbetween us to separate the violence and keep the cabby tranquil. Shelley wanted to bail so we drove to bus station. All the while, the cabby is on the phone trying to sort e's out for Zack and Sarah. I left with Shelley with the intention of helping her get the coach and briefly darted in the toilet, when I came out she had gone and I drunkenly rolled through the station looking for her. I was soon lost. I tried to go back to the taxi rank and find the others although couldn't find that either. Just then I saw Shelley and we both bought tickets before KOing for most of the 6 hour journey home.
Monday, 7 May 2007
Skol Beats - Day 1
After the serious search by the PMs, Joe and I went back to Samba Villa to sign the rental contracts with the landlord Elvis and third partner Zack from Australia.
Zack and I had arranged to go to São Paulo for a rave called Skol Beats. I had heard about the event months ago and checked the line up online. It was sick. I had to be there.
http://bizz.abril.com.br/barulhoonline/37824_comentarios.shtml
As you can see the second day included a tent solely dedicated to 15 hours of DnB!
Zack and I were to join Shelley, a 22 from Ireland staying in my hostel; and Fernanda, a 23 Brazilian from Brazilia, staying at Samba Villa. After finalising contracts with Joe and Elvis we left for our adventure. Eventually, we flagged a taxi down at the ripe time of 18:00 (4 hours over schedule) and arrived at the bus station after 30 minutes of rush hour traffic to buy our bus tickets. The bus was comfortable and had seats that leaned back almost horizontally, allowing us to sleep for most of the journey. We then took a sherbet dab to the event picking up tickets from touts on the way.
Security was tight and I was afraid that the tickets wouldn't get us in, but they did. First off, we went to the bar to get some beer down us. The only drink on the menu was Skol beer. After necking a few we followed the music to our first tent. Q-Bert was in the urban tent. He is one of the world most famous turntablists. Turntablism means to use the turntables like a musical intrument; creating music by juggling two records, mixing and scratching in time. He was fucking awesome.
After we went to watch DJ Housey. AKA David Guetta from France. To my surprise I really got into it. He play a set that was even comparible to Bob & Pat's 'Gash Sessions Vol 3'. There was somehting missing though.. Jubes. We went in search. None. Eventually we bumped into a Spanish girl who we new from Rio and she said she could get some for R$40 each. I bought two, and double dropped because they tasted like paracetamol. I think they were pro-plus or something similar. Very disappointing; they tool about an hour to do something very subtle, not dissimilar to drinking a cup of coffee. Someone should really sort out the jube problem in Brazil.
For the rest of the night we hopped from tent to tent consuming massive amounts of Skol enjoying a mixture of house, electro, breaks and hip hop. The night passed fairly quickly and we were soon drunkedly dancing to the rythyms of Mstrkrftin in the blazing São Paulo sun. At about 9am security guards dressed in black, efficiently ushered everyone out of the vicinity. Surprisingly, the four of us had successfully managed to remain together for pretty much the whole night; probably due to lack of chemical intoxications.
We waited in vain for a taxi outside of the rave and soon got chatting to a particularly drunk Brazilian, who offered us a place to crash in exchange for buying him breakfast. He informed us that he lived only 15 minutes away, so we all jumped in a sherbet and took off. I was soon asleep.
I awoke to be faced with a R$70 meter bill; Shelley tells me that our newly aquainted and soon-to-be host had first said his house was fifteen minutes away; fifteen minutes later, he updated us that it was half an hour; half an hour passed and that turned into 40 mintutes, at which point she woke me up. At this point, my mediteranian temper fueled by copius amounts of alcohol flaired up. I started cursing in my newly learnt Portuguese 'Po ha! Carâlio!' which literally means 'spunk dick' although weirdly 'po ha' in this context means 'fuck' and 'carâlio' means is commonly used as an insult! This woke Zack up and he joined in the profanities. Just then, the cabby, seeming to get very nervous, flashed a police car in front to pull over. Great. These fuckers jump out of their truck and bound over with there guns flailing. At this point, I sobered up instantly and tried to calm the situation. The police then attempted to lure us all over the road to their station but after watching us all shouting at each other, they seemed to get bored, chuckled to each other and jumped back in their truck before speeding off. We managed to get some money from the drunk and paid the innocent and furious cabbie before staggering away. After this episode, I asked a local garage for directions to a hotel and he pointed us to a merky looking establishment across the road. We entered the 'motel' and were greeted by a fat skanky bird with convenient, prostitute-like attire. She told us that we had to pay by the hour (gives you an idea of this place's purpose) and had a choice of rooms: standard beds; round beds; octogon beds and even rooms with no bed at all, just some weirdly shaped chair with about 10 arms! We opted for 2 standard rooms and were over the moon to find they boasted plastic-coated pillows and sheets. Mmmm. At this point the time was about 10am and we had paid till 5pm.
I woke up at 4pm and could not bare to be in these completely depressing surroundings any longer so rallied everyone else out of bed and eventually - 40 minutes later - we went in search of civilization. It was not easy to come by, we been ferried miles away from anywhere and were now stranded somewhere in the outskirts of the vast São Paulo state, which is home to 20,000,000 Paulistas. I asked directions in a local garage, a short mole-faced man pointed in the direction of the nearest bus stop, just 200 yards away. We all stopped off for Acaî and each chowed down on a greasy fried steak sandwhich; I dowsed pimenta all over the meat, mmm, hot chilli, mmm. Once we'd finished, we went and found the bus stop. It was located in an area which reminded me exactly of being inside Rosinha; full of hustle and bustle and local small businesses. Zack and I stopped to admire a view of favela like houses that stretched as far as the eye could see. 'This country is absolutely fucking huge, innit?' I mumoured. 'Yeah, it's fucking sick, dude' Zack replied, and we continued across the road to wait for the bus. Fernanda asked a girl also waiting for directions to the 'grande citade' where we would find skol beats and normality. 2 hours away by bus, was the girl's amused reply. When the bus arrived, it was full and we all spent the majority of the journey standing propped up against metal bars attempting (unsuccessfully) to relax. It was however interesting to see the slow build-up of civilization as we drew closer to São Paulo's main city centre.
Zack and I had arranged to go to São Paulo for a rave called Skol Beats. I had heard about the event months ago and checked the line up online. It was sick. I had to be there.
http://bizz.abril.com.br/barulhoonline/37824_comentarios.shtml
As you can see the second day included a tent solely dedicated to 15 hours of DnB!
Zack and I were to join Shelley, a 22 from Ireland staying in my hostel; and Fernanda, a 23 Brazilian from Brazilia, staying at Samba Villa. After finalising contracts with Joe and Elvis we left for our adventure. Eventually, we flagged a taxi down at the ripe time of 18:00 (4 hours over schedule) and arrived at the bus station after 30 minutes of rush hour traffic to buy our bus tickets. The bus was comfortable and had seats that leaned back almost horizontally, allowing us to sleep for most of the journey. We then took a sherbet dab to the event picking up tickets from touts on the way.
Security was tight and I was afraid that the tickets wouldn't get us in, but they did. First off, we went to the bar to get some beer down us. The only drink on the menu was Skol beer. After necking a few we followed the music to our first tent. Q-Bert was in the urban tent. He is one of the world most famous turntablists. Turntablism means to use the turntables like a musical intrument; creating music by juggling two records, mixing and scratching in time. He was fucking awesome.
After we went to watch DJ Housey. AKA David Guetta from France. To my surprise I really got into it. He play a set that was even comparible to Bob & Pat's 'Gash Sessions Vol 3'. There was somehting missing though.. Jubes. We went in search. None. Eventually we bumped into a Spanish girl who we new from Rio and she said she could get some for R$40 each. I bought two, and double dropped because they tasted like paracetamol. I think they were pro-plus or something similar. Very disappointing; they tool about an hour to do something very subtle, not dissimilar to drinking a cup of coffee. Someone should really sort out the jube problem in Brazil.
For the rest of the night we hopped from tent to tent consuming massive amounts of Skol enjoying a mixture of house, electro, breaks and hip hop. The night passed fairly quickly and we were soon drunkedly dancing to the rythyms of Mstrkrftin in the blazing São Paulo sun. At about 9am security guards dressed in black, efficiently ushered everyone out of the vicinity. Surprisingly, the four of us had successfully managed to remain together for pretty much the whole night; probably due to lack of chemical intoxications.
We waited in vain for a taxi outside of the rave and soon got chatting to a particularly drunk Brazilian, who offered us a place to crash in exchange for buying him breakfast. He informed us that he lived only 15 minutes away, so we all jumped in a sherbet and took off. I was soon asleep.
I awoke to be faced with a R$70 meter bill; Shelley tells me that our newly aquainted and soon-to-be host had first said his house was fifteen minutes away; fifteen minutes later, he updated us that it was half an hour; half an hour passed and that turned into 40 mintutes, at which point she woke me up. At this point, my mediteranian temper fueled by copius amounts of alcohol flaired up. I started cursing in my newly learnt Portuguese 'Po ha! Carâlio!' which literally means 'spunk dick' although weirdly 'po ha' in this context means 'fuck' and 'carâlio' means is commonly used as an insult! This woke Zack up and he joined in the profanities. Just then, the cabby, seeming to get very nervous, flashed a police car in front to pull over. Great. These fuckers jump out of their truck and bound over with there guns flailing. At this point, I sobered up instantly and tried to calm the situation. The police then attempted to lure us all over the road to their station but after watching us all shouting at each other, they seemed to get bored, chuckled to each other and jumped back in their truck before speeding off. We managed to get some money from the drunk and paid the innocent and furious cabbie before staggering away. After this episode, I asked a local garage for directions to a hotel and he pointed us to a merky looking establishment across the road. We entered the 'motel' and were greeted by a fat skanky bird with convenient, prostitute-like attire. She told us that we had to pay by the hour (gives you an idea of this place's purpose) and had a choice of rooms: standard beds; round beds; octogon beds and even rooms with no bed at all, just some weirdly shaped chair with about 10 arms! We opted for 2 standard rooms and were over the moon to find they boasted plastic-coated pillows and sheets. Mmmm. At this point the time was about 10am and we had paid till 5pm.
I woke up at 4pm and could not bare to be in these completely depressing surroundings any longer so rallied everyone else out of bed and eventually - 40 minutes later - we went in search of civilization. It was not easy to come by, we been ferried miles away from anywhere and were now stranded somewhere in the outskirts of the vast São Paulo state, which is home to 20,000,000 Paulistas. I asked directions in a local garage, a short mole-faced man pointed in the direction of the nearest bus stop, just 200 yards away. We all stopped off for Acaî and each chowed down on a greasy fried steak sandwhich; I dowsed pimenta all over the meat, mmm, hot chilli, mmm. Once we'd finished, we went and found the bus stop. It was located in an area which reminded me exactly of being inside Rosinha; full of hustle and bustle and local small businesses. Zack and I stopped to admire a view of favela like houses that stretched as far as the eye could see. 'This country is absolutely fucking huge, innit?' I mumoured. 'Yeah, it's fucking sick, dude' Zack replied, and we continued across the road to wait for the bus. Fernanda asked a girl also waiting for directions to the 'grande citade' where we would find skol beats and normality. 2 hours away by bus, was the girl's amused reply. When the bus arrived, it was full and we all spent the majority of the journey standing propped up against metal bars attempting (unsuccessfully) to relax. It was however interesting to see the slow build-up of civilization as we drew closer to São Paulo's main city centre.
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.
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.
Monday, 30 April 2007
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."
Friday, 27 April 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, 26 April 2007
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
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
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