Rocinha - the largest favela in Brasil

The tour of the favela at Rocinha was fascinating but afterwards I was left with mixed emotions.

The remains of 14 buildings
that collapsed in a domino
effect

The people we’d met were lovely and it was a testament to human ingenuity that 75,000 people can live there, pretty much all with water and electricity (and most with satellite TV) clinging to the side of a mountain.

But then it also made me sad, 75,000 people living in a place with open drains and where TB can be a problem and dengue fever significantly more than that in season and where drug gangs recruit children.

You could say I feel conflicted.

Guns and drugs

Kites used to warn locals of the arrival of the police or competing gangs. Now they use fireworks – apparently more effective in the rain and at night…

Although Rocinha is in the process of being pacified, the gangs are still in control (in Rocinha’s case – Amigo do Amigo) and drugs still evident (although interestingly they don’t allow heroine or crack). On the tour we saw graffiti indicating the gang’s control, occasional bullet holes and discarded drugs containers. Then two young men, their faces covered, walked briskly past us up the hill, one carrying an AK47, the other a semi-automatic pistol…

Dangerous kites

They fly lots of kites in the favelas and to make it more interesting they fight, using glass infused string to cut the strings of other kites (yes, just like in The Kite Runner). An unintended consequence is that the (glass laced) strings of the losing kite can be carried off and get tangled up across roads, decapitating unsuspecting motorcyclists. Bikes sometimes have radio aerials on the front (an alternative looks like an aircraft arresting hook, pictured), not because the rider wants to listen to Radio Rock on their way home, but just because they want to get there intact.

Names and ages

You meet lots of people travelling, eventually you get to names and ages, frequently forgetting both. After meeting two people last night, we decided to skip names and use the “Zombieland rule”, where you’re called by where you’re from, and so spent the evening with Cricklewood and Glasgee. Then we played “guess my age” - Cricklewood was 19. After, with me, I said “no” to guesses in the high 20’s then Cricklewood asked if I could be his dad. I clarified that he meant “could I be old enough to be his dad?”, then said yes. Twice his age, ouch…

Giving up "giving up" or the First Sunday of Lent in Brasil

Carnaval, Mardi Gras, Shrove Tuesday, Pancake Day. The day you eat all the rich foods in your cupboard, before you start the serious business of Lent, beginning on Ash Wednesday.

Or in Brasil, start another 5 days of drinking and partying. Which is how on the first Sunday of Lent I found myself in the centre of Rio, having a beer for elevenses, taking selfies with strangers and dancing alongside a block with half a million of my closest (and newest) friends and 4-5 [insert expletives] people who stole my phone, which is why I don’t have any photos ☹

10% of a picture

After my phone succumbed to its injuries sustained during a pool party (not my fault), the cheap counterfeit Sony I’d bought was stolen on the last day of Carnaval and so the daily Instagram posts (which haven’t exactly been daily) are going to become less frequent. That and the big blog posts are getting unwieldy (my fault). So I’ve decided to do something shorter (the target’s no more than 100 words, hence 10% of a picture) and more frequent, which will hopefully keep things more up to date, and tell some of the stories that you don’t get from photos.