Slumming It in Rio....Literally.

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My first trip to Rio de Janeiro happened to fall the week before Memorial Day, so Jenn flew down to meet me there at the tail end of my work obligations for a long weekend. Rio is a famously beautiful city with an incredible array of world class attractions. Iconic landmarks like Sugarloaf Mountain (Pão de Açúcar) and Corcovado, atop which stands Christ the Redeemer statue, overlook the breathtaking beaches of Copacabana and Ipanema.

However, for all the attention and praise that Brazil has received over the last decade, it still hasn’t shaken many of the less favorable reminders of its poorer past. Because of a rural exodus in which many people left their rural homes and moved to cities, only to be unable to find work, there is a shockingly high percentage of visibly poor people in this sixth largest city of the Americas. The crime rate is still high, and while some parts of the city are more prone to violent crime than others, touristy areas are still suspect to petty crime. As soon as Jenn dropped her bags at the hotel around noon, I took her for a walk down the boardwalk of Copacabana beach. A group young local kids were playing along the beach. I think we smiled at them and kept walking. Then one of the smallest darted towards Jenn and swiped for her necklace. And just as quickly sprinted off in the opposite direction. I guess this blitz attack works sometimes; fortunately, not on this occasion as Jenn still had her necklace (but then hid it in her dress). It wasn’t even a particularly expensive piece, so it just goes to show what desperate people will do in those situations.

We spent the next few days relaxing on the beach, sightseeing, and hanging out with friends. Thankfully, no other security issues came about. I had read some positive reviews on this local company that had safely and successfully operated tours into Rio’s favelas for the past 20 years. Favelas are Rio’s shantytowns that house the city’s poorest 20%!o(MISSING)f people in small dwellings built along the mountainsides. I know the idea of sipping caipirinhas on the beach seems like a better way to spend Memorial Day weekend relative to venturing into Rio’s ghettos, but this really appealed to me for a couple reasons. One, it provided a view into the city’s past and present. Two, the program used a portion of their profits to fund and operate a children’s school in the favela. It seemed like a way to get to know the city on a much deeper level.

As our mini-van transported us into Brazil’s largest favela, Rocinha, the tour guides gave us a couple ground rules. Most of these came from the slum’s acting police, the druglords. The reason that this company has never had any problems in the past is because they have unwritten agreement with the kingpins to behave a certain way in exchange for the tour group’s safety. Petty crime (e.g., robbing tourists) is forbidden; so is violent crime against outsiders of the favela. These actions would only attract the unwanted attention of the police or army and thereby disrupt the mini-economic system that provides for the residents. In effect, it affords a "don’t ask, don’t tell" situation between the drug dealers and law enforcement.

The rules:

1. When entering the favela, roll down the windows of the van halfway.

2. Pictures are okay, but only when the camera is pointed in pre-approved direction (one clear of drug deals).

3. Don’t buy drugs while on the tour.

4. Don’t steal.

5. Stay with the group.

We first exited the van on a terrace that overlooked all of Rio. It was incredible just how close the city was to Rocinha; two separate worlds separated by a few kilometers. While it is said that this favela possesses all of the basic municipal services, by most reasonable standards, this would be stretch. Trash stays piled high in the streets, waiting for disposal. Electric wires are randomly strung and knotted throughout the streets. Potable water is selectively stored in plastic tubs. Police are non-existent. But somehow, in this microcosm, it works. People do the normal things that those more fortunate do elsewhere. They work, they buy groceries, they enjoy each other’s company over lunch or a coffee. The kids play futbol and go to school. That’s where we found ourselves at our second stop.

The tour agency supports a community school called Para Ti (For You) that provides classes, teaches computer skills, and looks after them during the day while their parents work. Armed with her Spanish and the Portuguese phrases she had picked up, Jenn took to the kids like the natural teacher that she is. Pretty quickly, she was working through vocab lessons with them while I hung out with the kids playing futbol. It was really nice to see such an effort going into trying to make their lives better than their parents. Only time will tell if these kids ever escape the favela, but this was an effort in that direction.

We spent some time afterwards being guided through the labyrinths of alleys that connect all the parts of Rocinha. Having the opportunity to walk past the windows and doors of the places where the everyman lived was a glimpse into another world. But it felt almost too voyeuristic. It shouldn’t be like walking through a museum. Howeer, when I think back now, I realize that not only did a portion of our tour admission go to the children’s school, but the look on those kids’ faces when a gringo and Asian spoke to them in Portuguese was priceless. I’d like to think we opened up their world a little bit because they certainly did that for us. Now, when I am reminded of Rio, I don’t just think of the good life on Copacabana, but also the streets of Rocinha, which has made the best given the circumstances and is proactively working to better the situation.

Oh, and upon leaving in the van, we were told that the reason we had to roll the windows down when entering was to provide a signal to the drug cartel hawks/sentries waiting on top of the buildings. Window down = no problem. Window up = law enforcement inside. Time to set off the fireworks as an alarm so everyone can hide. Talk about gangster.

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