Letter Two, In A Small Town, Minas Gerais, Brazil

Posted on Updated on

Letter Two: of a series about Brazil and Chile, Feb 5 to Mar 25, 2015

Note: These letters are a form of Creative Nonfiction, but accurately coincide with real events. I have changed little excepting the personal names

 Monday Feb 16, 2015

This small town in Minas Gerais is 4 hr by car NW of Sao Paulo.  I  am spending the  next  ten days with Volunteers in Mission, a  Methodist  program, working on an asilo–a home for invalids and old people. It has been a long term project, now reaching a state of viability, with increasing support from town people, who at first were quite dubious; they doubted the project could be completed.   At first the Methodists worked, while locals, and politicians talked and watched; but now both are more active, as are average people in this rural town of less than 15,000.

This is my second trip to work on the asilo.  I was here before in 2008.  Methodists, consistent  with the views of founder John Wesley,  generally value doing over talking; good  acts over good words.( Politicians of the world please note.)  The VIM leader, Ted, is  from  silicon valley, compulsive and aggressive. Probably that’s essential there, and as a VIM leader. He constantly speaks of herding  cats; there are only six of us this time, three men and four women, all  hard working and dependable, rather un-cat like in that regard. There are no slackers, but Ted doesn’t seem to suspect that cats are more easily led than herded. So we quietly do what cats do. Example: After it becomes clear we will finish what we started, the cats began to  bypass our herder to repaint a dingy dining/TV area currently in use, and that will still be in use until the project actually opens; a place they spend 90 percent their days. The asilo director approves, and it is done, despite contrary rulings by Ted: ‘that’s enough… stop here’ and so forth. But the cats stray on, even  recruiting  a local volunteer and some residents of the asilo, who can be herded even less easily than Nortemericanos. And to his credit, our herder, who is wise and experienced, having led many similar missions, is unperturbed. He himself is an extraordinary cat.

Extraordinary is also the perfect word for people who leave their comfortable homes and and pay their own way to a remote part of the world in order to try doing  something that might be illusory or idealistic, but takes them to a world that is new and renewing, where there is much to be done. That is just one reason I like to go on VIM trips. My companions are a breed apart, one I admire and enjoy being around. One can, as has been so common over the last century, ridicule missionaries. But that is merely a  cheap and easy abuse, directed at those who are’t able to  aren’t there to respond..Of course there are self serving frauds among  all of us, including religious types, and those called missionaries. But I have traveled the world for more than 80 years one way or another, and my experience with missionaries is nearly universally positive. I may disapprove of religious institutions; I often do. But only very rarely do I disapprove of activist religious individuals. And this kind of VIM mission attracts the best amateur missionaries.

2015-02-10 11.39.42
The existing multipurpose area used for dining and TV.
Model of the asilo; the new structures are the three buildings on the left.
Covered walkway leading away from the new buildings.
multipurpose room before repainting.
Interview with local news media in 2008.


2015-02-16 14.07.17
Open air room is the site of  almost all activities.
Preparing and painting of an exterior wall.
Sanding must be done before primer and paint.
Interior hallway with doorways to resident rooms on the right.
Preparing for interior painting.


View of atypical  nearby town.
Surrounding countryside with coffee plantations.

After our work is complete, Carnaval begins. It lasts about four days, shorter and low key by comparison with the cities. It is less crowded than I remember last time, less beer, more friendly; maybe that’s because the country– indeed the world– is more limited than it was then. Everywhere government is unpopular,  corrupt, bungling, and  worse: powerless.  Brazil is no exception. Some things like this annual celebration endure in that hot humid  Summer, one reason nothing happens until well after dark.

Here is something i found by the road while looking at coffee plantings. It captures the feel of Carnaval, and samba competitions. My translation, of course, is amateur, but it is roughly accurate. ‘Block’ is akin to barrio, or sector:

Fuzue Block

We are arriving, rich folk

we are only beautiful people

toasting 2015

A toast to life itself

Founded in Alvarada’s garage

With Anisio Perez the theme’s fun

It’s Carnaval not UTI (?)

With peace and love in our hearts

with audacity and joy

And regard for the holy church; to the sound of my drums.

Come my love,Let’s do Aue Aue Aue; At Carnaval  and Block Fuze.

I’m watching while a samba school band practices for their competition.  Maybe 40 people. A leader starts to  conduct from the front, then moves around constantly into the band, urging them with arm gestures, and rhythmic jumping, shouting instructions, arms pumping up and down in rhythm for emphasis, blowing on a police whistle to signal certain changes or rhythms. Toward the rear are 10 or 15 boys; they beat small metal rimmed plates, making metallic sounds. Toward the front are three or four large drums of differing sizes. They sound a heavy, usually steady beat. There are a number of high pitched drums, some tall with  middle  pitch some small with a higher pitch. All this collection of instruments, and some i miss,  put forth complicated patterns of beating; often  changes are made in unison.  I could not figure it out; will have to go on line for more info!

It is Sabado and I go to the celebration. Two big schools compete, going slowly around the covered block by turns. Afterward are stage shows and professional bands for the rest of the night. The Samba parades are impressive, but I feel sorry for two performers in particular (reportedly women).Their school has chosen Disney theme and they are  completely clothed in heavy Mickey Mouse costumes, dancing with great energy ahead of their  samba school parade that takes at least 1/2 hour to circle the big old church square. And at  the end or their route they are not done. The drummers keep drumming, the people  keep dancing and prancing. The two Mouses  stand and gyrate for pictures. When I stand between them for my photo they radiate heat through their heavy mouse costumes. It is still quite  hot but they continue for another hour. Wow..

2015-02-14 22.43.04
Samba school and band moving around the main square.

At the moment someone, a male voice on loud speaker,  is going on about something… roving  groups of similarly costumed people come and go.  The samba band music seems a bit mindless at first. I’m reminded of a friend, a  protestant, who said at a Catholic funeral mass: SOO Repetitive!! Samba drumming can give you that impression. But it is quite complex and precise. Even so, it’s hard for me to guess why people find this collective celebration as significant as anything else in life,  like Futebol. Why it is samba so elemental to this culture. Maybe because it is a collective abandon. In a small town it involves everyone; even dogs come and go.  Lots of beer for kids, as well as caipirinhas whenever they can grab them  (rum and stuff …think, ‘rum and Coke’; the word implies rustic or hick); little kids running and jumping about; a sound stage… no, two.

The  VIP section fills with dancers; it’s a  central, raised area, where some important folk like to hang out. I think it costs about U$100 to get in but that includes plenty of booze. All around is  a milling crowd, mostly young, not all  in costume, dancing and talking and drinking. Lots of loud harsh male voices, flocks of teens. It continues til dawn of course.There are only two days when the samba schools compete. The rest are for music, alcohol,  prancing and dancing. . It is not a gaudy celebration here, more  a  family sort of thing; a barrio thing, where people from one area get together, make up some costumes, and dance along together in a sort of neighborhood solidarity that’s been developing for months.

Catholic  Mass on  Sunday is not particularly crowded. The religion was celebrated the night before, perhaps so people have the right to rest up during the day for the night to come.  I can’t understand much at mass– even though in many regards there are similarities with protestant Christian litany. As usual, I can read almost everything, speak passably, though people don’t find  my accent easy; but as to understanding average fast speech,  and especially teen talk, almost nada.  The church is fairly full. I want to take a little bit of video but am shushed immediately by my friends, and properly so I suppose; but one admirable thing about Catholics, it seems to me, is that it is very tolerant of real people’s behavior; much that would not be allowed in organized protestant churches is acceptable, even welcome.

We  don’t go to carnaval that night. To finish the asilo work is demanding– and to recover from just  one evening takes all the next  afternoon, at least for me, just  sitting  around, napping and eating.

Last evening you may be surprised to know we ate  Pizza; like many US imports that are re-exported, it is big in Brazil.  The Pizzeria da Roca isn’t pronounced the way one might think; the c is  cedula  c with a tail, an ‘s’; and the R is like our H. It means small country hut and sounds like ‘Hosa’.   It was an interesting place… a couple of local kids went to Italy, studied pizzology, and came back, bought a piece of land about 8 km out of town with nothing commercial  around. They created a little park with  rustic walkways meandering  through the woods, and opened up their restaurant. It is regularly packed on weekends; especially with well off folk here. Perhaps  they prefer to congregate in a more remote place. This  Sunday night it is packed by 7 PM!

The next day, Monday, or segunda feira, I decide to wash clothes and everyone follows.  It’s about time. As  I hang out my rags on the clothesline the clouds thicken. A huge black cumulus rises in the East  (Which is not E but L here– for Leste; neither is West W… it is O for Oeste. So the compass points are NSLO). Raucous parrots, (maritakas) hide in their hollows as a sudden wind comes up, mourning doves cease crying, and little hoppers flee… to where?  And of course all this is my fault for hanging out clothes which brought on the storm.  Worse, the wind that comes in ahead of the rain dries  my things so I take them in quickly… not so lucky are those who wash and hung out their clothes after I do.  Maybe that  rain washes off the old-fashioned lye soap better for them.

The cathedral and plaza, center of the carnaval celebration.
Home rented by VIM group.

Nana, has again loaned me her wi -fi connection; she is in her kitchen, on her own computer, copying verses from the bible in HUGE text. It looks like she’s almost finished. I don’t want to abuse her by writing too long, and stop. She loves to talk, is quite alert, and  lonely at times. It is afternoon, and  the clash of a practicing band and some samba drummers invades  Nana’s house and its windows rattle to different resonances. It is muggy and warm. This evening the parades, will return with the drumming corps marching behind or among costumed samba dancers, schools in matching colors and designs, among people just coming and going independently. The celebration will be loosely guarded by … generally black… guards.

We talk of everything and nothing. Once she says: “A mea mae estaba en Cadeira de Roda por seis anos.” (My mother was in a wheelchair for six years) but I didn’t understand. . Roda of is pronounced Hoda.  After a time she made clear it means  Wheel Chair… I had forgotten that cadiera is chair.. I kept thinking of back or hip as in Spanish cadera. So I broke out my hearing aids to hear the foreign sounds better. She’s somewhat hard of hearing too, so I passed her one. We spoke comfortably each one-eared.  Nana had tried some hearing aids before but my COSTCOs seemed  much better… so she plans to get a  pair. We talked, for hours, almost   understanding one another!

The country house where we stay at night is  at least an air mile from the cathedral on the hill, the site of Carnaval. Yet sometimes at night our  windows rattle with the drum beats.  Our rental is quite impressive as decayed luxury:  a large one story house with a long veranda, a four car garage, a private well and leach field, large grounds, a pool, a lighted tennis court, and a few square miles of land for cattle grazing. I suspect it is empty most of the year,  but all is cleaned up to make it attractive for rental during Carnaval.  Tomorrow  it will be time for me to go to São Paulo Sao to meet my daughter who is a very skilled barrista and coffee roaster; she speaks four languages–Spanish, French, Portuguese and English– ideal for scoping out coffee growers. She’s in  Guatemala now, but I will meet her there tomorrow, and later we go to Chile to meet my wife and family.

My VIM colleagues are back, anxious to go home to bed, and they are not a  patient bunch; so, Ciao.!