Poverty of Mind

When it comes to my decision to stay in the Vila, I remain on the fence. On the one
hand I love my house, love how I'm not stuck in a hole in the wall apartment, and truly appreciate the fact that I'm not paying rent. Falling asleep to the sound of the waves is magical. Watching the sun tip over the island every night is almost painful in its beauty.
But what the Vila makes up for in charm it lacks in sophistication. A great majority of the people here in the Vila, especially the roaming degenerate band of alpha males, are poor. Good, ok, just about everyone is poor in Brazil. When I speak of poverty in this context, it has less to do with the pocket and more to do with the mind. Poorness of mind is the world’s true poverty and it exists in all economic circles. One universal example of this is the “don’t shit where you eat principle”. Across the board, I find that those who are poor of mind tend to pollute their own living space. In the Vila people throw trash all over the ground, allow their dogs to shit where they like, and generally lack respect for their home. Not to say this instinct is confined to the favela, poverty of mind is widespread among corporate princes, those so called masters of the universe who think they can produce, produce, produce and shit all over everything.

But I digress. I am seriously considering moving away from my home, despite the countless man hours I have put into making this place livable. Unfortunately, the root cause of the problem is the people, and they aren’t going away. I continue to have neighbors that try and exploit me. If you remember the electricity situation awhile back, where my neighbor stole the electricity from my house, and then racked up hundreds of reis in bill/late charges. Well it only seems to get worse. After much fighting, I agreed to share the electricity bill with this lacky, with me taking up the brunt of the charges and he paying the late fees. This option was more than fair, considering the late charges were HIS problem, and I was doing him a great service by helping him to pay and clear his credit-misaligned name. Well the first bill has come and he still hasn’t paid, not after repeated promises to give me the money. To make matters worse, the judge in my citizenship case just denied my rent statements, demanding that I show him an energy bill in my name to prove my residence in Brazil. That means I have to put this huge debt into my name, and lose the power position that I am currently in with this bum.

So yes, I remain torn. The good days are good but the bad days are bad. The owner of the house keeps trying to convince me to stay, naturally as it is in her best interest. Attached below are some old pictures that she sent to me of her life here back in the day. I recognize the beauty of this adventure, but unlike her, I continue to live in the real world of drug use, occasional violence, and people eying my things. Just last week, another gringo’s house was broken into. I spend most of my time outside the neighborhood working, and fear every night that I will come home to a plundered home.

So yes, oh vida mais ou menos, this whole favela life is not without its complications. I’m still not sure what I’m going to do.