Back to Black - the english version

A huge shout out to Adam from Eyes on Brazil for translating this for me. This is my girlfriend's post, Back to Black - beautifully rendered into our native tongue.

"Attending to a request from my boyfriend, I decided to transform into words a little of the feeling that permeates human beings, and in this particular case, myself, when we are exposed to a very obvious reality, however vehemently negated: in spite of being thrust into an era of diversity, where multiculturalism and personal differences should supposedly be celebrated, we still seem rigidly affixed to our stereotypes and 'pre'judice. I say 'pre' in parenthesis to highlight how we are induced to a precursory judgement even when we do not have sufficient elements for such a thing. We mold the information which we are exposed to in accordance with our previous conception and we put aside any possibility for error or for a new reading of the facts. The most surprising thing still is that we never would imagine being the target of this prejudice, even when we are part of a group which is historically discredited: in my case, the black community. Even as such, I find myself terrified in the face of such attitudes, even though it serves as a stimulus for my critical sense and has awakened in me a sarcastic position that until then I did not know I was able to adopt.

It could have just been one more day at work. As I do every Friday, I leave the university heading towards Pituba (a high-class neighborhood of Salvador) where I work in one of the best schools of the city as an English teacher. It was a sunny day, and as the sun in Salvador delivers a certain inertia, I broke away from my normal style of high heels and a nice purse and instead used something a little more relaxing: jeans, a white shirt and a backpack. Sandals and a hippie ribbon in my hair completed my summer look. All in all, I never imagined that they would be the match for the most charged situation I have gone through in a long time. Charged, let alone ridiculous. Ridiculous and funny.

As is my habit, on the way to school, I stopped in front of a traveling street seller to buy some CDs. The vendor didn't have change and needed to go to the nearest store to get some. Meanwhile, I waited patiently in front of the place where he sold his CDs. In this moment, I noticed someone staring at me--a man, apparently 50 years old and of good ancestry, who with no reason kept observing me. I left the CD seller and started heading towards a self-service Japanese restaurant where I normally eat. I left my backpack on one of the tables and upon returning with my meal, to my surprise, I found the 50 year old man at the table right next to mine. From then on, there proceeded a succession of "pardon me's" and attempts at reversals of badly-said words all because of the blessed pre-judgement: upon seeing me sit at the table, a bit terrified, the man couldn't contain himself and kept staring at my backpack at my side, and finally directed the following question at me:

Him: But aren't you the same girl that was at the CD stand?

Me: Yes. It was me. Why? Would you like some information about films?

Him: Yes. I was going to ask what you have in your backpack.

Me: Well, in my backpack I have books and personal items. As far as the films, I can tell you about those that I have already seen and about those I just bought. Would you like to see them?At that moment, the situation turned rather strange. Upon seeing me with some CDs in my hand, he presumed that I was the seller and was surprised to see that I was having lunch in the same restaurant as him. I, in a calm fashion and with a smile on my face, took from the backpack the videos that I had purchased and continued: well, these I bought for personal use, and these for my students. Would you like to know how much I paid?

Already at a loss for words, the man started to say sorry and the more he tried to make little of the situation the more errors he made. In the end, he knew that aside from an English professor and work colleague of some of his personal friends, this supposed "seller of CDs" was a lot more intelligent and well connected than he had imagined. I concluded the conversation with the following phrase:

Certainly, you never thought a "street seller" could do so much, right? Be careful, because next time it might be a judge you are talking to instead of a professor, and then you'll really find yourself in an embarrassing situation.

Interesting to note, at this exact moment in Rio de Janeiro, one of the biggest festivals of black culture worldwide was happening. While we live in a city that without a doubt is recognized as the birthplace of Africa in Brazil, I see a distinctive looking man with a good education, administrator of one of the largest international companies in the country, allow himself to be caught up in prejudice and stereotyping, at the point of verbalizing his unfounded and discriminatory ideas. And what if I was a CD seller? What is the problem in being in that restaurant and sharing the same space? My money and my skin color are given freedom through my profession or my social status? Being black in a land of blacks doesn't always mean being recognized as an individual. The so-called back2black is more of a stepback.

A great night out...

We work hard. We deserve it. Salvador on the vampiric hour.

French vanilla icecream M-401 electronic cig. Pretty damn delicious.

Chilling in front of Desabafo, our favorite new hipster bar find.

MMMMM....red bull, vodka, and vaping. Guilty pleasures indeed.

Sexy nerds. My favorite!


Hi Leo.

Hi V.

The rockstar fro.

I am apparently impressed with something or another.

Yeah, ok, so I'm nerdy too.

Until next time Salvador.

A walk by the stream...

It's Friday and I'm stuck inside. The wind is whipping outside my apartment, high on the alto de ondina side of Vila Matos. I love watching the city at night, it's glorious view displayed on the buzzing landscape beneath me. From my new place, I can watch the sea, can glimpse the far north end of Rio Vermelho. The casa de Iemanja is a small speck on the horizon, a tiny dot of worship where Candomble practicioners pay reverance to the sea godess for all of her blessings.

Well, how is Brazil treating me of late? Not too badly I suppose. This place that was once so strange to me, so foreign and vibrant and scary and challenging, has fastly become solid and normal. I have launched myself into space and made Pluto my home, and now, that great blue dot in the sky once known as earth has become far removed and the strange. I dream at night of walking through my woods in Michigan, of feeling the fall weather descend around me, it's brilliant red and yellow greenery now set to flame.

Salvador has begun to get hot again, begun to swirl into a summer mirage of tropical heat. These are the hottest months of the year, where the movement of sweat becomes the constant norm. At school, things are busy as ever. I just finished another intense masters class, and now have a 8-10 page paper to crack away on for the rest of the week. Though my salary is little, I count my work a great blessing after fighting so hard to get a job. My work is, how to put it, simple. I play with kids all day, talk to them about math and science, cut out laminated pieces of paper and take attendance. I consider it, naturally, a bit beneath my abilities, but figure it a means to an end until I can get my degree.

As far as after, that's a whole nother story. As I walk the fields during break and recess, playing soccer with my fifth grade kids, I wonder what will become of my life. Am I to become a highschool teacher, a writer, a guy who never stops running? Am I to line my shelves with trophies, of memories hard won and lands explored. Will I ever step out of this poverty and turn, ever so graciously, into a capitalist?

These things are a swimming, and my head is mess, but I find comfort in the small things in life, the warmth of the sun on my back, the feeling of fresh grass between my toes, and sleep. Life is busy, I am healthy and alive, and I suppose there is little more I should expect. For now, I'll craw into bed and dream of home, dream of my friends, brothers, dogs, and all other living matter that I feel close to. This is it, the stream, and I am wading in.

Guest Post - Back to Black

Ladies and germs, please put your hands together for my first guest poster, Vivi, who recently exprienced a rather eye opening bout of racial stereotyping. Despite the common claim that Brazil is a racial democracy, the very words and actions of her people often speak otherwise.

Lest I speak for one who speaks better than I speak myself, lets go ahead and raise the curtain. If I ever have any free time, then I'll try and get this commentary translated for my english speaking audience. Enjoy.

Vivi:

"Atendendo a um pedido do meu namorado, resolvi transformar em palavras um pouco do sentimento que permeia o ser humano, e neste caso em particular a mim mesma, quando somos expostos a uma realidade tão óbvia, porém veementemente negada: apesar de estarmos inseridos na era da diversidade, onde a multiculturalidade e a diferença supostamente deveriam ser enaltecidas, ainda somos regidos pelos estereótipos e pelo ‘pré’conceito. Digo ‘pré’ entre aspas para enfatizar como somos induzidos a um julgamento prévio mesmo quando não temos elementos suficientes para tal. Moldamos as informações a que somos expostos de acordo com o nosso conceito precedente e descartamos qualquer possibilidade de erro ou de uma nova leitura dos fatos.

O mais surpreendente ainda é que jamais imaginamos ser o alvo deste ‘pré’ conceito, mesmo quando fazemos parte de um grupo historicamente desprestigiado: no meu caso, a comunidade negra. Ainda assim consigo me estarrecer diante da atitude humana, mesmo que ela sirva de estimulo para o meu senso crítico e tenha despertado em mim uma posição sarcástica que até então não sabia ser capaz de adotar.

Poderia ter sido apenas mais um dia de trabalho. Com faço todas as sextas feiras, saí da faculdade em direção a Pituba (bairro nobre de Salvador) onde trabalho em uma das melhores escolas da cidade como professora de inglês. Era um dia ensolarado, e como sol em Salvador remete a ‘maresia’ resolvi abrir mão do estilo salto alto e bolsa social e usar algo mais descontraído: calça jeans, camiseta branca e backpack nas costas. A sandália rasteira e a faixa hippie no cabelo completavam o meu look verão. Contudo jamais imaginei que eles seriam o estopim para a situação mais vexatória que vivi nos últimos tempos. Vexatória para não dizer ridícula. Ridícula e engraçada.

Como de hábito, a caminho da escola parei diante de um vendedor ambulante para comprar alguns CDs. O mesmo não tinha troco e precisou ir a uma loja próxima. Enquanto isso, eu aguardava pacientemente em frente à banca de CDs. Neste momento percebi um olhar insistente em minha direção e ao voltar-me notei que um senhor, aparentando 50 e poucos anos e de boa estirpe, sem motivo aparente persistia em me observar.

Deixei a banca de CDs e rumei para o restaurante japonês self-service que costumo almoçar. Deixei minha mochila em uma das mesas e ao retornar com a minha refeição, para minha surpresa, o mesmo senhor se encontrava na mesa ao lado. Daí em diante o que aconteceu foi uma sucessão de ‘ me desculpe-s’ e tentativas de reversão de palavras mal ditas por conta do bendito ‘pré’ julgamento: ao me ver sentar a mesa, estarrecido, o senhor não se conteve e encarando minha mochila posta ao lado, dirigiu-se a mim com a seguinte pergunta: Mas você não era a mocinha que estava na banca dos CDs?

Eu: sim. Era eu mesma. Por quê? O senhor gostaria de alguma informação sobre filmes?

Ele: Sim. Eu já ia lhe perguntar o que você tem na mochila.

Eu: Bem, na mochila eu tenho livros e objetos pessoais. Quanto aos filmes eu posso lhe falar sobre os que eu já assisti e sobre os que acabei comprar. O senhor gostaria de vê-los?

Naquele momento, vi um homem partir da posição de indignado a vexatória situação de vergonha. Ele, quando me viu parada com alguns CDs na mão, pressupôs que eu era a vendedora e surpreendeu-se mais ainda ao ver que uma “ambulante” estava almoçando no mesmo restaurante que ele. Eu, de forma tranqüila e com o sorriso no rosto, retirei da mochila os vídeos que havia comprado e continuei: bem, esses eu comprei para uso pessoal, já esses para os meus alunos. Gostaria de saber quanto eu paguei?

Já sem palavras, tal senhor começou a se desculpar e quanto mais ele tentava amenizar a situação, incorria em mais equívocos. No final da historia ele soube que além de professora de inglês e colega de trabalho de alguns dos seus amigos pessoais, a suposta “vendedora ambulante de CDs” era muito mais inteligente e bem relacionada do que ele jamais poderia imaginar. Conclui a conversa com a seguinte frase; O senhor com certeza jamais pensou que uma ‘ambulante’ poderia fazer tanto não é? Tome cuidado, porque da próxima vez, pode não ser uma professora e sim uma juíza e aí o senhor vai estar em uma saia justa. Risos.

Enquanto nesse exato momento acontece no Rio de Janeiro um dos maiores festivais de cultura negra mundial, enquanto moramos na cidade indiscutivelmente reconhecida como o berço da África no Brasil, vejo um homem distinto e bem formado, administrador de uma das maiores companhias internacionais do país deixar-se levar pelo preconceito e pelo pré-julgamento. A ponto de verbalizar suas idéias infundadas e discriminatórias. E se eu fosse a vendedora de CDs? Qual o problema em estar naquele restaurante e dividirmos o mesmo espaço? Meu dinheiro e minha cor são alforriados pela minha profissão ou pelo meu status social? Ser negra numa terra de negros nem sempre significa ser reconhecida como individuo. O tão clamado back2black está mais para stepback."

New Routine

Get up at 6 a.m. The chickens are still asleep. The rooster has a hangover.

Work until 3:30. Screaming kids and math, yeah!

4 - 7 pm, Masters Degree class.

7-9 pm, Gym.

9 - Death. Homework into the night.

I may be a f'ing jedi but I suck at blogging. Sorry.