The sun is shinning here in Bahia, spreading lucid tendrils of energy into my apartment window. It’s one of those Saturdays that beg me to stay here forever, smiling ever so provocatively with crashing waves, cold beer, and all of the trappings that make Salvador a unique little snowflake of the world.
Yesterday I honored a bureaucratic milestone of patriotism, heading down to the military office to swear allegiance to the Brazilian flag. The event had less to do with my own overwhelming sense of nationalism, and more to do with the fact that I need a military document to receive my passport. I am heading back to the States for Christmas and have run out of tourist days on my American visa.
When I arrived at the military office early Friday morning, I rounded the corner to find hundreds of Brazilian Joe Shmos waiting impatiently in line. A stern faced officer dressed in camouflage barked harsh instructions at the crowed.
“I WANT THREE COLUMNS, AGORA!!!!! È PRA HOJE! THE FIRST ONE WHO SMILES VAI EMBORA!!!! TODAY LADIES!!!”
Apparently, this obligatory flag swearing ceremony that every Brazilian male has to pass through is a one day crash course in military logistics. For two and a half hours we stood in the hot summer sun, practicing how to line up, face forward, and be a man. For me, this sort of military training—albeit superficial—was nothing new. My Kenjutsu martial arts practice every Saturday follows the same routine, where one learns how to reverentially and without delay follow the instructions of a superior officer (a.k.a higher graduated guy with a large stick).
The crowd, however, wanted nothing to do with it. Every time the commander walked by, he would bark orders and try and get everyone organized. But before long, a hot girl would walk by and the whole crowd would start whistling and yelling “GOSTOSA!”. Others would break formation in order to go buy water, or would just sit down on the ground when their feet got tired. The whole time here I am feeling generally out of place and thinking, wow, if Brazil ever goes to war they are SO going to lose! Disorganization, lack of respect for authorities, and undisciplined habits don’t exactly make for a brilliant standing army. Not that these guys were soldiers anyway.
The rest of my day I ran around, catching innumerable busses, trying to get to and from school, to and from the mall, and to and from the restaurant where I met Vivi. As a thoroughly socialized American who has had a car since he was 16, not having one is painful, embarrassing, and my least favorite part about living poor. I dream often of heading back to the States, not so much to return to my home country, but rather to repurchase my 1000cc beast of a motorcycle, and ride the countryside with the wind whipping through my hair. Aside from making internet purchases, and not worrying about getting shot, it’s honestly one of the major things that I miss.
Well, anyway, speaking of getting back to things, I’ve got to fly. Going to head out to lunch before I go train, and maybe tonight I’ll hit the town. Life is different now, habitual. And it’s funny how I’m paying god awful amounts of cash to visit the US in December instead of dreaming, hoping, and longing for some time in Brazil.
1 comment:
As a brazilian, sometimes I got scared with such lack of respect with people here. I love my country and I wouldn't change anything, but sometimes, like this kind of situation, I think that we (brazilians) should start to wake up and speak loudly: where is the democracy?
"Ouviram do Ipiranga ás margens plácidas de um povo heróico um brado retumbante..."
Bye, see you!
Andréia Luz
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