Favela. Chic?

Rafael, our guide in the favela

I learned the word favela when I lived in Paris.  One of our local haunts was Favela Chic, a Brazilian restaurant-come-night-club where we would get drunk on caipirinhas and then get up on the table and go crazy to Brazilian soul, funk, rock and samba.  It would get so hot they would spray us all with soda water from the bar.  A Brazilian friend of my husband's came to stay with us once and went there every single night.  Sod the snooty Parisian bars and bistrots - he wanted some good Brazilian fun the likes of which, ironically, he didn't find in Brazil.  Oh, those were the days....

Anyway, for those that don't know, Favela means 'slum' and there are a lot of them here in Rio.  Since my Favela Chic days I have always felt that I was missing something living in my middle class appartment blocks with high ceilings and (almost) sea-views.  I've always been desperate to experience 'real' Brazil.  People just don't seem to dance on tables in Flamengo, so I've always just assumed that all the fun must be going on in the jumbled red brick ghettos into which Mr Becoming has always forbidden me to venture, for good reasons.

In general, favelas are dangerous places.  Many of them are run by drug gangs and the normal rules of the city do not apply there.   They are the cauldron in which horror stories brew.  I watch the news.  I've seen Cidade de Deus and Tropa de Elite.  These media images - whether fictional or true - helped turn the "favela" into a big scary monster in my mind; but the truth is that they are where a huge percentage (I've seen estimates from 19% - 35%) of the city's population call home. 

Anyway, after five years of living in Brazil, I visited a favela for the first time this week.  I took the free, ten minute ride on the funicular railway to the top of Dona Marta (also confusingly called Santa Marta) in Botafogo.  The favela was the first in the city to be 'pacified' and is home to the headquarters of the UPP, Rio's pacifying police force.  As such, it's considered a safe place to visit and they have even erected a little tourist information booth at the bottom of the hill where you can pick up a map and arrange for a local guide to show you around.

Just Another Boringly Splendid View in Rio

There are a few points of interest in the community.  Foremost is the incredible view that is just a short walk from the top station, of the entire Enseada de Botafogo.  I know, yawn, yet another great view in Rio, but believe me, it's classic postcard stuff.  The main reason I wanted to go up there, however, was to see the Michael Jackson area.  The pop god filmed the video for 'They Don't Really Care About Us' there and in his honour they erected a pretty nasty bronze statue of him, and a mosaic wall that depicts him as he must have appeared on a Brazilian postage stamp.  I'm such a fan.  It rocked.

I can't deny, though, that the most fascinating part of the visit was walking down the warren of staircases and narrow alleys that lead back to the bottom of the hill.  We were guided by Rafael, a kid who just appeared and, without comment or acknowledgment, appointed himself our guide.  We passed hundreds of red brick and wooden homes piled on top of one another, from which sounds of daily novelas and chores emanated.  Some homes seemed quite substantial. Others, balanced precariously on rotten wood stilts, defied belief.  Doors left ajar offered split-second snapshots of normal life inside tiny but meticulously-kept homes, but the space between them and the concrete steps  was deep with rubbish.

I also can't deny that I was absolutely terrified.  Alley ways narrowed and darkened.  We passed a group of male youths just hanging.  My legs were shaking - mostly from staircase fatigue  but also from fear.  I was definitely struggling against the scary monster in my head and having doubts about our little guide...was he leading us to trouble?  Of course it was just in my head.  The 'threatening' youths were just having a drink at a little tiny bar hidden under a house, and acknowledged us with friendly grins as we went passed.  Finally, the quality of light changed, and we emerged from the claustrophobic human warren into a square whose surrounding buildings have been painted in rainbow colours that make the place glow.  I relaxed when I saw some UPP guys and we even sat and had a beer and watched life go by for a while.

It's hopefull to think how the quality of life for people in Dona Marta has improved since the favela was pacified and the community has been integrated into 'normal' city life, but going there opened my eyes to the poor conditions in which some people here live.  I can't imagine what it must be like to live in a non pacified community.  Certainly, there is nothing 'chic' about it, and probably not that much dancing on tables either.  I shall make do with shaking my booty on the table at home - I'm suddenly more appreciative of my high ceilings; at least I won't bump my head.  Let's dance, MJ!

 

 

Love You Michael!