janela

I've been back for a month now and Toronto is beginning to settle with me...I'm beginning to settle with it, to feel fine again here.

I'm drumming a lot with our Maracatu group here and this keeps me sooo happy and loving life. I have a job at a cafe, I have applied to grad school and I'm still looking for a place of my own, in which to live and reconnect with me, surrounded by my own four walls. But it's summer, so I prefer the parks around the city...I sat and ate some pasta under a tree, the sun warmed me, a soft breeze ruffled my hair. I still need a place, though. I can't stay with friends forever.

My oh my I want to keep the warmth of Brazil close to me. Sometimes unpredictable bouts of emotion overwhelm me and I sit and cry. Sometimes I feel I was happier there, sometimes I feel I was a better person there. Oftentimes I feel being back is a constant uphill journey...not easy at all. Though, I am thankful and I am glad to be here. I just miss being in Brazil. I reflect on this often and haven't quite came to any conclusions, if there are any to discover. One definitive answer is that I cannot know exactly to what degree Brazil has changed me. And I know I will know, when the time is right, how to use my experience to work toward social justice. Maybe I'm doing this in some way now, I haven't thought about it.

Wow, I missed expressing myself through this blog. I'm not sure I should create another or just change the subhead to be something like: "reflections on travelling, volunteering in Brazil and the post-trip journey"

...will write more later...

But for now, I had a great day in São Paolo yesturday, followed by the best ten-hour flight ever and a yummy breakfast with the fam this morning.

Went to the last day of the Massive Change exhibit at the AGO this afternoon. So great to see the video Rafa worked on, on sustainable housing.

I'm visiting Rafa's mom, brother and sister here in Belo Horizonte. They are amazing and we're having a great time.

Rafa's mom and I made an awesome veggie soup tonight after a long day at the market and at the salon (I finally got a haircut!)

We chatted and chatted over tea and biscoitos, as well.

If it doesn't rain, we'll go to the nearby historical city called Ouro Preto. In the evening, I get to meet more of Rafa's good friends...yeah! We'll grab a bite at the café were he used to work.

I'm soooo tired right now, so good night!

We drummed a short farewell to me after my friend's show last night, at the José de Alecar theatre downtown. It was awesome - everyone had tons of energy and the crowd loved it! We assembled ourselves in front of the stage and then marched to the back of the theatre (backstage).

Gosh, though, I am sad. Saying goodbye is especially hard because I know I most likely will not see these people again. I will keep in touch, yes, though it's not the same. There are a handfull that I would love to hang out with more - especially Carolina and her partner, who I met last night. They're from Sao Luíz, Maranhão. It's unfortunate that I met them just as I'm about to leave.

A group of us went for drinks afterward at a barzinho (a little bar) at the side of the road on the UFC (Universidade Federal do Ceará...it's the free university) campus. The sidewalks and shoulders of the road were packed with blue patio tables and chairs. Some people even sat on plastic beer cases, because of the lack of chairs. There was a reggae band playing onstage nearby.

It was so great to hang out with everyone for one last time. I'll see Marcello, my teacher, on Sunday at the adolescents camp we're hosting in Icaraí (suburb of Fortaleza). He will teach a percussion workshop Sunday morning will bring his wife Marcia and daughter Dandara (I can't wait to see this little girl again!)

So I'm off to my last classes this morning - handicrafts, English for adults and children. I still haven't figured out the perfect gift to give these kids. If I give food, I want to give something healthier than candy, as they eat candy all the time. I don't have time to bake anything. Maybe I'll buy some pencils and attach a little note to each one. Whoa, though I'm running a little late if I want to do that. I'll figure it out.

Last Saturday, I received Rafa's package.

It was filled with tons of goodies...a signed copy of Judy Rebick's new book (that woman rocks!), the book I put together before leaving for Brazil (which was so cool to see for the first time! It looks great! Good job on typesetting, Chris!), an awesome pair of orange shoes my friends drew on with blue pen, a pyjama set with names and handprints of my mom, sister, Rafa and friends Nami and Jes.

Wow, and what caused my jaw to drop was the video Rafa made. It's short video montage of memorable moments we shared (picnics in the park, New Year's, Christmas). And I was in complete awe after watching it. I have to describe this thing. The video's intro is a zoomed crop of the Brazilian flag in muted tones, and the white banner at the top says Love Rafa. Some hand-drawn stars drop from the top of the screen. Then the first image is a shakey, upsidedown one of Rafa's dresser with pics of me. The sound is dialtone and the voice of that telephone attendent who asks you to enter your code to check your messages. While we hear what sounds like numbers being pressed on the phone, the camera turns to film rightside-up and we see Rafa's face. It looks like he's sitting in front of his T.V. and then he clicks the remote.

The video and music and sound begin. The first image is of me toasting at my mom's place on Christmas Eve, 2004. The clips don't have sound. What we hear is two songs by Arnaldo Antunes (so beautiful!) layered on top of messages I left on Rafa's machine when we first started dating. hehehhehe...it was hilarious! Many of them are longer and in most I ask if he wants to go to drum class with me (that's where we met). I had no idea he recorded these! I was surprised, though not so, considering his crazy creativity.

So the images vary from him to me to my sister and I dancing and laughing and eating and shivering in the cold...my gosh, I had tears. Thank you, thank you!

Here's a pic of that chocolate pizza...we returned to that restaurant a week ago...mmmmm...the servers brought different pizzas to the table.
 

My goodness, it's my last week in Fortaleza. I feel sad to leave some pretty incredible people here. So I've been trying to squeeze in as much time with friends as I can, while finding time to plan classes (had my last computer class yesturday!) and the first aid workshop we're presenting today, set up for the camp coming up this weekend, study Portuguese and buy last-minute gifts.

Whoa...though I'm not stressed. I'm trying to enjoy the last bits of this time. Tomorrow and Friday, hopefully, I'll go to the beach. Friday night, my friend's band is playing at the theatre downtown. They will play sort of jazzy-electronic versions of Chico Buarque's songs (he's a well-known samba musician). My drumming group, friends who play with Caravana Cultural, will bring their instruments to play after the performance, as a sort of farewell to me! Gosh, I'm going to miss these people. I can't wait!

And I am very much looking forward to coming home to family, friends, Rafael. My time in Brazil has been one of the most eye-opening, challenging and profound experiences of my life. I'm looking forward to sharing these experiences, in some form, with my loved ones back home, despite my feelings of nervousness about re-adjusting to life in Toronto.

Cheers to my good friends Sutton, Kate and Lora who will be driving west across Canada, any time now. Wish I could be there, ladies, to sing along to Talib Kweli while taking in our country's natural beauty. I love you all and will be thinking about you until you arrive in Victoria, B.C. Much love, peace and safety. Have fun!

And if I have the day right, I believe it's my friend Jon's birthday today! Happy Birthday, Spice! Ah, I miss all of you very much.

My drumming teacher was in São Luís, studying percussion last week, so we didn't have class.

Last night, at our class, I realized how alive I feel when I'm playing music, singing and dancing. It's a nugget of info I knew about myself since I was a kid, though after one of those "under-the-weather" days, beating on an alfaia drum gave me loads of energy. Feeling the tree trunk hanging at my hip bounce and hum a vibrating echo every time I hit the skin with my drumstick carved a permanent smile on my face! I don't know much about music therapy, but I think this qualifies as it.

Hehe...and we played some afoxé (another Brazilian rhythm) that we sometimes played in Toronto as well. My teacher began singing a song in Yorubá (an African language). Everyone in the class was confused and gave up trying to sing the song. It's tricky. The song is one of my favourites that we sing in Toronto. I have no idea how to spell this but I will write it phonetically:

"Morou me mah
Morou me ma-yoh
Morou me ma-yohroh aba doh a yeh yeh-oh
Ah la joshum, oshum me rei rei oh 2x

É leh meen-a me carodoh 2x"

Seeing that I was the only one who could sing it, Marcello made me sing it in front of the class! Hehe...It was great, I sang only the first verse and we had a good laugh as while I can speak some Portuguese, I can also sing some Yorubá. I don't know what the song means, though. I'll have to ask Marcello. He speaks the language.

Ah, what a great class! Drumming is an important hobby for me and will remain one for a very long time.

My mom is the greatest! Just got her package with photocopied ESL lessons and worksheets for class and a small photo album filled with pics of the fam! She wrote little messages throughout the album and stuck stickers on pages too! I love that woman. Thank you!

Just heard word that the little girl who had the bichos da pé is feeling better. Her mom finally took them out. I don't know details, I just heard the news. Though I am happy and trust that this little girl will recover.

Thank you sooooo much to all those who shared thoughts, ideas and love on this blog and with me personally.

The beach in Canoa is postcard-perfect, isn't it?  

Kristiane and I travelled 4 hours to Canoa Quebrada (Broken Canoe) last weekend. It's a gorgeous hippie beachtown. We're sitting at a juice bar on the main street (the street leads out to the ocean...look at that water!!) 

Hehe! That's me teaching my first English class a month ago. It's the introduction class...I'm shaking hands and introducing myself to little Paulo! These kids are awesome! 

On a brighter note, here are some pics! We just got a CD burned. This one is from a feijoada party three weeks ago with my drumming friends. The alfaia drums are lined up on the left, my teacher is playing caixa (in blue and white) and the girls on the right are playing ganzá. Living in Brazil is incredible.  

I am absolutely exhausted. My mind is exhausted because so much has happened in the last little while. My body feels weak and I'm not digesting my food at all. It's so frustrating! I'm resisting going to the doctor, as a friend who had the same symptoms last week, waited for hours to hear the doctor say it could be a parasite, so without taking any tests, he just wrote her a perscription. Seeing a doctor seems pointless. And apparently, I don't even need a perscription to get medication (even antibiotics) at the pharmacy! I haven't been allergic to medication I've taken in the past, but I am concerned about having a reaction to anti-parasite stuff. So, I will talk to my partner's mom, a pharmacist, tomorrow.

But I know that I need to feel better soon. I'm drinking some peppermint tea (Celestial Seasons, I brought from home!) right now, just sat on the couch, talked with my housemates (and fellow volunteers) about this little five-year-old girl in the favela. Apparently, yesturday she was brought to the hospital. Her feet and other parts of her body are covered in large black spots. These black spots, I'm told, are tiny animals that bury into the skin and eat away at the flesh. I have no idea how to express this in English (they're called bichos - beasts - in Portuguese). They are quite common and if you take them out (with a needle) as soon as you find them, you're fine.

But this girl's mom (I don't know if she lives with her dad) refuses to do anything about it! She refuses to take the bichos out. She refuses to let anyone else take them out. The girl has stopped eating and, oh gosh, this breaks my heart and makes me angry. Yesturday she cried to her mom: "Mom, I'm full of beasts!" And the mother ignores her when she says it. She's ignored the cries for a while, apparently. The girl's soles are completely black. And some neighbours saw her condition and finally convinced the mom to take her twin girls (both with the black spots) to the hospital. A man in the community took them.

But the doctor, as many people suspected, sent the kid home, without treating her. He simply yelled at the mom to save her kid from dying and take out the black spots! Because, the child will die if these spots cover most of her body. I am appalled and sad and I feel helpless. Of course, the mother will not take them out.

So we've been talking about this endlessly in our house, trying to figure out how to help this child. I asked if the police would do anything, or if there's any children's rights groups around. No and no. A friend said the police might come over to tell the mom to take out the spots, only if someone went to them to tell the extent of the problem. I said I'll go right now! But then we talked about it and imagined that the other two children would be without a mother if the police took the mom away. I don't know what to do.

Oh gosh, this country can be so depressing. I cannot imagine living in the community in which we work and living with such indifference. I cannot imagine it!

This past weekend, residents of a community in the Praia do Futuro area, east side of Fortaleza, moved to a hill right next to the Morro da Vítoria favela where we work.

These people took over the abandoned land, owned by the government, to create their homes. They used scrap material such as cardboard and wood and plastic to build their shacks. Guess what they called the community? America! Ah, god bless that place!

I could not get over the hilarity of it all, when I heard the name. There are obvious juxtapositions that come with calling a shantytown in Fortaleza, Brazil, America. Though the funniest part is that using this name makes clear people's absolute obsession with soapopera culture here. The newest and most popular novela (soapopera) right now is called America.

I think the action of taking over the land is important. These people need shelter and they are taking direct action to get it. And I'm not even sure it would be called squatting, as oftentimes these events lead to people staying in an area permanently. No one succeeds (though the police/military police may try) to kick them off the land, as these hundreds or thousands of people have no where else to go. This is how favela communities are formed.

I haven't seen the place yet, although I imagine it looks like the other favelas.

I just took the bus back home from the west side of the city. I was looking for a yoga class a friend of a friend teaches and couldn't find it. The map he drew for me looked super-simple, though none of the buildings he outlined had signs. After asking around, I discovered the Japanese restaurant was actually the blue building under construction on one corner. Maybe he assumed I knew this? Ah, I just laughed all the way to the beach. That's where I decided to go for a walk and taste a little of what I wanted to get out of a yoga class - peace!

I have learned NEVER to expect that getting around this city will be easy. And so, because I mostly walk or take the bus everywhere, I decided a while ago, that:
I shall not expect the buses to run. I shall never expect that when they do run, they will be on time. I shall never expect to arrive anywhere on time and will not expect others to arrive on time (that's an easy one!). I shall not expect the driver to pay attention to the road while transporting 70 or more people. I shall not assume that people will make room for me and my alfaia drum while on the bus during rush hour (another obvious one), in this case, I often end up waiting for a semi-empty bus. I have also learned never to expect that numbers, addresses and any information in general that you read in the paper or in a phonebook is correct. Oftentimes, these places no longer exist and the wrong information is published and republished over and over again.

Oh yes, and I am learning to not expect to have classes on the days mine are scheduled. This is the MOST frustrating, as I'm putting most of my energy into planning, so arriving at the community house to have the director say we can't have a class is annoying. Yesturday, we arrived fifteen minute before class to hear that the railings were being installed (basically in the same room as the computers), so we couldn't have class. The woman (director) couldn't call us, 'cause she couldn't afford credits for her phone. Today, thankfully, we called before class and again, no class. They decided it was the day to paint the railing.

So I sat down with our project leader to suggest that all work be done outside of class hours. We only have 1.5 hours of class each day! Work could be done in the afternoon, after the community lunch.

Anyway, I am having a good day...I'm in the middle of making sweet potato fries...mmm...with garlic, olive oil, salt and paprika.

Ah, my percussion class last night was fantastic!! Such intense energy...my teacher Marcello danced around, flapping his arms around while slapping his feet on the ground, dancing coco. (Here's an example of the coco rhythm. I LOVE this group. They play samba de coco and are from Pernambuco).

And then Marcello got us to play and dance at the same time. HAHA. I could dance while I clanked two wooden blocks (I forget the instrument's name), but not while playing alfaia. We played some coco, samba reggae on the alfaias and then would stop to play - the same rhythm as the caixa (snare drum) - on the wooden part of our alfaias. Ah, it was soooo energizing! And we sounded the best I've heard us sound. While we played this way, others continued playing the smaller instruments. And we'd sing at this time too, so that it was easier to hear, as when we're playing the alfaia (bass drum) it's almost impossible to hear our voices. We tried lots of buildups (probably not the technical word) and fading and singing and dancing...mmmm...

We tried lots of different stuff. And this may be gibberish to many of you, though I will try to explain as best I can. I will look for a percussion glossary that I will add to the resources section of this blog, for easy reference.

P.S. We have a show next week and one the week after...YEAH!

We took a two-hour long boogie ride along the ocean and thought the desert-like terrain (sort of like hills of sand) behind the ocean ... that's Kristiane, me and Kicki (fellow volunteers). 

The house faces these huge cliffs and canyons that lead to the ocean. And the beach is empty for miles and miles...at least it was on Friday. 

As I think of this blog as a scrapbook of my travels, it's necessary to have some visuals. So, here are some photos of Morro Branco, the beach we travelled to last Friday. Here's a picture of my dream house...notice the ocean to the far left...I will now post a photo of the scene in front of this home...mmm!
 

Lately, when I was beginning to doubt my friends and family or anyone read my blog, I received two comments from people I don't know. Isn't that refreshing? Thanks for sharing your comment and ideas, everyone! It's great to meet new folks and interact with you in some way, even though we can't quite sit in a park or café and speak face to face.

I would love to write in this more, but lately, any urge to get my thoughts down doesn't include sitting in front of a computer. I'd much rather crawl into a hammock with paper and pen.

I will, however, update about my awesome weekend which included visiting my percussion teacher's class at another favela (part of another social project), Saturday afternoon feijoada and drumming party at my teacher's mom's house and learning more about Maracatù movements in Ceará and Pernambuco on Sunday. Stay tuned!

We have a dog at home. His name is matuto and he's dreaming right now...he's lying on his back, paws spread, and is barking with his mouth half-open. It's a sort of muffled bark. And he's shaking a little. But just a little. Ooooh he's adorable. He's a one-year-old pit bull.

I wonder what he's dreaming?!

I've lived with dogs only one other time in my life, when I lived with a woman and her two dogs for six weeks, in Monton, where I completed an internship in 2003. So, the doggie dreaming is a bit of a novelty for me.

Oh my, I've been writing a lot today, though I have GOT to record this.

I just made a yummy salad with arugula, avocado (the avocados are sweet here!), lime juice, salt, extra virgin olive oil, and cashews! Mmmmm...so creamy and tasty.

I think next time, I will experiment with adding apples, carrots, cucumber ... must think of what else to try. I am getting bored with the foods here - I'm always eating the same things (rice and beans, veggie chili, pasta, soup, cheese and bread/crackers, yogurt and granola and fruit, cuscuz with coconut milk...)

It is soooo difficult to find lettuce that ISN'T iceberg (as I loath iceberg lettuce). But when the Bompreco (translated to mean "good price") grocery store does carry arugula I jump for joy! The veggie selection is verrrrry sparse, so finding yummy greens makes me happy. Oh yes, I can find spinach too.

Oh, how I miss broccoli and red/orange pepper and chick peas and tempeh...boy, do I miss tempeh! The only soy I can find is dried soy protein, which I'm not a huge fan of. But I'm learning lots about how to vary these foods.

And the spice selection is atrocious as well. I hear there's an Indian place around, so I'll have to visit it.

Yes, cooking and eating well makes me happy. So expect to read a lot on food;)

I teach two computer classes, two days per week on the second floor of the community house in the Morro da Vitória favela (click on the Morro link for pics). There is one very basic working computer and I teach two children per class. Actually, I teach one 16-year-old boy who's more advanced in one class, and three younger kids in the other.

Each class is 40 minutes long, which is enough, I think to keep a child's attention on computers, as they can get pretty boring. So to make computers fun, we've been playing games and painting with WordPaint, though I was running out of ways to keep them interested. (Every child comes to the classes voluntarily, so it's crucial to give them reason to keep coming back).

And teaching in that house, with a ton of screaming kids singing and playing games downstairs or clanking plates and utensils, anticipating lunch, the students get distracted very easily. Not to mention having to flick spiders and ants and other bugs off the keyboard every so often. (I've learned to not yelp when I see a cockaroach. Big achievement, eh?)

But alas, yesturday, one eleven-year-old girl named Sarah gave me some hope with teaching on that darn old computer that's most often a headache to work with. With a pair of the curliest eyelashes I'd ever seen, and a huge, toothy grin (some teeth were growing in, some had wide spaces between them and reminded me of my own grin when I was her age)*, she exclaimed, "No way! I think computers are fun!"

I think my heart stopped for a moment. I was so surprised (although, at the same time, not so, as she's the keener in the class). All I could do was smile, though I wanted to stop the class and hug her! It was true! These kids actually have fun in the classes. For those educators who are reading this, I now understand the difficulties in planning and teaching, as you hardly ever get feedback from the kids! So, it's tricky to know if they are having fun while learning. (This is key, I think).

So Sarah made my day. Despite the challenges in keeping a child's attention, I have walked away from every class smiling. I very much love teaching these kids. But yesturday, my smile was much bigger!


* Wait a second! Did I just say, "When I was her age"???? HEHE.

Flamboyant - my capoeira teacher picked this word as my apelido (nickname) for capoeira. (Here's and English site on capoeira). It's common for everyone who plays the martial art to have an apelido.

I poked around on the Net and found much info on the Flamboyant tree. It looks a little like my tattoo, doesn't it? I would love to see this tree! It seems I must go to Africa or the Caribbean to find one! So remember, it's flamboyant (pronounced with a French accent) as in the tree, not the adjective;) I don't think I'm flamboyant at all.

On my busride home the other day, we stopped to wait for a man to crawl across the four-lane street. As far as I could see, one of his legs was paralyzed.

A few stops later, a man scrambled up the front steps of the bus, first throwing his crutches, then pulling himself up with his arms to sit in the closest seat.

This was not the first time I'd seen a man yank himself up the bus steps. This happens all the time. The buses don't have any mechanisms to adjust the steps to make life easier for people with disabilities. And there are many. If you have a disability here in Brazil, life is especially difficult. Wheelchairs are not so readily available, and if they were, the average person couldn't afford one.

I imagine people who are paralyzed are forced to use crutches all their lives. I don't know what would happen if a person couldn't use crutches for some reason and couldn't afford a wheelchair. I don't know that the government helps in any way.

In both of these situations, I wanted to run up and help these people. But, what could I do? I couldn't carry them, though I wished I could. I will not forget that look of struggle and determination in these men's eyes.

Yesturday, I received some unexpected and beautiful gifts.

Two letters: one from my sister Amanda - on the stationary I made her for Christmas. I love that girl. And the other from my good friend Sutton. It was great to sit with some tea and my dear friends and "catch up". And the pictures ... ah, I laughed out loud for a while. It was like old times. Real mail rocks!

Ah, and the movie. Rafa recorded clips of my family while they talked to me on the phone on Sunday. I called my grandma's place to say Happy Easter and got to chat a little with everyone. This was such a precious moment. Thank you for making it easier to play back!

I am so grateful for these little acts of thoughtfulness. Thanks for keeping in touch and sharing your worlds with me!

As weird and as wrong as it sounds, that's what we ate at a restaurant last night, among other flavours, of course.

It was a "festival of pizza and pasta", held every Tuesday. Servers bring you all sorts of pizzas and pastas (sort of like a sit-down buffet) all for a fixed price. After the salty pizzas, come the sweet ones.

Dark and white chocolate, banana and cinnamon and cana durado (hard cane sugar melted on cheese). These ingredients are added to mozzarella pizzas, without tomato sauce, thankfully. The chocolate one was tasty, though too greasy, and the chocolate and cheese was a little crispy in parts - which was my favourite part. The banana one was terrible, as the bananas were not ripe enough. And the sugar cane pizza was great! Also crispy.

Interesting experience, in all.

I think it's time I start keeping track of what I love and what makes me smile about Brazil - from the little to the big things, places, people, moments. I'll be updating this list frequently. Here goes ...

- the children I work with in the Morro da Vitória favela
- meeting new people in the percussion workshop
- learning different Brazilian drum rhythms
- dancing and playing and singing coco!
- improving my Portuguese and getting to practise with friends
- talking to people who don't interrupt me when I'm trying to say something in Portuguese, but instead wait for me to think of the word or right conjugation
- being aware of my new level of patience with myself, and this world around me right now
- the kids who correct me when I say something wrong in Portuguese
- waking up to the sound of the juice mixer and knowing it will soon be my turn to make fresh juice!
- água de coco (bem gelado...very cold)
- drinking cold beer on the beach
- having the tide smother my toes while sitting in a chair on the sand
- getting tanned!
- washing with coconut soap ... that mild, sweet smell makes me smile!
- finding the natural food shop
- rediscovering how to cook with soy protein
- cuscuz (for polenta with bean/soy tomato sauce or for breakfast with goiba, coconut milk, honey, cinnamon!)
- the costs of everything!!!!!!!!!! (extra exclamation marks...everything is soooo cheap)
- having lunch at the self-service place next door (rice, beans, farofa, spaghetti and sometimes fish and meat if you eat it) and beer for that extraordinary price of R$4 (that's $2 CAD)!!!
- going to the movies on Wednesdays ... cheap day!
- the popcorn at the Aldeota theatre is perhaps the best I've ever tasted, though it's quite salty
- being able to point out that the subtitle translations are sometimes too literal
- doing my Portuguese homework on the wicker couch on the patio at our house
- cookies and coffee in the morning
- burning a huge selection of CDs here at home
- and of course, buying new music at the cheap Lojas Americanas shop
- capoeira - I can now wriggle into some new moves!
- having the lesson on the boardwalk at the foot of the ocean, the wind cooling me down
- the buses. The drivers race them around, speeding as if they were racecars (I'm not exaggerating). They open the doors about 50 metres before the stop and just when I'm expecting the person closest to the open door to fall through it, the bus stops. The brakes are brilliant! The best part is the music on the buses - the driver controls the radio station, though it's usually some local one so that the passengers know all the words and sing along! (Now imagine people singing aloud on the subways in Toronto. Wouldn't travelling be much more pleasant?)
- watching bike riders peddle along with two or three others crammed on their bike. (Usually, two others sit on or behind the handlebars, usually kids, and one sits on a metal attachment above the back wheel). I have yet to see a woman ride a bike like this.
- yes, the popsicles (thanks, Rafa). There's a huge selection of tropical fruit flavours such as cupuaçu, caju, goiaba ...the list goes on ... mmm ...
- listening to reggae at the barracas (beach bars) on Sundays
- Sundays. Our day off.
- reading in a rede (hammock) on the balcony at home

Under a brilliant full moon, with reggae blasting (literally) through a set of speakers, some volunteer friends and I gathered at my capoeira teacher Alán's house for, yes, you'll never guess, fish.*

It was a party to celebrate the full moon. Alán's tia (aunt) made this amazingly savoury tuna pie and later on, we had some baked white fish in a sauce with potatoes and eggs (I didn't eat the eggs - not a fan) and rice. Apparently it's a dish typical of Bahia, another state in the northeast, known for its capoeira, percussion music and maintaining its people's African roots.

The party was in his backyard, which was a concrete terrace surrounded by concrete walls painted black, yellow and green and that were faded by the sun. A giant Jamaican flag, was painted on the wall where the stereo system lay on the windowsill. Posters of Bob Marley peppered the walls. The guy is quite a fan! Reggae (pronouned heg-eee) is very popular here in Fortaleza. And when most bands sing covers of Marley songs on the beach, the crowd goes wild, singing along. Seems they never tire of him.

So we danced and danced and drank some very very sweet local red wine that tastes terrible on its own, so we mixed it with ice and coke. "Gross!" was my initial reaction, but then I tried the concoction and it wasn't so bad. It sort of tasted like sangria, minus the fruit. It's cheap stuff, so that's why we drank it.

Alán lives in a favela, but his house is much nicer than many others in the community. It's quite large, in comparison (with a kitchen, living room, bedrooms and a toilet that flushes). He sleeps in a smaller building that has one room, on the same property, just behind his mom's house. In talking to many of his friends there, I began to realize, even more so, how I choose my words. And not only that, but how my word choices reflect my presumptions.

When I say word choices, I mean I am very conscious about how I describe people of lower classes (there I go, I was just careful about how I describe people living in poverty). I was quite intimidated and unsure of how to approach the topics I was curious about (poverty, inequality) when I first spoke to the people who live these realities, when I was in Recife last month.

For example, people living in favelas don't call them favelas, but instead use the word "communities". I believe its a way to use language to give oneself confidence and a way to think more positive. It's a way of empowerment. And I believe this is essential to whether and how people improve their lives. (And this applies to everyone, I believe. How we use labels and the labels we choose to use to describe our lives tells others and ourselves who we are). This may seem obvious, though, it's so interesting to be aware of these details in conversations. And I don't think people deny the injustice of how they live, by using less-harsh words. They are very aware they are poor.

Another example: In conversation with two friends last night, I learned about the minimum wage here. It is a little over R$3,000 per year. That's per year. That's about $1,500 CAD per year. That is slavery. This gives people earning minimum wage NO CHOICE but to live in a poor community. Poor communities mean more dangerous communities and of course, not the same educational or job opportunities as the "rich" have. According to some friends, there are huge unemployment rates among people in favelas because many employers don't want to hire people who live in favelas. The stereotype is that these people are lazy and don't have good work ethics.

So after the friends described the minimum wage for me, I shook my head and said "I can't believe that!" Later in the conversation, one man used the word slave to describe himself. This really struck a soft spot in my heart. It hurt me to hear this man call himself a slave. And this was not used casually or dramatically as people in Canada sometimes use the word. However, the truth was, these people were being over-worked, (considerably - say, 12 hour days) for almost nothing. Most often these people have two or three kids and one working parent. In the favela where I teach in the mornings, it's common to see the kids eating lollipops and candy or chewing gum for breakfast, as there families have such little money.

Ah the problems are so layered, so deep and the people who live them everyday have no hope. They have no idea how to answer the question, "So where do we begin with improving Brazil?"







* Most of you already know I have not been vegan while travelling in Brazil. It's very close to impossible to find food that doesn't contain dairy and eggs here. The veggie selection is slim and basically, my body was telling me it needed more nourishment. And heck, I'm tired of eating rice and beans everyday! So I eat vegetarian, except for the occasional fish meal. And it feels good.

On Wednesday night, I played alfaia (a big bass drum) with about 20 others part of the drumming group Caravana Cultural in a parade for International Clean Water Day (which was on Tuesday). It was my first involvement in an activist-related event here in Fortaleza. We paraded on the Universidade Estadual do Ceará (Ceará State University) campus.

The buildings are plain, concrete and square. It's not a very beautiful-looking campus at all. Though we did find a terrace that joined two buildings, on which we could play. We alternated from coco to Maracatù rhythms to samba-reggae. (A Brazilian band called Olodum plays great samba-reggae, you can listen to them here).

The energy in the place was incredible! The crowd danced and danced and when we began to play coco (pronounced koh-koo), we formed a circle, so that the audience (mainly students) could dance inside! To dance coco, you would put one foot in front, then feet together, then the same foot behind you. This is done super-fast and of course to the beat of the music. And oftentimes, it's done in a circle, where everyone dances in unison - feet in circle at the same time, feet outside at the same time. The students formed a circle inside our circle for the coco dance. They just loved it! Some even picked up instruments such as the agogo. This was one of my favourite experiences with playing for a crowd. I ADORE such interactive performances and I ADORE playing and dancing to coco!

We went for beer afterwards, which is the drink of choice here, as it's sooo cheap, much colder than in Canada, and much lighter, so it's perfect for those hot days (and nights, as it's always about 30 degrees celsius here).

Just came back from lunch with a friend ... lots of rice, beans, farofa, and the essential afternoon beer. We had much to talk about. She is the only person I know, besides my mom and dad, who still has a close relationship with her ex-spouse. Much like my family, they have dinners together when in the same city, they go on vacation with their two kids (we did this when my sister and I were younger) and talk on the phone frequently. All without any sexual connection. When I tell people this, most think the situation is absurd, though it works quite well for our family and I'm very grateful to spend time with both parents.

That said, we somehow began talking about a totally different subject - how poverty in Brazil is different from that in the U.S. She described poverty in Brazil as being "a poverty of the spirit". Brazilians living in poverty don't have open minds to be influenced by new ideas to improve their lives, she said. Most are sort of damned by beliefs learned from parents and grandparents who taught that it's impossible to change and thus maintain their self-pity. She explained it as such a deep-rooted challenge. It's quite curious to me to have heard this, as it seems the poor are helping to keep themselves poor. This is such a simple remark, as the situation isn't so simple. And besides that, the remark also blames the victim. But that's not what she was trying to say.

"It's definitely the government's responsibility to focus on improving the lives of Brazilians," she emphasized. And went on to talk about the importance of investing in education. She used South Korea as an example of a country that focused on improving its education system.* I know very little about the country, but will read up on it.** So we talked and talked and I asked, how do you change the way people have thought for hundreds of years? We both shook our heads and shrugged, our eyes gave blank stares. I will ask this question a million times, I'm sure, throughout the rest of my journey.

* It seems the U.S. established a U.S. model of schools while they occupied SK during WWII.
** The gender divisions seem to be immense

Woohoo ... the "official" day to celebrate Rafa's birth! You rock, my love.

The class went very well! Though, we didn't think it would take place, when we first arrived at the house. The director of the school said the computer didn't work (that the plug burned when it was plugged in). The kids waited and we went to see problem. Turned out there was another computer that worked, so we had the class.

The setup is two kids per class. We're usually supposed to have two computers, but we were fine with one. It looked like it was built in the mid-nineties and it took a while to start and it froze twice in 45 minutes. This was the most frustrating part for me. It's difficult to teach computers when the hardware seems useless. I suppose I'm just used to equipment working and when it doesn't there's always someone to call to make it work, back home. Here, the kids waited patiently, we chatted about their families and school while we waited. I don't think they expect life to run smoothly - firstly, because they do not have even close to the luxuries we have and think are necessities. The 10-year-old boy in the class had never used a computer. The 16-year-old had, but there's only eight computers in his school (and kids go to school for three hours per day). Secondly, it's Brazil and there's always - and I mean always - unexpected challenges to overcome, even in the most predictable situations. So, I am learning to be much more patient here.

Back to the class. The language barrier was also a little difficult to work with, though I did fine I think. Again, these kids were great and helped me find the right words when I didn't know how to express myself. (And I took notes the whole time on what I had trouble saying). For a laugh, one kid's name is Gladstone (that's right, as in the famous kareoke bar on Queen West)! They pronounce it like: Glod-sh-toe-nee. I didn't know what he was saying when he first said his name, then he wrote it and I laughed and laughed! And then explained the reference to the name. On that note, many of the kids here have American and English names such as Wellington and Jefferson. It's soooo funny to hear them say these names!

By the end of the class, the kids were typing short sentences in Word. And they loved the different fonts, which made me quite happy, being the font nerd that I am.

About the capoeira news, the class Monday night was great! It such a great (back, leg, arm) strengthening workout. And I am beginning to learn more moves. I asked one kid to show me what looked like a breakdancing move. Doing it meant I had to nestle my elbow into my belly button, hands on the floor with my body leaning on my elbow and arm, and lift my legs up. HAHAHA...I'm no where close to that level yet!

The day before, one of my teachers was struck in the head while playing. Apparently the man who did it was a teacher with another group - shocking! He ran away after hitting him! I wasn't there, though the kids started crying and the adults took him to the hospital with a cab, on advice from the 1-1-9 (aka 911) folks. The ambulances are useless here, apparently, so he was better off taking a cab. And the doctors sent him home that night. He's better now, after 12 stitches.

After a morning at the beach, I headed over to the other side of the city (away from the ocean) to learn about the history of Maracatù - particularly its origins in Ceará (the state where I live).

The study group took place at the same house where we drum every Wednesday night. It was actually on a huge, shady terrace in a lush backyard where we set up the half-circle with patio tables and chairs. We faced a T.V. that was setup in front of some trees.

Of course, everything in Brazil is never on time, so the supposed 2 p.m. class began at 3:30 p.m. But everyone expects the class to start later, even the teacher who set the time.

Our percussion teacher, Marcelo, showed clips of some Maracatù nacãos (nations, or groups) that played in Fortaleza, including Estrela Brilhante. (I've mentioned this group often on this blog, so to know more, see the archives;)). We listened to some different styles of Maracatù - this was especially interesting to me, as we only practise the baque virado style in Toronto. People talked of what they researched and the discussion began. All in Portuguese, by the way. I got by well, I think...with help from friends.

The cultural aspect seemed to be of most interest. Some history here. There are some groups in Ceará that have their dancers/musicians paint their faces black - like charcoal black - to perform. We saw pictures and the people just looked ridiculous. Besides that, I thought it sort of mocked the fact that Maracatù began with African slaves in Brazil. Then someone commented that everyone in Brazil - even those that have very pale white skin - most often have some African roots. Interracial ancestry began centuries ago. So people didn't quite know what to make of these painted faces in the pictures.

It was a productive - whatever that means - class. We had fun, had some lively discussion and some snacks. And I got to know these people a little better. The study groups take place one per month and each class will focus on a different Brazilian percussion rhythm.

Finally, the community house is ready! It's a concrete house in the Morro da Vítoria favela in which we will teach our classes. It's basically two big rooms, one on the main floor, and one up a winding staircase. The party was on Saturday. It began with a mass, given by the priest who donated most of the money, followed by a dance performance (that a group of local girls choreographed). Then the capoeira group stole the show playing the fighting dance (a.k.a. capoeira) in a HUGE roda (circle) in the mainfloor room.

The kids were especially energetic. Some literally would not let go of my waist and when they finally did, to stand in front of me to watch the performances, they kept looking over their shoulders to see if I was still there. Again, I guess I'm a bit of a novelty to them, as I'm the newest volunteer. I so much fun! It was great to hold these kids and play with them and answer their questions. They were very interested in knowing about my life in Toronto. "Do you live in a house?" they asked. "With your parents?" and "Do you have kids?" and "What kind of food do you eat there?" So I explained the ethnic pockets of the city where we can find whatever cuisine we like. They were impressed. Because really, what the heck do Canadians eat? What's typical Canadian food?

And of course, they were fascinated with my stories about snow. And they were so cute, one talked louder than the other to say, "I know! You have to wear a very thick jacket when it snows!" We handed out hotdogs (half per child) with a soft drink and piece of cake each. It was a very low-budget affair, as we didn't have much choice. The project, once it's registered as a charity, will have more opportunities to raise money. Right now, we accept monthly donations and we sell T-shirts to tourists to support the project basics (supplies, busfare, etc.)

This house is an important accomplishment for the community. I'd say at least 100 locals came out to celebrate inside the house, and of course, the party flowed into the streets.

Played my first show with the percussion group (that plays Maracatù, samba-reggae, coco...) and what a rush! I needed to drum for that long (about one hour) and sort of get beyond that depressed feeling from earlier in the day. The performance was in the theatre downtown - José de Alencar - a nice place, a century old. The centre court (where we played) is roofless and reminds me of a theatre we visited in Oxford, England. People danced, we sang and played and the room was filled with rhythm! My volunteer friends came out to watch. It was great to have that support and be able to smile out to people I knew in the crowd. They liked it and were glad to hear what the band sounds like, as I only practise drums at home.

Afterwards, we stayed to watch a tribute to Elis Regina, a Brazilian singer, with a sort of bossa nova style. Was great...so romantic.

Apparently, the theatre holds free shows every 17th of the month.

I saw the movie City of God today. Wow. It's an important movie. Please see it.

Everyone I talk to here, about the state of this country, expresses the same indifference. They say it will never get better, only worse. And today, when I looked for some sort of explanation of why the violence is so extreme and so frequent, I was hit with the powerful words: "If guns and drugs don't exist here, people don't eat." Many families are so desperate, and I can understand this, after seeing the some extremely poor communities. But when I heard that the mom of someone very close to me had her car stolen at gunpoint the other day, I truly felt the other side of problem. (And as someone who doesn't look Brazilian at all, I am very conscious of what I do, where I go, who I speak to and when I speak).

I went for lunch with two friends today. My capoeira teacher is one of them - an Evangelical Christian who began talking about the bible. We got into some great debates (and imagine, all in Portuguese!) and I finally asked why Brazil is so dangerous and the people in power corrupt, if much of the population is so religious? He then told a typical story: white women marries black man, they have three kids, are poor and thus live in a favela. The father has been unemployed for three years. The wife doesn't work, but raises the kids. The man steals to feed his family. One day he gets caught after stealing a camera and the police beat him and he goes to jail for five years. The wife is desperate, as the children are starving, so she sells her body to feed her children. The children find out what the mom is doing, so when they're about seven or eight, they start stealing or dealing drugs to feed the family. And so the cycle continues. By the way, he has lived in 35 favelas in Rio and has lived in three here in Fortaleza.

SIDENOTE: I know that the person who stole my digicam in Olinda needed it more than I did. I hope the money was put to good use.

And then Alán (my teacher) continued. He told a story about a powerful white man who broke the law in Fortaleza. The director of a school was charged with fraud after he'd been stealing money that was supposed to go to supplies for the kids and repairing the school, among things. This happened for six years and the total amount was about R$600,000 (about $300,000 CAD). The police beat him and he went to jail, not the same jail as poor people would go to and for not nearly as long a time. He said people in power would rather not have other educated, powerful folks in jail, as they are afraid of what they will do when they come out.
Oh gosh, there are so many ways to look at these stories. If you're reading this and have any thoughts, write a comment. It's always so great to read different points of view.

Anyway, I left the table after lunch feeling depressed. But I start teaching art class tomorrow, so that very thought is making me smile!

The favela is surrounded by a giant petroleum plant. Here, we went to check out the new community house, in which the we will teach classes such as English, Geography, drawing and computer skills. The terracotta-coloured concrete shell of the house was in stark contrast the shacks surrounding it.

Before going in, I peered over my shoulder to see a group of boys sorting through wheelbarrels of garbage they collected from the streets. One boy - about 14 years old - held a dirty brown teddy bear and stared at it for a while. He tried to rub off some of the dirt with his hands and then threw it back in the pile. I tried soooo hard to fight back my tears. These kids, when they're not in school for three hours per day, collect garbage, looking for empty cans and bottles to sell to a local recycling company. My friend just said they get .50 centavos (about $.25 per kilo!) And cans aren't very heavy.

On the other side of the home's stained wood front doors, was a big empty room. The floors were ceramic tile, the walls were concrete. A winding staircase filled a tiny space in the far left corner. It led to the room upstairs. So this was the house. There was a tiny kitchen (about seven by four feet) with just a sink. They don't think they can afford a fridge. And by "they" I mean the community association that raised the money to renovate this house. It's basically run by a group of women who want to improve their community. For example, they serve lunch to poorest people of the community and worked hard to see that this house in which we stood, existed. It is a community house.

While the others gathered to talk about inauguration of the house (which is this Saturday!), I played with some kids outside. The kids here swarmed me ( I guess because I'm new to the group), yelling "Tia! Tia! Tia!" (meaning aunt) and wanted me to hold them or lift them up to sit on the windowsill. And they were fascinated by my tattoo and glasses. I let each of them try on my glasses and they just loved it! They giggled at how funny they looked and talked a mile a minute. "Tia, como se chama? Tia, que é seu idade (age)? Tia, Tia Tia!" One 10-year-old girl, holding her baby sister at her hip, asked if I had kids. Her mother was about my age (23 years old) and had four.

I left the kids to take a walk around. The houses were made of scraps of wood, plastic, paper and a sort of mesh screen (like what we have on windows in Canada). People stared at us (we were all clad in white volunteer T-shirts). I wondered what they were thinking. Then, the woman from the community association (who also lives here) said, "These houses are really ugly, aren't they?" I said nothing. It was not a matter of judging them as ugly or beautiful. The way these people live is unjust and in such stark contrast to what our house looks like, and how we live.

On the busride home, I thought about how convenient it is to pick up the phone and order bottled water to be delivered at our door, and how free I feel to always have enough money to take the bus whereever I want to go - such as they fruit market and have enough money to buy fresh fruits and veggies each week.

And I thought about the Brazilian education system - each state runs their own. In the northeast states, the education system, I'm told, is especially poor. The kids go to school for three hours per day. And oftentimes, they won't go at all because its raining and the roofs are so makeshift that it rains in the classrooms. Other times, the teachers don't show up because they weren't paid the week before.

The favela I visited in Recife, last month, was different. It was on a steep hill, with narrower pathways between shacks where animals such as chickens, dogs and cats, wandered. People's homes were in better condition as well - some were made of concrete.

This experience is shaking the ground beneath me. I begin my first class on Wednesday - art class - with another volunteer, Kicki. I can't wait.

Last night's festa de mulheres (party for women) was one of the most outwardly carnal events I have ever been to. It was held at a beach club (a barraca) - where the roof is the sky and where bamboo walls prevent you from seeing the ocean. The concept was as follows: women pay R$10 (about $5) to occupy the place for two hours before the men arrive. They get free drinks and some light snacks, which means they walk between two barricades like a herd of cattle would, and are handed two plastic cups of warm beer per person, which they drink while standing in line for the next round of warm beer. It was gross, actually, but we drank it.

About an hour before the men were allowed to come in, some men took the stage to strip to their underwear. Of course, with the women being so tipsy (and some drunk), they screamed and yelled and maintained the rowdiness the entire time - and we all laughed out loud at the women who jumped on stage to pull down the men's underwear, showing some bare bums. Most of the men didn't have much rhythm and I don't think stripping is entertaining. And a part of me burned with rage at this disgusting concept of a night - a plan obviously devised by men to make heterosexual women as easy to seduce, kiss, and lure into any possibly dangerous situation, in favour of men's pleasures. And imagine, they used the label of "women's party" - in supposed recognition of International Women's Day earlier in the week. I went to this event mostly out of curiosity and of course, to dance.

And when the clock struck 12 a.m., the doors opened for the men to join the party. They walked in single file at first, between two queues of women. We stood back and watched in amazement. The men were heckled with wondering hands, screams and attacked with lips eager to be kissed. The people were anywhere from 16 to 30-something, I'd say. And even though the drinking age is 18 here, no one checks I.D. at the door, because, I've been told, owners don't care if an underage person is drinking in their clubs.

So the men arrived. They were eager to grope, and by what I'd observed, most women complied and "had some fun." The walk to the bathroom meant having a slew of men try to lean over to kiss you. (In Canada, most often, at least, you first ask the person's name). Someone kissed my neck and when I turned around, I couldn't identify who it was and just had an urge to walk faster, so I did. These men assumed that the women wanted to be treated like this - like complete and udder pieces of meat. They had been prepared for two hours before the "guests of honour" arrived. They were teased with strippers and decided to become intoxicated just enough to feel confident to let loose among the other animals, not knowing - and often not being in the headspace to think of - how to say "no" if they wanted to. Ah, one of the many books that has profoundly impacted my beliefs, The Sexual Politics of Meat, rings true in the past few thoughts. Of course, many women find the strength, courage and confidence to say "no" in such situations. But many don't. We mustn't forget these women. They had the choice of attending the event, sure. But the problem lies in the freedom for such an event to take place. This sort of publicized party is underheard of (or at least to me) in Toronto, or any other Canadian city. This party totally ignored, rather it mocked, women's achievements thus far. This party wasn't meant to celebrate women.

Needless to say, the music was good - lots of hip hop, reggae, samba/electro-samba, MPB (musica populare Brazileiro). I danced and chatted with friends and newer friends. I had fun. Though, my heart felt heavy - sad and helpless because such a party took place.

A short pitch about an important exhibit now at the AGO. It's called Massive Change ... and it's bound to inspire you to think about the design of cities, houses, means of transportation, the environment, etc. and how these relate to social justice and sustainability.

I'm sad I'll miss it. I've seen much footage from the show and it looks impressive! And my partner Rafael edited the video on housing that spans a giant wall (20-something feet). Go Rafa!

We had an energetic session in the percussion workshop last night. We played some samba reggae ... gon/ ga gon/ gon gon ga gon/ ga ga gon ga gon/ ga gon gon ga gon ... this is one of the rhythms we played on the alfaia drums (bass drums) ... this may be gibberish to you ... but it's my attempt to communicate the music. I played my new alfaia and then switched to play gongé (cow bell).

The people at the workshop are generally in their twenties/thirties, artsy and open-minded. All Brazilian, so I got to practise more Portuguese. We have a show coming up next Thursday! It's at a theatre downtown! Check out the group here. (The man in the photo at the bottom of the linked page sang during the intro carnival performance in Recife!! Michelle, Aline and Alex from our workshop group in Toronto played with nacão Estrela Brilhante ... one of the big Maracatù groups in Recife).

So back to last night. I took the bus home with Tasia and Eliene from the group and chatted about the World Social Forum - Tasia was there. And thankfully the bus wasn't crowded as usual - so I didn't get any evil glares from folks who usually end up leaning on my drum.

We had the theatre to ourselves - 22 children and five volunteers - yesturday afternoon. * (For those who don't know, I'm in Fortaleza, Brazil, volunteering until the end of May). We saw Tainá 2, a movie about a little girl who protects the Amazon from hunters, setting caged animals free and unhooking traps. The kids loved the movie - they laughed and cheered and some reached over to grab a hand during the "scary" parts (such as a chasing scene). They continually moved to different seats in the theatre, to sit with different friends and get a new view of the screen.

Sadly, we couldn't afford to get them popcorn and drinks. Someone mentioned they wouldn't expect the food anyhow, though, I still felt some guilt, as I thought back to my ventures to the theatre as a kid, always with popcorn and iced tea in hand. Maybe I was being too emotional, as others didn't seem to think the lack of food was a big deal. Though, I saw those kids glow when they saw the popcorn stand as we left the theatre. If we better plan to have food, I'm sure we could make popcorn at home and give them juiceboxes.

So we had to go down the escalator to leave the theatre. The kids were awe-struck by this thing! I imagine most of them had never seen an escalator. They ran up the steps on the downward machine and down the steps on the upward one, laughing and relishing in this new-found pleasure. We journeyed around the meticulously-arranged shops, lit by blinding flourescent lights. Another volunteer later told me that one kid asked why the clerks were behind these glass doors. He wanted to know if this was some sort of prison. Ah! So symbolic on so many levels. I love these kids!

And you know, walking around the mall, I noticed many of the kids (aged 7-15) were sucking their thumbs. Perhaps they were attempting to replenish a comfort that was lost in this building of stores.



* The organization is called PADC - Projeto Amigos da Communidade. We hold after school programs for children in a nearby favela (shantytown). I'll be teaching English, arts and crafts and basic computer skills. These children never fail to surprise me, and most definitely, with every encounter, a part of me, somewhere deep down, is flipped upside down, as I never would have imagined exactly what these children live every day. Every encounter shows me a little more about their world - so innocent and honest (like most children everywhere) yet so mature, appreciative and very, very simple.

This is my first blog. What a perfect day to begin writing. This first entry will be short, just want to try out this thing.