Resurrected: My one kiss of Carnaval...(O Atrevido)

There are not enough words to describe the intensity of the six day party that is Carnaval in Salvador. It is loud, it is intense, it is sexy, it is tiring, it is violent, it is fun, it is crazy, it is amazing and now that it is March 1st, it is officially over.....I have never been so tired in my life...literally.

One of the things you hear about Carnaval before you actually participate in it is that everyone kisses everyone and that women and men snatch each other up for a week long makeout session. The reality: Women walk on constant alert as men (mostly Brazilian) try and grab them from all angles trying to steal kisses and if they are lucky convince the woman to submit to a makeout session. Needless to say, snatching up women with force to steal a kiss is not my style, but I did get my kiss.

Saturday (the third night of Carnaval) O Chefao, two girls in our program named Shireen and Rebby and I left the main street of Carnaval to rest our feet on the beach. As we sat on the beach resting and watching the 20 or so people swimming in the ocean at around midnight, one of the girls noted that a man was pulling a girl out of the ocean in his arms. As soon as I saw that she wasn´t moving in his arms I sprinted as fast as I could down to the beach....

I got there only to find the man who pulled her out of the ocean in a complete panic. She was no longer breathing and upon checking her pulse I realized that her heart was no longer beating either. With all the crazy things i´ve done and seen, realizing that the young lady´s heart was no longer beating was the scariest moment of my life....

I yelled at the man who brought the woman out of the water to calm down and move from off of her and I quickly began to start CPR. I gave her chest compressions and performed mouth to mouth for a few seconds, which seemed like minutes only to realize that a crowd began forming and no one was calling for help. Trying to remember as much portuguese as I could I yelled to the group to get help, a doctor, a policeman, a lifeguard anything....They simply stared in disbelief at what was going on.

Luckily, Shireen and Rebby who sat up on the hill with O Chefao, heard my pleas for help and went to get police officers who were on duty on the streets above. As I sat there pumping, now scared that she might die if she didnt begin to breathe or have a pulse within the next few seconds, I put my mouth down yet again to give the girl air and she spit up into my mouth (talk about getting intimate...) which was a great sign. Much to my relief, upon my next check her pulse had returned signalling that her heart was now again beating...I put my finger in her mouth to straighten her tongue and thank god, she began to breathe.....

Within about another minute the police and a lifeguard had arrived to assist the young lady and they began calling an ambulance to escort her off. With her now breathing and with her heart now beating again, I simply walked away toward my three friends who stood on the rocks looking in the direction of the crowd which had now formed around the girl. They asked me how she was and I told them she was going to make it, and then they asked me how I was doing and I wasn´t so sure...

If you read alot of comic books or watch alot of movies you think that when someone is involved in an experience where someone´s life hangs in the balance, that when it is all over you simply feel great about yourself and walk off into the sunset. The truth of it was when it was all over I wasn´t sure if I should smile or cry, as I had never been involved in something so scary in my life. For the duration of the evening I think I was somewhere in between the two having been glad to save someone, but so scared of what would have happened if I couldn´t have. Thank goodness Shireeen and Rebby were on their feet and got help, who knows what would have happened if they didn´t get extended medical assistance.....

If mouth to mouth counts then I did get a kiss during Carnaval....one that was simultaneously the scariest and most rewarding I have ever had. That being said a kiss is a kiss...I don´t take it personal that a girl´s heart has to be stopped in order to give me one.

Resurrected: Carnaval 101 (O Chefao)

For an entire week, a city of well over 2 million stops. Droves of people from Salvador, the state of Bahia, and all throughout Brazil flock to the city's center ready to party and/or profit off of the festivities. It is nothing like Rio de Janeiro or Sao Paulo, known for their famous parading Samba schools. Carnaval in Salvador is an entirely participatory event. It is a popular music fest, a true seven day street party that brings in all Bahia's most popular performers. It is really something that cannot be described by words - but what kind of blogger would I be if I didn't atleast try.

Just to try and give my American audience a more informed perspective, lets imagine that due to odd historical circumstances and cultural machinations, Carnaval was actually an American phenomenon, and imagine it centered in Atlanta. And lets just say that instead of Axe (Bahian pop music), samba reggae, and other Brazilian music, Atlanta's Carnaval was all about rap from the dirty south (Carnaval here is a celebration of local, homegrown music). What you would end up with is seven days of non-stop musical parades, known in Brazil as folias. Twenty or so trucks rigged with incredibly enormous speakers would travel slowly down the largest boulevards in the city. And, on top of each truck would be a performer or band. Here in Salvador, these trucks are referred to as trio-electricos. Imagine one truck being dedicated to Outkast, and thirty minutes later he would be followed by Li'l John, and then Three Six Mafia, then Ludacris. Gucci Mane or Young Geezy might roll through later on in the afternoon along with anybody else currently popular.

But this is not just any normal parade. Like I said, Carnaval here is not just a spectator sport. Some people do stay perched above the streets in the buildings that look over the Avenidas on which Carnaval passes. These arrangements are called camarotes, and are mostly limited to bourgeois folks who aren't really down to party in true Brazilian fashion. A lot of people, for a fair, but significant fee, pay to be in blocos. Around every trio-electrico is a designated space roped off for bloco-members, partiers that travel along with the trucks on the street for the entire circuit, which lasts for a couple hours. The blocos are crazy and extremely fun, and after a day or two, exhausting.

For the adventurous tourist, and for those that just don't have the money to spend (the majority of people in Salvador), there is the pipoca. The pipoca is simply the street and consists of everyone else in the city who is enjoying the music, and partying, but just doing so outside of the ropes (and security) of the bloco. Pipoca is fun, but it's also home to a good deal of pickpocketers, can get rowdy (especially in stretches of the road where the Avenidas get narrow), and is kinda tough for girls who aren't accustomed to hordes of men constantly grabbing and trying to makeout with them.

Now,Carnaval is not in Atlanta, so there's no Li'l Jon and the Eastside Boys. The vast majority of the trios carry Axe singers. Axe is nice, but not particularly complex. Fortunately, if you spend a bit of time in Salvador, you hear it all the time and it definitely grows on you. It is percussion heavy and very high energy, and all the performers sing the most successful songs of the past few years, so everyone catches on to the rhythms and lyrics of the popular songs pretty quickly. Fortunately though, there are alternatives to the regular trios. Salvador here has afro-blocos which were created to create and raise African/black consciousness and cultural awareness in the region and bring a totally different feel to the table. They are trios as well but play different types of music and the members of the blocos are usually dressed up particular themes and are accompanied by african drumss, and other performers. There are also blocos that consist entirely of men dressed as wonderwoman, predominately gay blocos, and basically anything else you could think of.

Anyways, this post has been long enough. I just wanted to provide a brief intro to put all of our subsequent Carnaval stories in context. Because of course, the Bahia Boys, being as adventurous as we are, tried out all the aspects of Carnaval; blocos, camarote, and pipoca and had a great time/almost died/are now involved in weird love triangles.

You really don't want to miss the next few posts.

In the meantime...

While many in the U.S. (and rest of the world, for that matter) are going about their business completely unawares, only a couple of weeks ago, the worlds biggest party took place: Carnaval. For those who don't know (and you can thank me later), Carnaval is a weeklong party which a friend described, quite appropriately as 'the only party i've ever been to that has lived up to the hype.' And for the record, the hype for Carnaval in Brazil is enormous; from the day the festivities end, people are talking about next year's Carnaval. It is unlike anything else on earth.

Now if you are just a novice, you might book your ticket directly to Rio de Janeiro and enjoy a week of elaborate costumes and a lot of samba. I can't knock that. I love samba and I love elaborate costumes, particularly on Brazilian women. However, if you've got an inside source, or maybe you're just the type of person who likes to go the extra mile in your research, you will most likely be headed to Salvador.

Normally I would spend the next hour detailing all of the wild aspects and stories of Carnaval in Salvador (for the festivities, the city's population doubles), but unfortunately, I don't have that kind of time. Therefore, I am going to recycle the experiences of my two compatriots at the time (and the other 2/3 of the Bahia Boys Coalition); O Chefao (David 'Silkk' Williams) and O Atrevido (James 'I don't want girlfriends, I just want girls to be my friends' Hairston). I think you will find their observations clear and insightful (and at times, perhaps a bit surreal), and before you know it, you may find yourself on www.expedia.com, trying to book your tickets for next year's Carnaval.

Enjoy!

South of the Sahara

Coming soon...

Brazil Interview Analysis Vol II: It's About the Parents

(Yes, it's a big jump from arm-wrestling in Morocco, but I told you I would fill in the blanks.)

While the discussions of race/class and their relationship to educational performance proved to be important (especially as it is a conversation that many of my interviewees did not like to have), discussions of parental influence in education turned out to be of equal, if not greater prominence in my interviews, particularly with teachers. In all honesty, the frequency with which parents were mentioned caught me a bit offguard and compelled me to change the focus of the interviews to be a bit more all-encompassing in the discussion of education and educational influences. The first mention of it came from a teacher in Nordeste who noted 'a lack of parental cooperation' as the most significant difficulty she faced in her career of teaching. She spoke not only of parents (especially those with very few financial means) who would frequently pull their children out of school in order to work, but more precisely of those parents who did not recognize education as a means for their children to improve their lives. 'I am not necessarily talking about parents without education, but those parents who do not recognize the value of education. If the parents do not care about or believe in the necessity of education for their children, then school becomes just another activity, and the parents do not hold children accountable for studying, assignments or even attendance.' This was powerful to hear from a first person perspective. From conversations and background reading, the argument that I am more familiar with has to do with the education level of parents and how that correlates to the child's school performance (granted, there are relationships in between these two, namely, that a parent's educational level is a good gauge of how they will communicate the importance of education to their children). That said, the perspective I was (prior to this conversation) far less familiar with had to do with the fact that uneducated/not highly educated parents can have the same positive impact on their child's educational experience, assuming they recognize and communicate the importance of formal education, and support it with informal education at home. That said, for parents that fall into this category, the figurative 'road to success' for the child is quite a bit steeper and the cost of sitting by idly is much greater (compared to the children of highly educated parents who can perceive, on some level, how education has improved the lives of their parents, without the parents necessarily verbally communicating it). On the 'other side of the tracks' I had the opportunity to visit two much nicer schools in the neighborhood of Victoria (one public, one private) in which both teachers and school administrators spoke glowingly (for the most part) of the positive parental contribution to education, both in their interactions with teachers, as well as holding their children accountable and supporting their education at home. The role of the parents--both positively and negatively--was echoed in almost all of my interviews and though I have not come across any data to support the argument that more positive parental involvement in education is correlated with better academic performance, I was convinced of this relationship's impact. Additionally, it has caused me to take a step in the direction of believing that parental involvement could be a veritable 'x' factor and universal theme further explaining why primary education is such a crucial period in the educational experience of the child (at the very least here in Brazil). On a slightly different note... Sitting in these interviews, I couldn't help but be reminded of the well publicized Bill Cosby 'tirade' in which he criticized poor/uneducated black parents for not instilling good values in their children. At the time of this debate, I chose to stay on the fence (a common Chas practice) as I recognized the legitimacy of both sides of the argument (prof. Michael Dyson became the public and outspoken opposition to Cosby's perspective). That said, through the conversations I had with these teachers, many of whom are parents themselves, I can understand (more intimately) that there is nothing more important and necessary than the positive contribution of 'parents' (whether they be biological parents, relatives or guardians) in the development of the child. Of course there exists a partnership between the parents and the school and without a functional/functioning school, the child can only go so far; that said, the necessary prerequisite is the contribution of the parents. I realize that circumstances of this link are quite different (Brazil vs. U.S. Black community) and that I really did not touch on the meat of the debate between Dyson and Cosby (especially in relation to the historical and well documented oppression of descendants of American slavery and the current effect of this oppression), but I do believe that there is some real value in this cross-cultural comparison.

As always, I would love to hear your thoughts.

Difficult Times in Marrakech

The photos should speak (volumes) for themselves. Though all 3 defeats (my apparent victory in the first photo was, I'm ashamed to say, staged) were quite damaging to my self-esteem, we got some free mint tea afterwards which helped, sorta. Thanks, Rhys, for the photos.

North African Allegiance

As it has worked out on several occasions in my travels already, I have been well situated to watch some great soccer. Most recently, my arrival in Morocco coincided with the semifinal and final rounds of the 2008 Africa Cup, in which Egypt successfully defended their title as the most dominant soccer team on the continent (thats right, i said it and would love to hear if you disagree). The final, which was played between Egypt and (Samuel Eto'o and) the Cameroon national team, was a pretty uneventful and sloppy match in my opinion, Egypt's lone and winning goal the result of a fatal error committed by two Cameroon defenders.

However, more interesting than the game itself was that virtually all of Morocco (I can only speak specifically of Marrakech and Essouira, though I think it would be safe to extrapolate from there) was supporting Egypt. It was not the most surprising revelation, bit it was very interesting as it offered some perspective into the regional/cultural allegiance that exists in North Africa. When I suggested to a pair of fellow spectators that I was supporting Cameroon, they looked at me as if I was crazy. It was a moment in which I could have spoken Arabic because I could have learned a thing or two more directly from their viewpoint.

But the conclusion at which I arrived after the game was that while it was the Championship of the Africa Cup, perhaps more importantly, it was also a showdown between two very different (and conflicting?) African identities, which sybolically go much deeper than just a soccer match.

I would love to hear your thoughts.

Update: Dakar Arrival

To my beloved few:

I arrived safely in Dakar, Senegal yesterday evening.

Also, you might notice that for all of the description I have given of Morroco, Ive got no pictures to show for it. To explain, like an idiot I left my camera's transfer cable at home during my brief stay there. Additionally, the disposable developments are still negatives, thus there is no way, at the moment to get those to you. Dont you worry; where there is a will, there is most certainly a way.

Your patience is greatly appreciated :-).

Stay tuned...

The Marrakech Rythm

I came back to the Riad to take a nap a found I had a roommate, an Aussi by the name of Andre. He is doing a bit of traveling before he starts university in Australia: he seems like a good person.
I awake with the setting sun, the sweet smell of hookah making its way into our room. It has gotten quite a bit cooler, which is what I think caused me to wake up from my short nap.
The plaza by night is a completely different place as, seemingly out of nowhere, dozens of small eateries have opened in the center, offering typical Moroccan cuisine for a decent price, if youre willing to negotiate a bit. The number of people moving about has doubled at least, the majority of them young people, younger than 30.
By night, the snake charmers have gone and in their place you will find several musicians with a circle of listeners around them. Music here in Marrakech, like in Salvador (Bahia, Brazil), is a catalyst for a communal experience. The musicians begin playing as the sun sets and Moroccans gather around at their leisure, drawn to the sounds and rythms amidst the crowded center of the Medina. The hustle, however, is that anytime a tourist draws near the music will stop and an upturned tambourine will appear with an urgent request for a 'donation.'
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In my short time here in Marrakech, peoplewatching has quickly become an enjoyable activity as the crowded center offers a great opportunity. The dynamics among men, women and between the two is particularly entertaining. The women, many--though far from all--of whom are traditionally clothed--with hair, faces and bodies covered--walk mostly in pairs, usually with an urgency in their gait. They are not all that flirtatious, though ocassionally a quick darting of the eyes or turning of the head will give away their interest in a particular passerby.
As one might expect, this same subtlety is foreign to the men. In contrast to the Moroccan women--whom they seem to greatly outnumber, at least in the street--men generally seem to roam in packs, very aware of their female counterparts. The true moments of comedy are when a group of men will roll up on a pair or group of women, using (I would imagine) some horrible/hilarious pick up line.
But to say that the men are solely fixated on women would be giving a false impression of things. In fact, one of the most interesting observations of Moroccan men is the juxta-position of a certain 'machismo' and very expressive affection for one another (among friends, of course). A typical greeting between two men will consist of a handshake and a kiss on either cheek; additionally, it is not uncommon to see two men holding hands in the street, or one with his arm around the other. As I understand it, there an openness within Moroccan society (at the least in Marrakech) for homosexuality; that said, I believe that this aforementioned affection is a characteristic of relations between many men, both gay and straight.
At the same time, it is by no means uncommon to see two men fighting in the street; sometimes it is clearly in jest, as one will try and humiliate the other in front of friends, while in other moments, it appears more serious. Verbal arguments are common and already I have seen many that have required a mediating third party to separate the two parties before they come to blows.

Day of Days (Continued)

I heard my first call to prayer as I was making my way through Marrakech and it nearly made me jump (I happened to be near a major mosque at the time). My first thought, having never experienced anything like this before, was some massive fire alarm; it only took a moment to adjust my thinking and identify the call for what it actually was. Walking by another mosque moments later I saw dozens of men in single file rows in the structure's interior, bent on all fours, heads pressed to their prayer mats. The moment was a bit surreal as I was enveloped by this new experience ; I observed the surrounding activity, trying not to be conspicuous (though i think my huge backpack just may have given me away) while taking in the centuries old prayer tradition.

I am staying in a Riad-a beautiful Moroccan home-which has been transformed into a hostel. The experience thus far has been wonderful and I would recommend anyone traveling on a budget-and even if you dont have a budget-to find hostels along your travels (and specifically Riads in Morocco). They are usually cheap/reasonably priced and are a great way to meet fellow travellers, old and young. The Riad is located just off of the center of the Medina-old city-though it was nearly impossible trying to find it my first time as a result of the network of narrow streets and alleyways that led me here. The area is very quiet-especially compared to the city center-and quite safe, though it doesnt look like it; the narrow turns and blind corners look to be perfect places for an ambush (sorry, just the way that I think).

Making your way through the labirynth from the Riad to the city center, you are greeted by the hustle and bustle of what I could only describe to you as Canal Street x 10. Everywhere you look, goods are being sold; from fresh meat to to antiques, leather goods to fruit. The scene, both in the narrow streets leading to the center and the center itself, is quite picturesque; the hustle and bustle of tourists, shopowners and hustlers gives the environment a certain rhythm, as if everyone has a part to play and knows their role. While in the center square, looking up from what is right in front of your face (which can be a bit difficult at times) the eye may catch the snow-dusted Atlas Mountains in the distance, home of the Berber people of the region. Turning in another direction, the enormous tower of the Koutoubia mosque demands attention. Bringing your gaze back to eye level, the real tourist attractions of the large square can be seen: the fabled cobra snake charmers with the accompaniment of the punji (nasal sounding wood instrument used to hypnotise the snake). To the left and right of these daredevils form tight circles of mostly men, as a figure in the circles' center speaks of the power of natural herbs, powders and other remedies.

Day of Days

Landing on the African Continent brought excitement as well as a good bit of anxiety as I did not know exactly what to expect. Whereas South America was somewhat familiar territory (as a result of time previously spent in Brazil and Costa Rica) the African continent is completely unknown to me, from a first person perspective. On top of that, arriving in Casablanca I have been robbed of my ability to freely communicate as Arabic is a complete mystery, and though I can understand much of it, my beginner's French is basic to say the least. As such my day of arrival (yesterday)was a milestone among the many personal milestones of the past several months.

If you were to take a walk through my thoughts and experiences of Day 1 in Morocco (Casablanca and Marrakech), the first revelation would be the smell. It is as if, stepping off of the plane in Casablanca, I had just rid myself of some nasal congestion; I found myself suddenly bombarded by smells; good, bad and...interesting.

Receiving information from a credible source that there was not a great deal to see in Casablanca, hours after arriving by plane, I was on a train to Marrakech, 3 hours southeast of Morocco's famous city. Entering the train, I was immediately thrust into cultural immersion as I crammed myself into a small cabin with 7 (8 if you include the baby) other people. In between bouts of narcoleptic dozing (in which I was caught, on several occasions, drooling on myself) I took notice of the changing scenary; lush, rolling hills giving way to arid flatlands, which in turn would give way to tilled farmland. From time to time a mosque would reveal itself, far and away the most prominent and ornate structure in the vicinity; more frequently, collections of shacks and mini-stanty villages would seemingly spring out of nowhere, the small clusters looking more rundown than a lot of what I had seen in Brazil.

A line is forming behind me, here at the hostel's lone computer.

To be continued...

Itinerary: Review

So I am continuing to play the role of irresponsible/delinquent blogger, but I am currently doing my best to reconcile that. Please feel free to let me know how I'm doing. As you can see from the itinerary below, I have made it to Morocco, the first stop on my African tour. That said, I am going to be doing my best to close the gap, switching between what I have thus far left out (rest of Brazil, Argentina and my brief stint in Europe) and what I'm up to currently.

Much love,

Chas

Morocco: 02/06 - 02/11

Senegal: 02/11 – 03/11

Ghana: 03/11 – 03/18

Botswana: 03/18 – 03/30

Mozambique: 03/30 – 04/05

South Africa: 04/05 – 05/15