Brasil Day fifteen

Galo Galo Galo Galo!!!!! Galo Galo Galo Galo!!!!!

This was the first thing that I heard as I walked up the worn concrete steps. People were crowed on all sides, black and white everywhere, with the smell of beer and bad food filled the air. To get inside I had to pass through two security check points with guards holding baseball bat sized human beating sticks and attack dogs every fifty feet. The whole place was filled with an animated energy that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up and goose bumps form on my arms. I was at the church that all of brazil knows and worships; a place where people have screamed and danced with an ecstatic love for life and a place where grown men have been reduced to pathetic shambles of tears and sobs. I was at the Mineirao, the stadium of Belo Horizonte, and the local team Galo was playing a team from Rio Grande do Sul.

I had come with Kelib and my roommates, who were very excited to show the two gringos their first Brazilian football game. People everywhere were drinking beer, screaming and chanting songs for their beloved team, Galo. I was fortunate enough to have been given a jersey before we left so I blending in with the crowd amazingly well. I was excited, scared and awe struck at how much people really loved this sport. Rich and poor brought together to cheer a common cause. It was something that I have never seen in the US.

The game was actually kind of a boring with no score until the last 15 minutes. Galo lost and the crowd was not very pleased. People shouted ‘ vai tomar o cu!’ over and over again. There was even a guy that was beyond drunk, screaming at the empty field when the game was over. He was a true passionate fan. Cuss words and watery eyes were both present when the referee finally blew the final whistle.

After the game we waited for a nonexistent bus that didn’t show up. We were there for an hour, sitting on the side of the road watching the crowd disperse in their small cars, still chanting Galo. About half of an hour waiting, we got to see the bus carrying the opposing team. It was quite the entourage. In front of the bus were four military police SUV’s filled with police guards all holding shot guns and semi-automatic riffles. With sirens blaring they stopped traffic in both directions to make way for the team. Crazy stuff and quite a show. We finally decided to take a taxi home, as things were not getting any safer the longer we stayed there. This was my first real game, and I will be sure to return for more.

Brasil Day twelve

I played in my first soccer game. And yes it was with Brazilians, and yes some of them were pretty good.

My roommate invited my to play with him and his friends on Wednesday, so of course I said yes and stepped up to the exciting and intimidating challenge. It was at a school walking distance from my house through a kind of bad neighborhood with rundown houses and small streets. The game was ‘sala futebol’ which is played on concrete with indoor soccer like shoes. It was basically a basketball court converted into a soccer field with goals on each end that were no bigger than six feet tall and 8 feet wide. They played five on five rotating out the losing team with fresh players. I wasn’t nervous until I saw what kind of game I was to play and be judged at.

My friend Girino and I went into our first game with me not knowing how this game was really played but to my surprise I did pretty well considering that I had never played the game before. It was all about ball control, with the better players being able to manipulate the ball and juke most people out of their way. It was actually cool to watch with goals being scored every few minutes instead of every half hour as is common with traditional soccer.

Through out the game everyone kept telling me what to do, in Portuguese, screaming and pointing. I only got about half of what they were saying, which by the second or third game started to annoy some of the players. I was doing my best to understand and play as well as everyone else. I scored three goals, something that was very satisfying considering the fact that I knew some people were talking shit about how bad they thought I was. I was actually puzzled at how much people were telling me what to do I Portuguese because my experienced up until this point in Brazil has shown people to talk to me as if I were a child or mentally challenged when they hear that I am just learning their language.

After a few hours we quit and everyone started packing up to leave. They talk fast here, with a lot of slang so I caught less than usual. And then my friend started laughing and said, ‘porra, ele e Americano e nao fala Portugues!’ It was at this point that every looked over at me and smiled, some laughed. And then I realized that everyone here had thought that I was Brazilian, understanding everything that they had been yelling and just choosing not to listen. At this point they all burst back into their fast paced conversations and one by one started talking to me with their limited number of English words, saying things like ‘I am in sorry’ or ‘thinking you were Brazilian’.

I found it funny; imagining what they all must have thought when I said close to nothing during the whole game. Shit! It was a compliment in the way that I could be Brazilian, physically anyway and amusing because of all of the shit that was said without me understanding almost any of it. And as I learn more everyday, it is amazing at how many miss communications happen when there is limited language. I am learning more every day, about myself and the language that is difficult for me to learn. I love you all.

Brasil Day nine

It is the end of my weekend and I did almost nothing for two days… Thank God. After ‘hell week’, as Kelib and I refer to it, I needed a physical and mental rest. I have only had five days of school and this is my first week… It is hard for me to comprehend these facts for in my head it seems so much longer. I know once things start to become habitual and routine time will slip through my hands like dry sand. But for now, days seem like ages.

This last Friday I went to my first Samba club. Crazy place. I went with my roommates and we all shared a taxi and drove the 20 minutes out of the city into a kind of ‘favela’ like neighborhood. The club looked like all of the run down buildings crowed on the narrow street, old with no signs or any hint as to what lay inside. We walked in and being some of the first people to arrive I was not very impressed. The club was a single room with a stage on one end, a dance floor in front of it and tables lining both sides. It reminded me of any rundown bar in the States. A band was tuning there instruments on the rickety stage; two guitars, one of which was played by a 70 year old man that needed help getting on and off the platform, two drums, and a ukulele. We took a seat close to the band and ordered a few cervejas and I started soaking up as much Portuguese as I could.

The band started play about twenty minutes after arriving. They were good, playing traditional samba, as my friends informed me. It was at this time when more and more people started piling in the small room. The background noises went from a pleasant melody of soft conversations to a roar that often accompanies large crowds. The energy level rose very quickly and within ten minute the dance floor was full with people moving in a quick but very fluid motion with the up beat samba music. The music was loud, people were dancing and the night had begun.

It was not long before the group made me get up and start to learn the difficult beat and the movements that comprised the Samba dance. And you can be sure seeing my first steps were nothing short of funny, and that might be an understatement. To do things right one has to synchronize their feet, legs, hips and music. I have trouble doing two things at once so getting to a point that at least mimicked the experienced dancers was an accomplishment.

Watching the people that could dance was really cool. The men controlled the dance, flinging girls into spins, dip and drops while the women went with the flow. A good couple looked as if they were in a movie with a practiced dance routine, never missing a step, always with the beat, and always smiling and laughing with each move. It was something to see. These Brazilians loved dancing to their Samba music, and most people didn’t stop until after 2:00 am.

In the taxi ride home I thought about the differences between the world I grew up in and the one I was now introduced to. I am very thankful for so much that I have and have had, a safe place to live, a beautiful family, good education; but there things that this culture has that I have rarely lived. I don’t know all of the songs that everyone here seems to know, I don’t watch every game that my team plays, screaming with joy when they win and having a bad day if they loose. Life is different here, and I am thankful to be somewhere that lets me see another side of things. I am in the Jungle… I must now study this foreign language because as I have learned before, wishing to learn something never works as well as working hard and studying. I love you all and until the next time I write… Tchau.