Brazil -- I remember

Brazil

I remember the sunsets of a tropical sun setting over top coconut trees, mango trees, and the warm breeze off the atlantic. My heart resonates with the rememberance of driving over the highway that connects Recife with Boa-Viagem beach in Pernambuco. The skylines filled with appartment buildings, and shacks scattered on the banks of the rivers leading to some of the largest slums in Latin America. The apperant dichotomy of the extreme wealth and poverty in the same neighborhood. I remember the festival of Sao Joao (Saint John), beautiful brazilian kids in the streets playing with firecrackers and smoke filling the streets in Camaragibe until it made it hard to breathe; Canjeica and Pamonia being sold in the streets celebrating the harvest of corn; people gathering together dancing forro and singing songs. I remember walking down the street hearing the cry of a man which sounding like a goat when it is slaughtered. I looked and saw a young man getting beating on the corner of a street by multiple men next to a small bar that sold only strong liquor which sat beneath a tree filled with vodoo dolls and other strange objects. I remember young pregnant women sitting in maternity classes sewing and stiching various objects-- without a father for their children and without an ability to read or write. I remember a kid from the street with broken beer glass bottle trying to murder another kid over a plastic bottle of sniffing glue that was supposedly stolen from him. I remember seeing all this on the street just next to men selling pipoca (popcorn) and churrasco (barbequed chicken and pork) who just continued to sell their as two street kids run by their carts. I remember grown girls sucking their thumbs aroung young boys smoking marijuana wearing bermuda shorts walking through their favelas as the days passed under the tropical sun. I remember a teenage boy walking down the street in front of me, filled with anger, cocking his revolver as he makes large strides. I remember the moment, when I realized the music in the street that people were dancing to was about prostituition. I remember handing out soup with friends to the poor seeing more than 50 kids come with their plastic containers with warm soup and running back to their one-room houses on dirt paths as fast as they could so that they could come back and refill their containers again. I remember the sun brighting brigher in those days and a feeling of bliss and joy. I remember seeing kids not just with plastic containers in their hands, but with huge smiles, laughing, as they would wait to get soup to bring to their families with great happiness. I remember watching just one pot of soup serve a whole community--as if God had multiplied the food. I remember the tropical forest, the sloths, the monkeys, and kids climbing tamarind trees to pick tamarind fruits to suck as they came back from playing football tournaments. I remember a woman asking for prayer for her daughter to get healed from various mental and physical disabilities. I remember watching a whole family come to believe and recieve the salvation of Jesus for the first time...

I remember visiting the streets one evening, bringing first-aid to some of those who were stuck living on the streets of old-Recife. I remember asking someone, "Onde foi o homem com quem eu estava falando na semana passada? (where was the guy I was talking to last week?)" Only to hear, "Ele morreu (He died)." I said, "Porque? (why?)" They said, "Trafico das drugas. (Drug trafficking)." I remember the statistics about the city of Recife being known as one of the most violent in the world. It's a hard statistic when you have to swallow the fact that your friend just died. I think, "What if that was my son?" That was somebody's son. Thousands of sons and daughters dying each year to murder. I remember going on the bus from Recife to Camaragibe, trying to be careful about putting my wallet in my front pocket--having had it stolen previously. I remember listening to a pastor preaching a sermon and then stopping to share that how he had been assaulted just the night before on the street and held gunpoint.

I remember hills covered in poorly constructed slums and the feelings of great poverty. I remember people going to the grocery store to buy basic household items, but showing up at the counter without enough money to buy what they need.

to be continued...