War and Relative Peace

Later the same day, I find myself squeezed into an overbooked mini-bus on my way to Rio’s biggest favela – Rocinha. Home to more than 200,000 people – although from one look at it, and my growing knowledge of Rio inefficiency, I don’t suppose a census has ever been done, and the number is probably much higher – Rocinha runs down the hill from the Tijuca National Park to just behind Copacabana and Ipanema beaches.

Arriving at the bottom of the heaped-up houses, we are quickly thrown onto waiting motorcycles, which are the easiest and only way to manoeuvre yourself through the winding stretch up to the top. Burning my leg on the exhaust as I jump on, I soon find out that my driver spares no regard for my helmet-less head, and is more intent on pushing past every moving object to make it up there first. Given that the ‘road’ (if a bumpy, hole-laden piece of dirt can be called that) is little more than one car wide, it is somewhat of an experience.

Finally all at its peak, my tour group starts our walk down through a narrow alley – simply called “the 1st” – past descending levels of poverty. Our first stop is at a local artist studio where two graff guys are selling their canvassed paint and spray images of Rocinha. We all squish into the 3m x 3m box, gazing at their colourful work, and colourful working environment. In a small corner, I notice a Portuguese bible, open to Amos Chapters 5 and 6.

(When I get home, I look these up, and find this, the first and second verses of chapter 5:
1 Hear ye this word which I take up for a lamentation over you, O house of Israel:
2 The virgin of Israel is fallen, she shall no more rise; she is cast down upon her land, there is none to raise her up.
I think back to the many people living in the favela, with nowhere else to go, and I thank God, yet again, I live in Australia)

As we continue our way down, it seems like the treacherous stories we have heard about here are all just urban myth, and certainly the only apparent threat to us is the animal detritus that has been left underfoot, and the stench from rotting rubbish. But our guide counters our observations with the details of a recent gang war that terrorized residents day and night for almost a week. Sadly, it ended with the deaths of about 35 Rocinhas, not killed by themselves, but killed by the ‘black’ police. Mostly a reference to their dark uniform – the rest of Rio’s police-force wears khaki brown – this ‘special’ task force technically does not have the ability to shoot at will, but in practice…

Next we pass through a small enclave of children who have orchestrated a drumming performance for us with their empty bottles and cans, hoping to trade them for some full ones. They grasp at our half-finished drinks in hope. All this, sitting just under a thin veil of more than USD $3million in drug money that passes through the favela. Brought in from Bolivia, Paraguay and Uruguay, the proceeds never see the ones in need.

Fortuntely there is a better story of hope at the school we visit – set up a few years ago by a kind donor, and run with donations that our tour company helps to support through our visits here. Run free for those who make it through the long waiting list, it aims to educate and entertain the children, giving their parents an opportunity to work and earn a decent wage. But with the growth of each family being in multiples of ten or so a generation, I can’t help but feel they are fighting a losing battle.