The Favelas of Rio Taught Me Valuable Lessons in Life (Part 1)
Crossing this forbidden boundary changed me for the better
The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.
Marcel Proust
I learn so much when visiting cultures unlike my own. Each voyage provides me with opportunities to compare my society to that of others, enabling me to pinpoint what I appreciate — and what I wish to change — about daily life at home. My trip to South America was particularly eye-opening because I had the opportunity to experience life in Rio de Janeiro’s favelas (also known by the pejorative term, slum). When planning my trip online, I found a hotel located in one of the shantytowns situated high above the city. I was looking for adventure and longing for a once-in-lifetime experience, so I jumped on this opportunity.
The mundane act of checking in to my room was in fact a heavy-handed act: I crossed over an unofficial and “forbidden” boundary that few Brazilians dare to cross. As a lone Western traveller with minimal grasp of the Portuguese language, many thought that I was either naïve, reckless, or unwise to explore these parts of Rio. I was well aware that these communities have long been subjected to horrid violence by drug cartels, where high rates of crime, such as armed robberies, are commonplace. While crime is still a major problem in many — but not all — of these communities, I encourage others to see past their fears and visit these strikingly beautiful and vibrant urban environments. They are like no other.
In this four part series, I reflect on the insights I gained by visiting the favelas of Cantagalo — rising high above the mountain slopes overlooking Copacabana and Ipanema — and Santa Marta in Botafogo — where Michael Jackson filmed his famous video for his song, They don’t care about us. We have much to learn from these communities that much of the world continues to overlook.
My society has greater wealth but less of a cohesive community
Space within favelas is especially scarce, so people residing in these communities are often outside, congregating in compact public areas and passageways. Given that these urban areas are also clandestine by default, ownership of property falls with a grey zone where no one claims official ownership of vacant lots and outdoor spaces. This situation sounds ripe for anarchy, but in practice, it produces a charming neighbourhood.
On street corners, I walked past community groups playing drums and musical ensembles, practicing for the city’s annual Carnaval festival; the sound of festive music penetrating the air was audible for several blocks. Along sidewalks, locals setup impromptu merchant stands selling items ranging from fruits to basic electronic equipment. Vibrant children were at play everywhere, transforming drab and dilapidated areas into playgrounds. Venturing into these places, I noticed that the people of these communities demarcated public space with artwork. Creative expression was commonplace in the form of striking mosaics along staircases and elaborate murals of graffiti art. Otherwise drab and undesirable brick surfaces were blanketed with an array of colour. These communities were remarkable in how these tight knit quarters formed a cohesive and expressive community, one that is in sharp contrast to my own.
Where I’m from, citizens are willing to pay large premiums to have land around their homes that distance themselves from others; indeed, I am from a culture that believes good fences make good neighbours. Rather than embrace spaces where we can gather, we often choose to sit on our balconies in the back of buildings and revel in our abilities to remain out of sight. Despite living downtown on the same street corner for over a decade, I barely interact with my neighbours and have little motivation to get to know them. At first this seems to be a product of the high value we accrue to our privacy; however, I now have a better understanding that this common distancing is deeply rooted within Western culture itself: a way of life that encourages us to remain familiar strangers. We often choose to alienate ourselves because, where I’m from, my culture prioritizes individualism. Space is neatly packaged into one of two categories: yours or mine. I should stay within my space and mind my own business, and I expect others to do likewise. Though providing structure and order, this mindset is less than ideal because it makes us inclined to remain distant rather than feeling like a member of a bigger whole.
We need to re-evaluate our urban spaces, better designing them so that they take the best from both of these cultures. It is time that we restructure our communal environments that are arguably too alienating and individualistic, replacing it with spaces that are more colourful, vibrant and interconnected.
The story continues; here are the other article segments in this four-part series:
