Where Do You Come From?

I haven’t been writing for a while, partly because I was travelling and partly because I moved and it took a while before I got internet working in my new house. But now I will try to write more regularly again.

One thing I was asked several times when I was back in Europe was whether there is racism in Brazil. I found that question a little hard to answer, once because I have not been here long enough to know and twice because it is a question of how you define racism. My impression is that most Brazilians are actually proud of their ethnic mix in the country and this is really one part of being Brazilian. But there is no denying that there are more black people that are poor, that black people are less educated and overrepresented in crime, both as perpetrators and victims, overrepresented in jails and underrepresented in the government, parliament and business etc. To what extent this is because of “racism” or “social factors” I can not tell.

One thing that has struck me though and that is very different from where I come from, and that one could say is connected to the notion of “race” is the Brazilian obsession of heritage, ancestry and where “you come from”. And then I don’t mean where I as a foreigner come from, but from where in Brazil other Brazilians come from. I have noted that among the Brazilian friends that I have it is very common to immediately ask a person you meet for the first time where they come from, be it a friend of a friend, the waiter at the restaurant or the guy filling up your car at the gas station. Maybe this is because Brazil is such a huge country. Maybe it is because in Brasilia almost everyone comes from somewhere else or maybe it is because of this ethnical mix. It can be based on the accent the person has or the way the person looks or acts or or the name, but it seems to be some kind of sport to first guess where a person comes from and then ask. It is not only a matter of where the person comes from geographically, because the next question is often “what’s your ancestry? Italian, Polish, German?” For me these questions feel a little awkward and uncomfortable as this is not very politically correct to ask like that in Sweden. But here everyone seems completely ok with it and even proud to tell where they come from and where their forefathers came from.

The funny thing though is that since it in most cases was a long time ago since these forefathers came to Brazil and everyone now is Brazilian you could think it would be less important. Whereas in Sweden the most people with some other background than ethnically Swedish came during the last 50 years or even less. Maybe this is exactly the reason. In Sweden the integration in still ongoing, or actually it is exactly a matter of “integration” into something that you obviously do not automatically belong to, and therefore it is important to not be anything else than “Swedish”. Brazil on the other hand was formed by immigrants (one way or the other) and the “Brazilianess” hence never questioned. Or maybe we Swedish are just being arrogant, thinking people would be offended if you ask them where they come from if the answer will be something else than some other part of Sweden? Well, even if it would be another part of Sweden people could be offended. Many persons moving in to the City from the countryside work so hard to blend in, loosing their accent and doing there best to be at least seventh generation city-breed, that any question bringing this in doubt would be a severe offence.

Cultural Adaptation and Cultural Adoptees

There is this thing that I have never understood and that is this total fascination and absorbtion of another culture that I have mostly seen happening to some europeans getting in touch with Latin American or African culture. What generally happens is that they get completely in to this culture and everyting connected to it; the language, the music, dance, food, sports and religion and specifically only are attracted to persons from that specific culture. Often they can go to quite some extent in defending why this culture is so much better, so much purer and more "real" than others.
I have never understood this and I have also never understood this faiblesse for these cultures. Partly I have explained this with the fact that I don't speak the language and hence is not able to understand this. I willingly admit that I still don't understand Portuguese very well, but I still think I would never be one of those committed culturalists. Not that there is anything wrong with the Brazilian culture, it has many positive and fascinating features, like most other cultures. And maybe here is my problem with these people. They tend to over romanticise the culture they have fallen in love with and start to despise and reject their own native culture without sometimes even knowing it very well.
This I don't understand and most of all I don't see the need for this reaction. I have a theory however and that is that these people are somehow seekers that are somewhat unhappy and unsatisfied in their life and with the culture they grew up with and find an easy fix in adopting another culture. What they tend to miss in the process is how much they are formed by their own culture anyway, like it or not. And also that all cultures have their advantages and shortcomings. Now I will want to interpret my scepticism toward this as a sign of good diplomat material. I like different cultures and like to know more and understand more about them, including my own, but feel no need to get over enthusiastic about one before the other.

Good Friday

For not being a very religious person this Easter has started out rather religious after all. Yesterday I took my car to the streets for a rather random drive. I ended up at the Templo da Boa Vontade, Temple of Good Will.




It is an ecumenical temple that is one of the sights of Brasília and it is quite spectacular. I won’t go into detail here, anyone interested can google it, but it was indeed quite fascinating.



When you enter you are supposed to follow the black circular path on the floor to the middle of the pyramid.






Then you will find yourself standing on a brass plate under what is supposedly the largest crystal on earth. After that you leave following the white path going in the other direction, this is symbolizing mankind’s search for balance and enlightment. As I am not only not particularly religious I am also not very spiritual so I did not think much about this mumbo jumbo and would probably not have bothered to do it at all hadn’t it been for the very kind and serious man at the entrance who so kindly explained it to me. So I started toggling along the black path and feeling rather stupid. But after a while I was kind of moved by the spirit of the place and for a while I almost felt nauseous and dizzy, which went all away walking outwards again. Well I suppose it is not so strange that you get dizzy when walking in a circle, but anyway it was a smart thought to build it like that!





In the same area as the Boa Vontade I saw another interesting church that I maybe should find out more about. The Church of Perfect Liberty!! However I don’t feel quite sure that we have the same understanding of liberty.

Today I decided to make a trip outside of the city. It is not very much that you can see or do on a daytrip from Brasília, but I had read about the town Planaltina that is only about 40 km from Brasilia. There they have what is called the cornerstone of Brasília, that is a monument erected in 1922 to mark the place for the new capitol. I also read that the main happening of the year in Planaltina is a festival and a staging of Jesus way to the cross, which is taking place on Good Friday every year. As today is Good Friday I thought it might be a good idea to go there.
Once out of Brasília it was easy to find Planaltina and I almost stumbled on the Via Sacra area where the festival was. As I wanted to have a look at the town first I drove into what I believe was the centre, but it being holyday everything was closed and not much to see. I had no idea of where this monument was and did not see any signs for it (at least none I could understand) so I drove back to the festival area. It turned out I got there about one hour before it was supposed to start (but already many were there before me) but I decided to stay and wait.




I got a little bit worried when I saw the amount of police forces that came just before me. Both the military and civilian police were there as well as the rescue services and civilian defence. I can understand that you need a lot of security when many people gather and I knew the visitors use to counts in hundreds of thousand’s according to what I read, but still the number of security was impressive. I got a little worried that this thing could cause some kind of religious hysteria and decided not to stay very long.

This being in Brazil of course the waiting was long, but once it started it was actually quite impressing and fascinating. It was so many actors and they were really good and “realistic”. As I had made up my mind not to stay till the end and also wanted to come back to Brasília before it got dark I almost missed Jesus! I only met him briefly on his way up Via Dolorosa, but could not even get a good picture as a woman was almost killing me with her umbrella as he passed.










Visitors walking up the Via Sacra as I was leaving. There were many people coming still as I left and it had all started so I suppose it continues untill late.



Although you can not see him it is supposed to be Jesus led away by the two men in black

I've got a Samba Problem

I realise I have a samba-problem! Not only because samba is difficult, which it is, but I also have a more general dancing problem. I love dancing! But I prefer to dance on my own, in my own style. I have never liked or even understood the point in this couple-dancing, where the woman is supposed to follow the man, whether he is a good dancer or not. Why is that?! That is so old-fashioned!!
Here I totally accept that everyone dances “better” than I do, and I also realise that people are only trying to be nice when they try to teach me how to dance and give me lessons. But that doesn’t mean that they all are great teachers. Most of the times they just make me feel very clumsy and useless as a dancer and that is really no fun, when you are out for a good time with your friends. As they realise I am a beginner and foreigner they slow down the speed and fall back to the “one-two-one-two” and “look at my feet” but to me that only means I get completely stiff and loose contact to the rhythm of the music and it all gets very much worse.
As long as I am allowed to dance on my own (or with a very good dancer) it is all just fine, but when things like these happen I rather don’t dance at all.

This is nothing new. I hate “ballroom-dancing” back home in Sweden too and at weddings or parties where that kind of dancing might be expected I always come up with excused for not dancing when someone asks me to dance. Here that seems very much ruder, especially as I don’t know the language so I can make myself understood. And here at least I like the music and like to dance to it, as long as I can decide for myself when and where to move my feet!

"Fighting" the Bulls??

When I arrived at Mallorca some of my friends who were already there had arranged tickets to the Corrida for that evening’s bull fighting. I had never thought I would go to see one as I always have felt it is a cruel and senseless “sport”, but as I now was given the opportunity and also am of the opinion you should try things if you get a chance, to be able to really know what to think of it; I joined. It was some excitement in the air around the arena and there was also some demonstrations outside it. When we walked pas the demonstrators I almost felt guilty and thought that I would have actually held it more likely that I should have been demonstrating outside than go in to watch the fight.

However, we went in and there was a quite exciting atmosphere and the arena was very beautiful and we were all rather excited and almost a bit nervous, at least those of us who had not seen bull fighting before. Then it all started!

I think the first game got us all a bit chocked. Well maybe I can not say that I was really chocked. I mean I grew up on a farm and saw animals being slaughtered already as a small child, so I have seen animals die and have seen lots of blood etc. But then it was always a matter of trying to make it as quick and painless as possible for the animal. It was quite a different thing to watch people trying to extend it and make it into some kind of game and torture of the poor animal and then finally kill it in a very disrespectful way. I found that very hard to digest.

Of course I can not see all the fine details of the moves and gestures the toreador is performing in the arena, but I must anyway say that I can not see that it should be such a manly thing full of bravery. I mean; when the toreador finally gets on his own with the bull, scores of assistants, picadors and banderilleros have already done their best to tire the animal as well as empty it on blood so it is by then almost half-dead.

No I must say this is no “sport” for me. After the first bull, five more met their fate in the ring that night and I must say, in the end it got only boring and tedious. There is no real excitement or surprise in the game as you know the outcome of the game; the bull will die in the end.

I agree with my gay friend who I was sitting next to, the greatest attraction of the evening was watching the toreadors butts in their tight pants…



The toreadors and their cuadrillas enter the stage with a lot of tamtam. But my gay friend said the outfits and the toreador's pink stockings reminded him more of a Gay pride parade.



I cheered for the bull!!



The picador at work. I felt sorry not only for the bull, but also for the horse.



Then finally, when the bull ist almost alredy half dead the toreador is starting his show. Chicken!!



This one he did not manage to kill by the first cut, nor the second...

Well; apart from watching the asses of the toreadors it was quite interesting to learn to waths and learn the circumstances around the game. That the audience waves their white handkerichiefs if they are happy wiht the performance of the toreador and then the mayor gets to decide if he was good enough to get one or maybe even two ears of the bull. Fabulous trophy!!

Afghan Star

At the hotel I found a small magazine called Afghan Scene. It is exactly what it sounds like; an attempt to create a feeling of a scene in Kabul. A scene for the young, beautiful and successful (although the picture on the cover shows an old man with a thick grey beard and the traditional pakul hat). It was very interesting reading indeed. Especially one article about a woman who made a documentary on the Afghan version of the TV-show Pop Idol; Afghan Star. It was amazig reading! I did not even think there was anything like that. But as the filmer said, almost everything you hear from Afghanistan is miserable Taliban related stories about war and fighting and number of dead. But this country has a population where 60% are under the age of 20, of cause they want to hear and know something else. Of cause you can then say; is this really what they need?! Is this not only superficial popular culture. It might very well be, but maybe that is exactly what you need sometimes, maybe especially when life in itself is hard and challenging. And to quote the documentary maker Havana Marking again; There is huge unemployment and gossip is a serious problem. If people can talk about this, then they might not talk about the woman who has to go to work, or other “scandals”.

I haven’t checked it, but maybe you can read the article on: www.afghanscene.com

Cultural Confusion

Today I had some cultural considerations. Before we left Kabul I met with the driver who was driving us the last time and he then asked when I would come back to Kabul. I answered I would return on Sunday and leave again on Tuesday. Then he invited me to dinner with his family on Monday evening. I found it very flattering and thanked and agreed. But we never decided on the details, we only changed phone numbers, but did not say who would call who.

At the same time as I am very flattered and happy to be invited and really wanted to meet his family again and hopefully would have some more time to talk to them and hear more about how they live and think, I also felt a bit hesitant. I know it is against all security recommendations to go out alone like that with someone you don’t really know. But I do trust him and I have been there before. But this time it would have been more planned which in a way is riskier and it would also mean movement after dark which normally is recommended to avoid. And I also did not really know how to get there and back. Last time he drove me, but I am not sure whether he has a car of his own and I don’t think he would be able to use the company car in the evening.

Anyway; now when we came back to Kabul I did not know if I should call him or not. I felt that my colleague was not too thrilled about me moving around on my own with an Afghan at night, but I mostly wondered what would be the most culturally acceptable. Was I to call and let him know I was back? Or would that be like inviting myself? Should I just wait and see if he called or would it be pushy and not correct to call an international woman? Was it very rude not to make this invitation happen? I just did not know what to do so I just did not call and neither did he. It is a bit sad; I would really have liked to visit his family again. They all seemed so nice and I even bought a small gift for them in Mazar, but I did just not know what would have been the correct thing to do.

Ok, we had some meeting quite late and after that our other driver took me and my colleague out for a small sightseeing, so I had some other nice things to do, but it would have been such an opportunity to speak to some “normal” Afghans under nice circumstances.

I managed to make some small cultural blunders in the evening as well. While we were having dinner at the Serena some high shot person dressed in the traditional clothes from the Gulf came in. You could tell he was a VIP both from his two body guards and from the way the staff reacted. For one they immediately turned down the rather annoying music (pan-flute versions of Beatles songs!). Then it happened that I went to the dessert buffet at the same time as the VIP and he started talking to me and explaining one of the desserts, what it contained and that it is very common in Egypt. As he repeated Egypt a couple of times I eventually asked if he came from Egypt. Then he told me that he was the ambassador of UAE and pointing to his clothes saying “this you only see in the Gulf”. I felt so stupid. Of cause I know, but it just came across in the wrong way. Later I wanted to tell him that I really liked the dessert and thank him for the recommendation and I asked once more what it was called. Obviously he misunderstood me and thought I asked what his name was and answered “Mohammed”. That made me fell very stupid again as I then did not know whether to introduce myself or just tell him that I was actually more interested in the name of the dessert. I opted for the latter option. After that I thought I’d better stay away and not talk to him more in case his body guards would start to regard me as an annoyance and have me thrown out.