C.I.A

it is the evening and I am playing some bebel gilberto hoping that I can decipher some of the words in her mellifluous, melty voice after my first week here and my first day of portugese lessons. the 3 hour class consisted of me, 2 english people and 2 folks from switzterland. Of course the people from Switzerland spoke like 4 languages and I sat there green with envy kicking myself for having stopped taking French in college. But my envy evaporated when we ended the day with a samba class
(at that point more swiss from other classes joined – when was the last time you were in a space dominated by swiss??) and their Nordic roots kicked in like a mo-fo. But they were game and the teacher was a friendly and beautiful man who made everyone happy and to get down and sweat in 80 degree weather (or should i say 28 C)
“The Black Rome “ – that’s another name for Salvador I was told this weekend. “More people of afro-descent in one spot than any other place except Laogs, Nigeria.” Salvador a city of 2.5 million and the figure that is used is that 90% of people here are of African-descent. The other figure is that only 6% of the population categorizes themselves as black. That’s because here in brasil – the opposite is true than in the states – one drop makes you not black. It makes you “morena” (brown) or mestizo. I was even called ‘morena’ walking down the street. Now that was weird! And yet the myth of the racial democracy persists. As I have read and people have confirmed -brasil’s racial mythology is based on the absence of race; because everyone is mixed -black, eurpoean, Indian, - there is no racism. But of course this myth of racial paradise is indeed a myth. The most obvious clue - no one likes to be called black. And in fact, until very recently – to call someone Preto (negro or black) was an insult.
I was getting schooled on all this by a few ex-pats that I meant last week. I was very pschyed to meet them because they are cool, friendly and gay. Very exciting. Hopefully there will be more to come on queer Salvador which to my understanding has a totally different attitude about gays than in other parts of south america. And it took a week – but on Sunday I was mistaken for a bahian. Granted the man was from spain but we carried on a little conversation at the bus stop until my vocabulary petered out. He then asked where I was from – I told him and said that I was living and working here now. he promptly asked me if I worked for the CIA. The sad part is – that’s not an unreasonable question. I assured him I was not. he went on to explain that he had just read about about the CIA's involvement in Southeast Asia and that he didnt mean any insult. then as i stepped on the bus he told me how he loved american culture especially black music.
on the bus i thought again about the best caparhinia in my life that i had the day before. It was on the beach. It was sunset which at this time of year is about 5:30 . beautifully painted sailboats sat on the horizon while the fishing boats returned to the dock. Raymondo, the fabulous caparhinia maker who works the beach nearest my apartment, came by with his cart and made us ones with fresh passion fruit. We shared ours with 2 great women from Brooklyn who were guidance counselors in the public school system. they were burnt out badly and had come here on vacation. the sistas were chillin’ hardcore. and as the tide rose and we scrambled further up onto the shore, we laughed about about how we had found each other thousands of miles away when we lived a just a few train stations away from each other in new york. then we wondered together if obama really could be elected president.