Author: Brynn

Brazil’s Political Crisis Explained for Non-Brazilians
A week ago, Brazil’s House of Deputies voted 367 to 137 to impeach President Dilma Rousseff. The vote lasted five hours and involved a lot of unnecessary shouting, spitting, and confetti.

I’m sure you heard about the impeachment vote even if you live outside of Brazil and aren’t following international politics. You might also have seen a headline about a corruption scandal in Brazil involving billions of dollars in public funds. Maybe you’ve read something about Brazil’s collapsing economy. The country’s gotten a lot of headlines in the last few months and a person could understandably be wondering, “What the hell is going on in Brazil?”

Here’s what’s going on in Brazil with enough context to paint a painfully vivid picture and enough jokes to make it palatable. To understand the extent of the seething rage under Brazilians’ normally chill exteriors, I need to jump back in time three decades.

Brazil is a relatively young democracy. The army seized control in 1964 and stayed in power until the mid-80s. The generals perfectly followed every page of the Military-Dictator Handbook, repressing speech, organizing, and all social rights. By 1980 student, workers, and militants were pushing back, and that year there were massive strikes organized, among others, by a young Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva aka Lula. Remember him. He’ll show up again. And again. And again until it becomes painfully ironic.

The strikes and protests helped lead to a “redemocratization” and a new constitution was adopted on October 5, 1988, making Brazil’s current government younger than I am.

The National Congress in Brasilia, currently hosting many future inmates.

The Constitution divided the Federal Government into three parts just like in the US: Legislative, Executive, and Judicial. Differently than the US, both the Executive branch and the Federal Government in general are much more powerful than in the US. Don’t be fooled by the constant use of flip-flops and nicknames in Brazil. The country is extremely hierarchical. It’s a cultural legacy brought to Brazil by Portugal’s policy of ruling colonies by refusing to build universities or even roads in order to keep people in total subjugation.

The current constitution reflects this deeply embedded hierarchy by giving certain powers and privileges to members of the federal government. For example, members of Congress, cabinet ministers, and the President can only be investigated and tried by the Supreme Court. Currently 303 members of Congress are facing criminal charges or under investigation, so the Justices must be pretty busy. At least the President of the Supreme Court gets the perk of being fifth in line to assume the presidency in the event of a political disaster.

Speaking of which, Dilma’s impeachment is actually the second impeachment of Brazil’s young republic. They impeached the guy back in ’92, but given the awful state of Brazil’s economy then, a presidential impeachment probably barely made the front page. The economic situation in Brazil throughout the 80s and early 90s was terrible. Like invest in precious metals because the country is on its third currency bad. The inflation rates looked more like typos than real data. People ran to the grocery store on payday snatching items off the shelves before the clerk could put a new price sticker on it.

During these turbulent early years of the republic, the Worker’s Party, (known as PT) which got started during the strikes in 1980, was the leader of the opposition coalition in Brazil.

Embracing its roots as the voice of the working classes, PT fought against the deeply entrenched economic elite and policies that facilitated a huge wealth gap. Lula ran for president as the PT candidate four times before finally winning in 2002. You only fail when you quit, right? At this point the economy had stabilized. Lula initiated some social welfare programs that lifted millions out of poverty. China began buying everything that Brazil could produce. The economy took off. By 2006 developed countries were like “Hey Brazil, when did you guys show up to the party? We gave your chair to India a few years ago, but we can ask for it back.”

An Economist cover from 2009

For the first time in 20 years, Brazil had a growing economy and stable government. In 2011 Brazil passed the United Kingdom to become the 6th largest economy in the world. Brazilians were pumped, proud, and ready to finally take their place as a global power.

All this history is to give you some idea of the soul-crushing societal let down that happened when the shit hit the fan in 2014.

From a growth rate of 7.5% in 2010, Brazil’s economy shrank 3.8% in 2015. Today, Brazil is the 9th largest economy behind Italy, which has a fraction of the people and arable land. Unemployment is 8.2% and inflation is 9.4%, compared the government’s target rate of 4.5%. All those numbers are just to say that the country’s in its second year of recession and people are pissed.

At the same time that Brazil’s economy was headed down the toilet, the largest corruption scandal in any democratic country ever was uncovered. Now is the time for popcorn because this story makes House of Cards seem small time and easy to follow.

Back in the 90s, there was a humble money launderer who made a decent living hiding illegal income of politicians. He was arrested, convicted, served his time, and released. By the mid 00s, federal police noticed he was back in business. Apparently in Brazil, money launderers are like great Mexican restaurants. They’re rare and if you find one, you keep going back even if you know deep down it’s probably being investigated by public authorities.

Well, police grabbed the humble launderer and the guy, who’d been to jail before and was not doing that again, cut a deal and started dropping names. And more names. And more names. Police had uncovered a corruption scheme amounting to more the $5.3 billion and involving the most powerful political and economic players in Brazil, the now internationally infamous Lava Jato case.

From 2004-2014 political leaders through the state owned oil company, Petrobras, awarded contracts to companies that grossly overcharged the government, and the companies used some of that excess payment to say “thank you” to congressmen and party leaders for awarding them the contracts in the first place. Nothing shows appreciation like a stack of cold hard cash.

And what party was in control of Congress and the Executive at this time? PT and its coalition partners. The Worker’s Party. The party that built it’s reputation on fighting for working class citizens against the privileged elite was the driving force behind the largest theft of taxpayer’s money in the history of democracy. (I told you Lula’s story got ironic.)

Foto Oficial Presidenta Dilma Rousseff. Foto: Roberto Stuckert Filho.

PT is also President Dilma’s party.

Back in 2015 when the investigation really took off, Dilma had NOT been implicated in the investigation. Everyone around was. PT’s treasurer is currently in jail. Lula’s former chief of staff is there too. Lula himself was under investigation. But not Dilma.

The thing is…Dilma was Chairwoman of Petrobras at exactly the time when the corruption was happening. That left 3 possibilities concerning her involvement:
1. She knew about and participated.
2. She knew about it but did nothing to stop it.
3. She didn’t have a clue Petrobras was overpaying by billions of dollars and was the worst chairperson in history.
All possibilities made Dilma look bad. Her approval rating plummeted to 13% only 3 months after her second inauguration in 2015.

And a cover from 2015

So to recap, by July of 2015 Brazil was grappling with shattered expectations, a terrible economy, an epic corruption scandal, and a universally disliked president. The Brazilian people were understandably furious at the government for blowing the country’s best chance in a century to really improve quality of life and become a global player.

However, none of these things is grounds for impeachment. According to the Constitution, a president can only be impeached for committing a crime while in office.

So how did Dilma end up getting impeached? We’re stepping into the political muck now. Put your boots on.

October 7, 2015 The Federal Accounting Tribunal files for impeachment accused Dilma of fiscal pedaling in 2014. They claim Dilma forced the state controlled bank to make social programs payments from the bank’s own funds because the government was short on money and her administration was trying to hide that fact during an election year. Technically, the federal government cannot payoff its own debts with the bank’s funds, but it’s been done by every president. It’s very shaky legal ground, like a frozen pond in spring during an earthquake shaky.

December 2, 2015 After ignoring the impeachment request for months, Eduardo Cunha, Brazil’s equivalent of Speaker of the House, formally accepts the charges. He does this hours after PT drops its support of Cunha in an ethics committee investigation of him on charges of bribery, tax evasion, and money laundering. But he swears, cross his heart-and-hope-to-die, he didn’t advance the impeachment out of spite.

December 17, 2015 The Supreme Court defines the impeachment process because the Chamber of Deputies can’t get its act together and form a commission of 65 deputies to consider the charges with any semblance of openness and fairness. The Court rejects two commissions formed by the Chamber, and the proceedings are paused indefinitely.

March 4, 2016 As part of the Lava Jato investigation, prosecutors bring former president Lula in for questioning. Federal Police raid his home. People freak out both for and against him.

March 11 In a jaw-dropping move, prosecutors ask for preventive detention for Lula. Lula supporters clashed with police when he was being taken for questioning. There is no doubt an actual arrest would spark violence.

March 13 Millions take to the streets in the largest anti-government protest in Brazilian history. The people weren’t protesting only Dilma’s administration. Several opposition politicians got booed off the mic when they tried to speak. It was truly The People v. The Federal Government.

March 14 In what has to be the most blatant middle-finger giving from a democratically elected president, President Dilma doubles down and starts discussing appointing Lula for a cabinet position! F.U. anti-government protestors! Dilma wants to make Lula Ministro de Casa Civil, the chief administrator for the Executive and the most powerful person after the president. Oh, and remember that members of the federal government can only be investigated by the Supreme Court, so the case against Lula would be moved away from the prosecutors currently investigating him. But it’s for the good of Brazil, guys!

March 15 Plea-deal testimony from Senator Delcídio do Amaral, the head of PT in the senate, is released and he testifies that Dilma’s Education Minister offered him a bribe in exchange for not working with prosecutors. He also says that President Dilma knew all about the corruption happening at Petrobras during her time as chairwoman. I can finally fill in my Dilma square on my Lava Jato Bingo card!

How convenient for future casting directors that Moro is an attractive man in real life.

March 16 Judge Sergio Moro, in charge of the Lava Jato case, releases a recording of a call between President Dilma and Lula revealing 1) that prosecutors had tapped a former president’s phone! and 2) Dilma seems to be appointing Lula only to keep him out of jail. While everyone freaked out over the phone call, a few did question if Judge Moro should have given up completely on judicial impartiality and released recordings in an ongoing investigation from a tap with a just-expired warrant.

March 17 Lula is sworn in as Minister. A new impeachment commission is sworn in. Basically, a lot of swearing happened in Brazil this day.

March 18 Supreme Court Justice Gilmar Mendes suspends Lula’s appointment on the grounds it was a blatant attempt to keep him from going to jail. Justice Mendes said it with more legal jargon but that was the gist of his decision. Also, large protests happen across Brazil against impeachment.

Can we say “future political career”?

March 22 The Supreme Court removes Judge Moro from Lula’s case to review his decision to release the recorded conversation. The Supreme Court will now oversee the investigation against Lula. Oh well, he can console himself with the fact people are wearing his face on t-shirts.

March 29 PMDB, the largest party in PT’s coalition, drops out and pledges to support Dilma’s impeachment. PMDB is also the party of Vice President Michel Temer, so things got super awkward at the Presidential Palace.

April 11 The Commission to the consider Dilma’s impeachment votes 38-27 in favor of impeachment. The question will now be to a vote by the Full House of Deputies. Fun Fact: Of the 65 members on the Impeachment Commission, 37 are facing criminal charges themselves. I think the vote concluded with a Deputy ironically shouting “If we burn, you burn with us!”

April 13 President Dilma publicly accuses Vice President Temer of conspiring against her.

April 17 The House of Deputies votes 367 – 137 in favor of impeachment, more than securing the two-thirds majority needed to pass.

And that brings us to today. The Senate has until May 11 to vote on the issue and simple majority is enough to suspend Dilma and start a trial.

A lot of people celebrated after the impeachment, but despite the anger and disappointment with Dilma’s administration support for impeachment is at 61%. A majority but not the super majority you might expect given Dilma’s 10% approval rating.

Ideally, the only question would be “Did Dilma commit a crime by using state bank funds to make government payments?” and a trial in the Senate would answer that question. Of course, nothing happening in Brazil at the moment is ideal except maybe for vendors of inflatable Lula dolls in prison stripes.

The reason many people have no faith in the current government but don’t support impeachment is because everyone else in line to be president is way WORSE than Dilma. Let’s go through the line of succession.

Temer during the impeachment vote. He seems very cheerful. He’d probably manage to stay positive while stabbing you in the back.

Vice President Temer is also under investigation and facing impeachment charges. He was named in Senator Amaral’s testimony for participating in an illegal ethanol purchasing scheme. His wife is 43 years younger than he is and has his name tattooed on the nape of her neck which I know is not a crime and and I shouldn’t judge but…ick.

Eduardo Cunha, the guy who led the charge for impeachment, is under indictment for taking as much as $40 million in bribes and faces 184 years in prison. He’s also known for aggressively pushing anti-choice legislation and tweeting bible verses. “And Jesus said, ‘Get while the getting’s good’.” Temer has already expressed support for Cunha and said he won’t ask Cunha to step down. Bros before the rule of law, amiright?

Third in line for president is the Senate leader, Renan Calheiros, who is also under investigation for corruption. Among the seven charges the Supreme Court is considering against him are accepting $600,000 to stop a Senate probe into the Lava Jato case and receiving $1.7 million in bribes for a drilling contract.

I think there’s one maid working at the Presidential Palace who isn’t likely to be in jail within the year. Maybe they could offer her the job?

Brazilians are facing a very tough choice in deciding between pro and anti impeachment. Did President Dilma commit a crime worthy of losing office and even if she did…do we give power to lying, hypocritical assholes? Who do you pick when everyone is a criminal?

Some commentators say Brazilians are being duped by a media controlled by that historically entrenched elite. They argue leaders pushing for impeachment are far more corrupt and will hault the Lava Jato once back in power. While it’s true the media here is extremely conservative both politically and socially, I think it’s a pretty patronizing view of the Brazilian people to think more than 60% of the country has been fooled by a handful of smarmy, rich guys. First, Dilma’s government did engage in some shady accounting and as for the Lava Jato case, she’s either guilty or incredibly incompetent. Nobody’s impeaching a saint. Second, from what I personally have seen and read from those in favor of impeachment believe removing Dilma is only the first step, not the last, in rooting out corruption in the government.

Still, it seems unlikely Congress is going to keep impeaching presidents until they get to the President of the Supreme Court, so removing Dilma just puts someone as guilty but more conservative in power who’s likely to stay there. For those against the impeachment, there’s nothing but a line of criminally indicted men from the economic elite pushing Dilma off a cliff. And she’s not even being impeached due to corruption. She’s being impeached for dubious accounting and to those against impeachment, it’s a purely political move.

Enough corruption!

One thing is absolutely clear, no one in Brasilia is removing themselves power. The only thing they all agree on is that they did nothing wrong. If this were Japan, a third of Congress would have committed suicide by now, but alas we’re in Brazil and once elected to office a person becomes immune to shame. They used to be immune from consequences too, but that seems to be finally changing. That’s one thing, at least, Brazilians can be proud of.
April 26, 2016
A Tropical Paradise is a Sweaty Paradise

Today was another sunny, blue-sky day here in Vitoria. A breeze blowing through my apartment forced me to stop the doors with various colored flipflops. By late afternoon, I’d been enjoying the weather so much, I was compelled to look up the temperature. What numeric value can I assign to this lovely afternoon.

84℉ (28.9℃) And feels like 91℉ (32.8℃)

Oh, yes. So much nicer. I knew it had to be cooler today because the sweat was only beading and not trickling down my back.

It’s hot this year. So hot. We’re almost a month into fall, and I’m still leaving thigh-shaped pools of sweat on every chair I sit in. I haven’t had to pee since January. All liquid just gushes out my pores. Within a half an hour of waking up and leaving the air-conditioned bedroom for the naturally breeze-cooled den, I have sweat stains along my breast bone, and the only exertion I’ve had is lifting a piece of peanut butter toast.

Of course I married a man who doesn’t have pores and could wear the same shirt to the gym everyday for a week without any lingering odor. He doesn’t. But he could. Meanwhile, I look like I jumped in a pool. Whenever I complain, my husband shakes his head and insists “Your body is more efficient at cooling itself than mine.” (Life Lesson: If you find a man who can turn being a sweaty mess into a compliment, marry him.) I reapply deodorant two time a day minimum, and I can still smell myself at the end of the day.

But seriously without any hyperbole, I can’t remember a day I wasn’t actively sweating in Vitoria. There might have been one cool day last September, but definitely by October, I was dripping sweat trying to cut cookie dough in a ninety degrees kitchen. A secondary perk to annual Christmas visit to Atlanta is we get to miss a month of summer heat in Vitoria. Although, it’s feeling less like summer heat and more like pretty-much-all-year-long heat. For anyone still on the fence about global warming, I have a guest room with only an old window unit AC that you’re welcome to sleep in. If you can make it through breakfast the next morning without complaining about the heat, I’ll paint Drill Baby Drill on my kid’s bedroom wall.

The heat’s not just in Vitoria. On February 27, Rio had a record breaking high of 106.5℉ (41.4℃) with a heat index of 119.5℉ (48.6℃). What?!!! I’m so glad we left Rio.

Just imagine if that’s the temperature you have to go to work in. You’re not on vacation. You can’t just camp out at a pool with a swim up bar. You have to get dressed, maybe in a suit, maybe with a lab coat, maybe a uniform that requires pants. You have to go work now. Remember the worst traffic or school drop-off run you’ve ever experienced, now imagine it happening at 120℉. And without air conditioning. Many buses in Rio don’t have air conditioning.

Actually, central AC is rare and reserved mostly for tourists. We don’t have it at home. The top tier private school I worked for didn’t have it. My bank doesn’t have it. What we use here are individual units, and the top of line can effectively turn a classroom into a freezer. Just don’t be the first one to show up and have to turn them on. And of course they break. And if you wake up in the middle of night in a puddle of sweat and the clock blinking, don’t worry. All the thousands of bedroom unit ACs just overwhelmed the grid and caused a blackout.

So if you are planning a trip to Brazil for this time of year, bring a flashlight, lots of sunscreen, and a half dozen sticks of deodorant. That should last you about a week.

April 11, 2016
The World’s Pickiest Beachgoers

Last Saturday, the whole Barineau-Mauricio clan (all three of us) seized the day early (like 10ish) and headed to the beach. It was the kind of day that gets recorded and replayed in every tourist advertisement for the next decade. The temperature was perfect, warm enough to sit comfortably in a bathing suit but not oppressively hot. There was a steady breeze that my husband and daughter exploited for kite flying. It was a perfect beach day.

There were two other families on the beach.

I’m not exaggerating. This is not hyperbole. When we arrived there were two families camped out close to the boardwalk. The next closest people we could see were colorful ants. We looked around in dismay for any food vendor. We’d been banking on supplementing my daughter’s meager breakfast with an ear of corn, but the beach was empty.

Now, before people start shipping furniture and arranging to have their pensions deposited in Brazil, empty beaches are not typical in Brazil, especially not around the cities. Typically, they’re packed so densely you can’t stretch your legs out without kicking the back of someone’s chair. (True story. It was a summer day at Iriri in Espirito Santo. Worst beach day ever!) In Rio de Janeiro, you can’t find a beach with less than a few thousand people on it. Drive past Ipanema on a Tuesday, and you’ll wonder who’s running the city.

That’s not the case here in Vitoria. The empty beaches were one of the biggest shocks moving from Rio to Vitoria. I kept trying to find some explanation. Are Vitoria’s beaches more polluted than Rio’s? Are they more violent? Is there a vicious rip current? A Kraken? Where the hell is everybody?!

After living in Vitoria for almost six years, I’ve figured it out. Capixabas are simply the pickiest beach goers in the world.

Capixaba is the Brazilian term for a person born in Vitoria, the state capital of Espirito Santo. The best English equivalent would be North Carolinian. That state has picturesque mountains and beaches and a generally more conservative population that goes regularly to church and the salon.

Capixabas are incredibly picky about their beach trips. Here are 7 reasons why Capixabas won’t go to the beach.

1. The temperature has dropped below 80°F (26.5°C). If there’s one thing Capixabas fear more than visiting Rio de Janeiro, it’s cold weather. And any temperature in which you can comfortably wear long sleeves is cold. In winter when the high is around 75°F (24°C), my kid will be one of three students whose parents are still allowing them in the pool. Those other all kids have parents from Rio Grande do Sul, the state that’s so far south it’s basically Uruguay.

2. It’s Saturday. Sunday is beach day. Obviously.

3. It rained yesterday. Everything will be wet. And the water will be too cold.

4. It might rain today. Everything will get wet. And to pack everything up and walk across the street only to get rained on would be such a pain.

5. Those clouds are kind of dark. It’s probably going to be chilly with all the clouds. The wind is picking up. It might rain. Better just to wait for a day with no clouds. It’s going to be too cold today anyway.

6. We went to the beach yesterday. If we want to go to the beach everyday we’ll go to a hotel or to our family’s beach house in Guarapari. The beaches in Vitoria are mostly decorative. You can’t use them too much, or they’ll break.

7. It’s too empty. There just aren’t enough people to feel safe. This is the one reason I agree with. The rate of violent crime in Espirito Santo is a tragedy. It’s why we’ve never considered buying a house near the beach even though we go every weekend. I’d love to walk along an empty beach early in the morning or a night, but it wouldn’t be safe. On the other hand, I don’t think two hundred people are required to make beach a safe, and the threat of robbery certainly doesn’t stop people in Rio from swarming Copacabana.

Most excuses are weather related. I assume most Capixabas believe English beaches to be fatal, and I’m not going to try dissuade anyone from that thinking. Mostly because Capixabas are friendly and obsessively follow traffic rules compared to people in Rio. Because nobody’s perfect. But mostly because this way my family and I have the beaches to ourselves from June through September.

Have I missed any excuses, Capixaba friends and readers? Am I totally and completely off-base?

March 21, 2016
Bible Belt Road Trip

Growing up in Atlanta, road trips were a big part of my childhood. In the summer we’d drive five hours to St. Simons Island on the Atlantic or maybe eight hours to Orlando. I’ve sat through the twelve hour drive to Washington D.C. many times. I’ve got family in Panama City, Florida so I’ve made that six hour trip at least a dozen times in my life.

But until this year every trip was made from the passenger seat.

January 2016 is now etched in my memory as the month I piloted my first road trip. For years, my husband and I have been content to get chauffered around or borrow cars during our holiday trip to Atlanta, but this year we rented a car. And I was the only licensed driver for it.

We rented a…honestly, I don’t remember the name. It was a Kia. It had a hatchback, four doors, and operated on gasoline. I’m not a car person.

The most impressive detail about the car was it’s near pocket-size. I’ve traveled enough to know that in many countries our Kia would have been considered normal-sized. Not so on an American interstate. Imagine your dining room table covered with water melons and one matchbox sitting in the middle of them. My family and I were inside the matchbox.

That’s what it felt like as I merged onto Interstate-285 around Atlanta, aka the scariest place in the United States. The road circles the city for 64 death-defying miles and is a training center for domestic terrorists.

My time skirting between 18 wheelers on I-285 in a freshman engineering class’s final exam with a screaming preschooler and frantic husband in the back seat was spent mostly in a semi-conscious state operating on pure adrenaline. It’s apparently standard operating procedure on 285 for freight truck drivers to allow about five feet of space between the truck and car in front, demonstrating complete indifference to the laws of Georgia, physics, and common sense.

My fellow Americans, you’re all worried about the wrong things. You’re not going to be blown up. You’re going to be flattened by an 18 wheel truck filled with hamburger buns.

My family and I survived that first hour and a half in the car and made it out of metro Atlanta. We left the traffic and everything else behind. Welcome to rural Georgia. We hope you enjoy our pine trees.

There is farm land in Georgia. Lots of it. But much further south. We were driving South-west toward the Florida panhandle, cutting across southern Alabama. It’s a route that doesn’t provide much in terms of scenery save for the occasional buildboard advertising Jesus or a strip club.

Even the exits disappear and fifteen minutes can pass before it’s even possible to get off the highway. A fact critically important when traveling with a four-year old who does NOT like to take bathroom breaks before her bladder is on the verge of exploding.

“There’s an exit with a McDonald’s ahead. Little Bit, do you need to go potty?”

“No.”

“Are you sure you don’t need to go potty?”

“No.”

“Does that mean you do need to go?”

“No.”

“So you don’t need to go pee pee?”

“No.”

“Why don’t we stop and you just try?”

“I said no, Mommy.”

Do I even need to write the conversation that happens two minutes past the exit?

Like most Americans, our bathrooms of choice are McDonald’s. Clean and available when literally no other restaurant is in a ten mile radius. Whatever else is true about the chain, their bathrooms are a service to humanity because the alternative to McDonald’s is a gas station.

Gas stations in South Georgia and Alabama. They’re actually quite fascinating as long as you’re traveling with your traditional nuclear family and don’t have an Obama sticker on your car. In addition to a fabulous array of retro snack food like Yoohoo and Hostess SnoBalls, there’s no end to the items decorated in camouflage: hats, shirts, tabbaco, koozees, lighters, and bibles. You can also pick up the monthly publication of mugshots of people arrested by the city police. It’s the society pages of Pittsview, Alabama. (That’s a real town, btw.)

My husband doesn’t find these places quite as charming as I do. In fact, his Brazilian instincts tell him to avoid at all costs isolated buildings in the middle of nowhere that would attract location scouts for a zombie apocalypse movie. He’s waiting for somebody to walk in with a gun. I told him to relax and just assume everyone walking in has a gun.

The upside to driving in this part of the state is the road itself. There’s no traffic. It’s flat, paved, and has clearly visible lines painted on it. I could drive on those roads endlessly. After so much time spent on Brazilian roads, I forget that “bumpy” is not a given description of car rides everywhere.

The US highway system is one of my husband’s favorite things about the country. He longs to take a cross country trip in the US. By comparison, my husband avoids extended road trips in Brazil as if his life depended on it. (Statistically speaking it kind of does. Roads in Brazil are more dangerous than gangs.)

Kendall Manor Eufaula, Alabama

By the time we were in southern Alabama our road was a smooth, two lane stretch running straight through Eufala, the undisputed scenic highlight. Eufaula, Alabama is home to 13,000 people and the most breathtaking collection of homes. They sit right off the main (possibly only) street through town.

Shorter Mansion

Mansions with wrap around porches, a turret or two, carriage houses. They line both sides of the street beckoning to tourists with their corinthian columns, tempting them to abandon reason and move to Alabama.

After Eufaula there’s not much else until Florida and the Gulf of Mexico. If you’re desperate to make those last two hours of driving pass by you can play road kill bingo. Prep your cards in advance with local species but you can only put oppossum on the card twice. They line the road like mile markers. On this trip, I spotted a raccoon, fox, armadillo, and coyote.

I drove the last hour in the pouring rain, at night, listening to the dialogue of Cinderella II for the

The Gulf of Mexico! Totally worth the drive.

third time in a row. When we reached my grandparents’ house, dinner was waiting for us on the table. I considered my first road trip a resounding success.

So much so, we did it all again three days later.

February 15, 2016
The Consequences of Going Gray

It’s been more than difficult finding time to write this post. My husband is away on a networking trip while Kiddo’s in the middle of summer vacation. That puts me on twenty-four hours a day parent duty. I’d probably be a little more frustrated if I didn’t know these networking trips of his were going to start tapering off.

You see my husband’s getting older, and in the spirit of honesty, it’s obvious. He’s getting more wrinkles and creases, but it’s the gray hair that’s really noticeable. My husband has black hair which has gone from lightly dusted to preserved cod salty in the last few years. Of course getting older isn’t a problem per se. He just could look a lot younger if he wanted to.

With all that gray hair, he’s not going to be tapped for any promotion. The quality of his work is going to become less obvious as people start focusing on his whiter hair. I’m sure the university he teaches for is going to want someone a little…fresher to represent them at conferences. I’m afraid it’s going to affect his student evaluations. Those undergrads are going to look at him and think his complete apathy about his appearance clearly indicates a certain indifference toward everything including class planning.

I’m also worried it’s going to affect his social life. He hasn’t said anything, but I think some of his friends have stopped calling. I feel terrible for him, but I can’t blame them. By not coloring his hair, he’s basically throwing his mortality in the face of everyone around him. Who wants to sit next to Mr. Death-is-Inevitable at the dinner party? That’s kind of a bummer.

Of course, it’s going to be harder to make new friends. Everyone says they don’t judge people by appearances, but let’s be honest. We all check a person’s roots before striking up a conversation.

I’ve made subtle comments about the gray hoping he’ll take some interest in his appearance and stop letting himself go. I realize I’m never going to talk him into botox or skin peels, but if he would just invest a little in himself, I think he’d really perk up and be more confident in all areas of his life. It feels like he doesn’t love himself anymore. When he looks in the mirror, he doesn’t see the incredibly handsome man I see. That’s why I want him to dye his hair. I think he would feel more handsome if he would just get rid of the gray.

Watching my husband deal with getting older has made me glad I’m a woman. I’ve been going gray since my early twenties. If had to hide my white hair, at the rate my hair grows…ugh, I’d have spent a small fortune on salon appointments. Fortunately, I’m not a man, and I don’t have to work at making everyone think I’m at least a decade younger than my actual age to be happy with my appearance.

Actually, women don’t really talk about our age that much. Now that I think about it, I’m not even sure I know exactly how old my best buddies are. We’re usually too busy talking about politics, whether or not to refinance our houses, the cost of health care. And sports. I swear my friends and I still don’t get through one round of drinks before someone references Lloyd’s hat trick in the World Cup final. Why would age even come up?

I hope my husband knows that I’ll love him no matter how old he gets and what he looks like. I hope he knows how handsome he is. Gray hair and all.

This of course is a piece of comedy. Although I have, in fact, been going gray since my early twenties. Unfortunately, I have spent a small fortune on trips to the salon. I had coloring my hair in the same category as bathing, an essential and basic part of my self-care routine. But in the last year, afternoons to myself for writing were in short supply. I didn’t want to give up a whole afternoon to painting my hair, so I let my hair grow and grow and eventually ended up with a couple inches of gray hair at my temples.

No, that’s not a lighting effect. That’s four months of hair growth highlighting my temple.

And life’s pretty much the same. It turns out coloring hair is a choice. One my salt-and-pepper headed husband chooses not to pursue without comment or consequence. I’m going to opt out too from now on. I’m not promising to never color my hair again. But for now, there are other things I’d rather do with my time and money. Will you still invite me over for dinner?

This post is part of Happy Mama Happy Baby‘s Body Positive January. Check out her site for more awesome posts from great writers, book reviews, and giveaways!

January 22, 2016
Visiting the Martin Luther King Jr. Historic Site: The Power of Young People

The wind gusted by, and my nose was numb by the time we crossed from the parking lot and entered the Visitor’s Center at the Martin Luther King Jr. Historic Site. It was a little unfortunate my step-mom and I had picked the coldest day in weeks to visit because the MLK Historic Site is a collection of buildings up and down the block where Dr. King’s childhood home and church are located. The facilities required walking. The weather required a hat.

While peeling my gloves off in the Visitor’s Center, a helpful ranger told us that guided tours of Dr. King’s birth home are available for free but they’re first come first serve and you have to reserve tickets. Unfortunately for us, the next tour wasn’t until noon, and we had to move on before then. There was still the Visitor Center, the Tombs, exhibits from the life of Dr. and Mrs. King at Freedom Hall, as well as Historic Ebeneezer Baptist Church where Dr. King served as co-pastor with his father. More than enough to fill a Sunday morning.

Passing through twelve years of metro-Atlanta public schools, I’d learned about Dr. King and the Civil Rights movement extensively. To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t expecting to learn anything new during my visit. It would be interesting to see the buildings where Dr. King actually lived but the information would be a refresher course.

I stepped into the first stage of the Visitor Center’s overview of King’s life: Segregation. Photos, panels, and video explained the explicitly and brutally divided world Martin grew up in. On the video screen I watched footage of a young girl, book bag in hand, enter her school escorted by Federal marshals. The girl is Ruby Bridges, the first African-American student to attend an integrated elementary school in Louisiana. Well, integrated isn’t quite accurate. Bridges was the only African-American student in an all-white school.

I’d watched the footage before, but never as a mother.

This time I saw a little girl with a bow in her hair, not much taller than my own daughter, walk alone into her school. No friends, no teachers. Only four armed Federal Marshals protecting her. She barely cleared the waist of the men around her. Ruby was six years old that day. My eyes filled with tears, and I ducked my head to keep anyone from noticing.

I left the images of children berated and under armed escort and moved on to the section on Dr. King’s early activism. His first role of national significance came when he helped organize the Montgomery Bus Boycott in the wake of Rosa Park’s arrest. It was 1955. Dr. King was twenty-six.

I’d moved on from Ruby in hopes of being on more palatable ground of grown-ups being horrendous to other grown-ups, but I was staring at the face of a person whom, if I met over coffee, I would tease and welcome into adulthood. How’s that whole responsibility thing going? When I looked at the photo of Dr. King handcuffed and bent over a police desk, I didn’t see a great man. I saw a very young man.

I scanned the other photos. A group of non-violent protesters at a sit-in. Freedom riders. Marchers with their arms linked. Dr. King attending a leadership meeting of the Student Non-violent Coordinating Committee. There it was in the name: Student Non-violent Coordinating Committee. The walls were covered with pictures of kids and young people. Eighteen, nineteen, twenty year-olds. College kids were the driving force of the Civil Rights movement. Seeing the Civil Rights Movement from the perspective of an adult older than most of its leaders were at the time shocked me.

I’d learned about Dr. King and other leaders, John Lewis, Julian Bond, Andrew Young through the eyes of a child. I’d been told they were great men, and to a ten-year old, the footage and photos showed established adults. One grown-up is equal to any other grown-up. Anyone who has reached adulthood knows this couldn’t be farther from the truth.

As I wandered through the Visitor Center, King’s church, and the other buildings, the entire site became a testament to the power of young people. Kids, teens, college students and freshly minted men and women in their twenties acted on their beliefs that the world could change and could be made better. They refused to accept the world they were about to inherit.

It seems to be a favorite past time of adults to complain about the youth. There is certainly no shortage of criticism being hurled currently at young people with their selfie taking smart phones. But I did learn something during my visit to King Center. Never underestimate youth. Young people have the power of infinite possibility. Their vision hasn’t been narrowed by time. Martin Luther King Jr. did not imagine himself on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial when he called on his congregation to boycott the buses. With his twenty-six years, he imagined a more just world and acted to make it so.

The quote on Dr. King’s tomb is “Free at last. Free at last. Thank God Almighty I’m Free at last.” The dates are 1929-1968. He was thirty-nine when assassinated, a young & great man.

This post is part of an amazing series on Martin Luther King Jr. being hosted by Multicultural Kids Blog. Check out the link for fabulous educational activities and international perspectives on the legacy of Dr. King.

January 12, 2016
My Bilingual Kid Doesn’t Want Your Attention

Having spent the majority of my adult life outside of the United States (mostly in small, homogeneous cities), I’ve gotten used to being the subject of conversation at the next table over. It happens pretty frequently in Vitoria. My husband and I speak in English so people assume I don’t understand their Portuguese freeing them to openly discuss me from two feet away. It happens most frequently with kids and teens, but a surprising number of adults don’t seem to realize that a person could understand both English and Portuguese. In Vitoria, we expats are like endangered wildlife. People know we’re around, but when actually spotted, locals take note.

I don’t mind. Until visitors arrive from another planet, one from another continent is about as alien as it gets for most people in Vitoria. I signed up for the attention when I decided to become an expat.

But my daughter didn’t.

A series of encounters at the park Sunday has, for the first time, made me consider my daughter’s multiculturalism a challenge, a thing she’ll have to learn to deal with.

It also has me weighing the importance of three influences on my daughter’s behavior: my parenting instincts v. my daughter’s personality v. the culture she is growing up in. I’m now asking which of these should win out in the event they’re incompatible.

Here’s what happened.

We arrived at the park just as a craft was beginning and hurried to the classroom. As materials were being handed out, one of the helpers overheard me speaking English and asked where we’re from. I answered, heard about how he’s going to Disney World soon, and then got the VIP crafting upgrade, as he hovered over my shoulder for the duration of the activity asking repeatedly (in English) if my daughter needed help. He was pleasant and wanted to practice his English. No problem.

Then we moved to the playground and while my daughter, the baby dragon, sought refuge in a playhouse from me, the evil sorceress, a girl and boy asked what language we were speaking. I answered, their eyes widened, and they ran off. A few minutes later they were back with more friends who all crowded into the playhouse to stare at my four-year-old, English speaker. My daughter tried to play with them in Portuguese, but the older girl turned to her friends and asked, “Who wants to learn English?” My daughter was not interested in playing teacher when there was sorceress to escape from, so she turned her back on them. They were kids and curious. Ok.

The most bizarre exchange happened as my daughter and I were waiting for my husband to bring the car. We were sword fighting with sticks, so I have no idea what these people heard exactly. “Argh!” “Ah, my leg! I’m bleeding!” But whatever they heard prompted the man to turn to his friend and say “Uma italiana!” I know I opened the door to this exchange by correcting him, but I can’t live in a world where people hear an English speaking American and think Italian.

I smiled and told him “Sou americana.” Their minds were blown. The woman nearly doubled-over laughing and the man’s eyes bugged out as if this was the first time either of them had considered the possibility of a person speaking more than one language. If I had turned invisible, I think they would have been less surprised. The woman sat down on the bench next to my daughter, and the two of them began peppering us with questions, the most notable one being “So you speak Portuguese & French?” They quickly zeroed in on my daughter and began directing their questions to her, clearly not believing she speaks Portuguese and is, in fact, Brazilian. When they asked her for her name, I stiffened. When they asked her for her daddy’s name, I cut them off, said “ciao” and in their wake, made it explicitly clear she was never to give her name or mommy’s or daddy’s name to anyone other than a police officer. The couple hadn’t meant but did cross a line when they asked for personal information from my kid.

My daughter’s final audience of the day came at the end of lunch. She and I were walking back to our table with a much-anticipated chocolate popsicle, and the table next to us began exclaiming to my husband. “Nossa que olhos lindas! Uma loirinha linda!” My daughter has blond hair and blue eyes, the genetic jackpot in Brazil. The entire family at the next table gushed compliments, while my husband played along and joked it was a good thing she took after her mom.

This all happened within two hours. Nothing was said or done out of malice. The people’s motivation ranged from innocent curiosity to sincere appreciation with a heavy dash of racism. Everything interaction was typical. Brazilian culture is open and friendly and community oriented. Strangers talk to each other here. It’s like being in South Georgia without the gnats and shotguns.

But my daughter doesn’t want an audience. My husband and have noticed it. Her teachers noted it in her school report. When the group of kids crowded around my daughter asking her to speak in English, she went silent. When the geographically challenged couple asked for her name, she clutched my arm and hid her face. My daughter doesn’t like being put on the spot. And that is exactly what every stranger who asks her to demonstrate her Portuguese or English is doing. When strangers stare at my daughter, they turn her into a spectacle no matter their intentions.

So what to do about it?

My husband immediately suggested we stop speaking English outside of the apartment. This would eliminate having to always explain that my kid is Brazilian and hearing about people’s Disney vacations, but I’m against it. My daughter is immersed in Portuguese Monday through Friday all day long at school. She needs as much English as possible on the weekend. We’d also limit her English vocabulary to the world of our apartment.

My gut reaction is to tell the spectators, politely but firmly, to go away. I’ll explain that my daughter is shy and since she is Brazilian, we don’t want her to feel singled out in her home. Please, save your questions for another bilingual who’s more comfortable in the spotlight.

The problem with this solution is that it’s extremely American. Like off the charts individualistic. Walls up. Family in. Strangers out. It’s honest. It’s blunt. It’s clear. It’s rude as hell. It’s all of those things. Just depends on your cultural reference. I recently saw an article titled “I Don’t Make My Kid Share” and thought that would never fly in Brazil. Valuing individual property rights over communal harmony would brand you and your kid the biggest jerks on the playground. Not all parenting strategies work equally well in all cultures.

She is Brazilian, living in Brazil, dealing with Brazilians. Shouldn’t I do my best to teach her to understand and navigate her own culture? Is it right to protect her feelings by shutting down people in a culture where small talk is viewed as courteous? Doesn’t she need to be able to cope with the extra attention if it’s going to be part of her reality?

I want to help my daughter balance culture and her personality, and I’m not sure what to say to prepare her for the inevitable questions that come when you are the only one. I grew up a solid member of the majority in everyway possible, but she is often usually the only bilingual, the only American. A little, blue-eyed, Brazilian girl speaking English here in Vitoria is going to make people stop in their tracks and comment.

My plan so far is to tell her she should never talk to strangers without mommy and daddy around. (Safety first.) When we are around, she has an absolute right to remain silent. She doesn’t have to play with or talk to anyone she doesn’t want to. However, I’ll explain people aren’t trying to be mean. They want to learn, and she has the power to teach them. People are curious about her languages and cultures, so when she’s ready, people will be very interested in what she has to say.

And that’s the best idea I’ve got for now.

December 1, 2015
5 Ways to Improve Christmas in Brazil
We put our Christmas decorations up this past weekend. This is the first year my daughter has really anticipated decorating and, more or less, helped in the process. She’s very proud of her Christmas decorations, and so am I. They are minimal but were hung with Christmas spirit. And a lot of sweat. Probably more sweat than Christmas spirit for my part.

That’s the problem with Christmas in Brazil. It’s hot. It’s humid. It is decidedly un-Christmasy. At least for someone who grew up spending Christmas a good bit north of the equator.

I tried to recreate my tree decorating memories for my daughter. We had Christmas carols playing. We pulled out the Christmas books and read Rudolph. But everytime I had to stop and rehydrate, the pleas to “Let it Snow” felt more like a cruel joke than an endearing tradition. Not that I’ve ever had a white Christmas in Atlanta, but it’s at least cold enough to necessitate pants.

I can’t shake this feeling that I’m faking Christmas and it’s not just because I’m importing my foreign Christmas culture. Brazil has already imported 90 percent of American & European Christmas traditions. The malls pipe in instrumental versions of American carols, and shop windows are filled with fake evergreens decked out in red, green, and sprayed on snow. Apartment buildings string lights in the shape of icicles and poor Santa greets kids in fur-trimmed, red velvet.

What feels so wrong about Christmas in Brazil is the juxtaposition between Northern hemisphere customs and Southern hemisphere weather. In order to make the season feel more authentic, I’ve got a few suggestions for improving Christmas in Brazil.

5 Way to Improve Christmas in Brazil

This was in October. December is hotter.
1. Put Santa in Board Shorts For his own sake, at the very least. It’s also hard for a parent to explain Santa’s velvet uniform to a kid running around in her underwear. “Yes, it’s very hot here, but Santa is magic and can maintain a constant body temperate even when wrapped in fur under the sun in 98 degrees.” How about some window decals of Santa strolling down the beach in board shorts pulling his sack along on a boogy board.
2. Carols About Sand, Not Snow “Oh the weather outside’s delightful. And the barbecue’s left me quite full. Laying out that’s my plan, In the sand, in the sand, in the sand.” They could also be more local. I think the world needs some Bossa Nova Christmas. “Gifts and fun and family and sunshine. Good will to all, good cheer we keep in mind. We’ll raise some glasses, attend some masses and dine.”
3. Replace Red & Green with Yellow & Blue Look in the store windows and you’ll see red and green wreathes, ornaments, figurines, dinner ware. These colors are too dark and heavy for a place that’s got sunlight until 8pm followed by balmy evenings with temps in the 80s. Christmas in Brazil should be bright and bold. It should be swirled on a sarong that you wear over tanned (or in my case sunburned) legs. I propose Christmas decorations in yellow, for the intense sun, and blue, for the ocean that everyone is visiting on their summer vacations.
4. Exchange Santa’s Sleigh for a VW Bug What good is a sleigh going to be in a tropical rainforest? Or on the sandy coast? Or the sertão, the arid grasslands? No good at all. For a truly Brazilian ride, give Santa a VW Beetle from the 70s pulled by a team of flying capybara. (Someone please draw and post that image!) I’ve seen old Beetles driving around every city I’ve visited in Brazil. Those cars can run forever in any environment. Santa can land in Caracas, send his team of reindeer back to the North Pole with the sleigh, and pick up his Beetle to continue distributing presents in South America.
5. Christmas Palm Trees First, we need to burn all the artificial evergreens that been assembled around Brazil. Most of them are probably made by children in Bangladesh with toxic chemicals. One thing Brazil is not short on is vegetation. No more cheap, fake fir trees. Let’s decorate little potted palms. It’d be a hundred times easier to wrap light around a palm tree. There wouldn’t be room for quite as many ornaments, but I can make sacrifices.
Rabanada. Mmmmmm!

I have no complaints about Christmas dishes. Nuts, pineapple, figs, codfish, ham, and lots more fruit. These are all things I can support. And rabanada. Especially the rabanada! It’s like french toast on steroids. It’s amazing and one Brazilian tradition I’ll be taking back to the US with me.

It’ll be my addition to the dessert table. When else wold you serve bread dipped in egg and covered with cinnamon and powdered sugar? At breakfast?
November 23, 2015
5 Things That Can Ruin a Kid’s Day (& the Parent’s as Well)
Saturday morning my kid woke up asking for sausage. She’s Brazilian, so it’s a pretty common request. She’s a very picky eater, so if she demonstrates enthusiasm for any food that isn’t made by Hershey, we try to accommodate her request. That’s how we ended up at a packed churrasco (a restaurant serving heart-stopping quantities of grilled meat) swarming with sweaty, screaming families and their kids. In other words, hell. The kids all seemed to love it.

Why wouldn’t they? This place was family-friendly in a very Brazilian way with a multi-level playground, 2 trampolines, five TVs with Playstations, and a small amusement park ride. Any American actuary would stroke out upon entering this restaurant.

The kids were dying of happiness.

All except my kid.

We got there early enough to grab a coveted table in front of the entrance to the play area. It was the most chaotic spot in the place, but we’d be able to see my daughter from our table. We ordered her sausage and beef and french fries. My husband the vegetarian contented himself with rice and beans. She thanked us by whining, complaining, and pouting the entire time.

There was a Claw-crane arcade game right in front of our table, and up against the glass was a stuffed cheetah. Game over. My daughter was obsessed. Nothing we said could convince her to let it go. The playground, the video games, the carousel of airplanes, the sausage, they were insignificant next to this stuffed cheetah. She left the restaurant crying. I left with a burning desire for a sledge hammer. We were all pissed off for the rest of the afternoon.

My daughter’s day was ruined by a cruelly placed Claw-game. And so was mine. If you don’t have kids, you might not realize how heavily a parent’s mood at the end of the day relies on their child’s emotions. And a kid can be plunged into emotional turmoil over a sock. Yes, I’ve had mornings or entire days that were corrupted by a sock.

The Claw is just another in a long stream of innocuous things which have completely ruined my day. Here are five more items and tasks I now face with trepidation.
1. Basic Personal Hygiene Specifically, the maintenance of it. Five years ago, brushing teeth or hair didn’t consume a lot of mental energy. A bath was welcome especially in the scorching summers of Rio. Now, I mentally steel myself using techniques I learned from Navy Seals before approaching my child with either soap or a toothbrush. Many a morning or evening has been ruined by screaming refusals to use either.
2. A Pair of Wonder Woman Undies A very special pair that is never, never clean when requested.
3. Chocolate Ice-cream Normally a curative for emotional collapse. Unless it doesn’t have the option of M&M toppings. We don’t go to that ice-cream store anymore.
4. An Inflatable Pterodactyl One that was made so cheaply and with such indifference nobody noticed one of the wings was glued on backwards. It came in a package of six and was never played with after being opened. The toy had no impact on our lives whatsoever, until it was given away then demanded inexplicably a few months later. Now, it will never be forgotten.
5. A Slice of Carrot Vegetables in general, but carrots have the greatest potential for being nibbled so this is the one that usually brings everyone to arms. There was a memorable night out when my daughter sat on the floor under the table screaming with snot running down her face because I demanded she have one bite of carrot. Wait…no. It wasn’t carrot. It was a bite of macaroni and cheese. Which I’m now willing to consider a vegetable. One that she won’t eat. That’s where we are on the vegetable front.
It will be a very long time before my husband and I are willing to go back to that restaurant. Which is unfortunate because the number of places we now feel that way about includes pretty much everywhere with the exception of the ice cream store with M&Ms for toppings. I’m actually fine with that.
November 9, 2015