ORIGINS
Most favela dwellers come from the north, from Bahia, Pernambuco, Ceará, Minas Gerais. Many from still farther away. Most find it a thousand times better here then there, even if they must live in a favela. "Here at least we eat. There you plant in the scorching heat and then comes the harvest. You harvest, but the buyer pays a miserable sum." Or: "You plant, it doesn't rain, the crop is ruined." "We suffered there, and when the harvest brought nothing in I swore never to plant again; two days later we left with our belongings and children, a two-day bus trip." That's not so much though; most leave by train, which takes up to ten days, depending on the distance.
They usually leave their traditions and customs behind. Once in Sao Paulo they seldom dance the quadrilla, hardly any folk-songs are sung; bumba meu moi (meu boi: "my ox", a kind of religious theatre and procession) or Folia dos Reis (a musical play about the Three Wise Men), are hardly ever performed. Many are ashamed of these things and think that in the city they must be "modern" and sing, dance and celebrate differently. That's why life in the favela, almost everywhere in the city in fact, is so barren and monotonously gray. But that's also why most of them still harbor a silent nostalgia for their "terra", and many want to go back when they're old to live in peace on their savings.
In the city they no longer orient themselves according to the goodness which emanates from the people, but according to the civilization of the wealthy as they see proclaimed on television, etc. - with disastrous results.
EDUCATION
Officially, there are eight years of compulsory education. But many children, especially girls, don't go to school at all because their parents don't consider it necessary, and they do more work in the home than the boys, who grow up much freer and hardly help at all. When they do go to school they are often absent and are handicapped by the fact that their parents can't help them with their homework. Furthermore, they have not had adequate nutrition or stimulation since the time of birth. They are usually left back in the first year, drag themselves through school life, and give up at the third or fourth grade. Completing four years of school is already something special and makes life easier, because then there are various trade courses which they can take: for girls hair-dresser, manicurist, seamstress, nurse's assistant; for boys: mechanic, waiter, cook, etc.
EARNINGS
Most favela people earn the salário mínimo (the legal minimum wage) - about $100 per month. The family income is increased by what some children earn by shining shoes, washing cars or delivering women's shopping home in carts from the markets. This isn't much, but sometimes they earn in a day more than the father's daily wage. This is of course very tempting for them. They earn some money from which, according to character and inclination, they pass a larger or smaller amount to their homes and the rest they spend on chewing gum, sweets and similar stuff which they never got as small children. But the future is lost because they then either don't go to school anymore at all or only sporadically, reach only the second grade and never have a chance to learn a trade. This means that they, like their fathers, must do the heaviest and dirtiest work.
FOOD
Rice and beans, rice and beans, rice and beans, for lunch and supper. The beans are usually cooked in a pot, spiced with some garlic, and rice is added. Also mistura (mixture). This means everything else, for example meat and vegetables. The poorer ones divide a small piece of meat among the members of the family. Vegetables are hardly ever eaten and when they are it's mostly tomatoes and "leaves" (any kind of lettuce). But in general green is written in small letters. For example, if something better is cooked for Christmas, it consists of rice and beans, somewhat more meat (usually chicken), noodles with tomato sauce, "maionese", that is, potato salad with mayonnaise. Meals are monotonous and stereotyped. On the one hand it's practical, for the housewife's dilemma "What will I cook?" is absent. On the other hand this monotony has negative effects which go beyond the physical. At home I hardly ever cook beans and rice and "invent" new meals from leftovers. That's what I always tell the children, that cooking is an art and that they should invent something, even if it's not always successful.
In the north rice (which isn't native to Brazil, having established itself around 1810 with the opening of the harbors) is hardly eaten. Sweet potatoes, manioca, cará and other roots are preferred. A lot of manioca-meal is eaten with beans. (We call it sawdust because it's so dry and you have difficulty swallowing it at first.)
DIARY 1976-1980
7 September 1976. Brazil's Independence Day
I first stepped on Brazilian soil eleven years ago. Surely I was more rested then after a 24 day ocean voyage than I am now. In any case, I am exhausted today and really feel the need for a rest. I must take a breath and objectively think about what I am to do during the next years of my life, whether I'll stay in the Waldorf School or not, what I can accomplish here, etc. Many who think altruistically say I should dedicate myself completely to the "poor". But how? I must earn money. Furthermore, I find that the wealthy children are often just as poor, when I consider the more difficult cases in my class.
NOVEMBER 1976
The school play is approaching with enormous strides. The performance of "Widukind" with my eighth grade is almost upon us. I am torn asunder between rehearsals, painting scenery, costume fittings and my housewifely duties. The children at home bear it calmly and often receive me with nice surprises. Besides all this are the normal classes, preparation for Christmas, etc.
CHRISTMAAS 1976
Every year Waldorf schools perform the "Oberurfer Christmas play". For the past three years I have been taking increasing numbers of favela children to see it. This time there were about forty. And how do you organize this bunch to get them all into the city buses? Well, it's not easy, but the mass isn't so amorphous either, for smaller groups develop naturally within the larger one, which is difficult to oversee as a whole. Older children care for younger ones, brothers and sisters watch out that they are all still there.
Before we depart I look to see if we are more or less presentable. They all gather in front of my gate. " Blow your nose." - "Go and wash your hands." - "Get the comb in the children's room and comb your hair and if it's still too stringy, put a kerchief over it."
A boy with whom I had only a nodding acquaintance came without shoes. I loaned him a pair of Ruben's. But they didn't fit, so he carried them in his hands and when we arrived at the school he placed them neatly at the entrance of the auditorium. Being so squeezed in was just too unusual for him. After all, the shepherds go barefoot in the Christmas play.
Finally we are ready to march. Divided into two groups, I push them into the first bus, then the second. "We'll meet at the Borba Gato bus-stop." Except for the bigger ones, the children all pass through the turnstile without having to pay.
I march up the hill to the Waldorf School with this endless tail of children. In an orderly column we enter the auditorium. Many parents smile, touched; others look on somewhat shocked at this unexpected, unusual sight of poor, brown, black (but also white) children in this "white" setting. We sit in the first rows and they all beam at me. The play begins, the angel floats in.
"An angel!" Vitoria cries from the heart. She, who is so pitch-black and always pushed aside by the others, could hardly grasp the angel's brilliant white light. For most of them theater is reality.
We met Peter Schmidt of the Giroflex factory on the way back. "What is this mob of children?" I briefly described our work in the favela. "We'll come back to that again," he said. A historic phrase! For he really did come back to it, for which I am eternally grateful. He was the first to take our work seriously and promised to help. And not only promised. In 1977 we had a teacher paid by Giroflex. We were thus able to expand the favela work and the children could come every day. After a bad experience with a trained teacher, I employed Cido as youth supervisor, cooking teacher, etc. The children were thrilled. Cido is simply ideal in that he has imagination, ideas, likes to work, feels good with the children, is able to handle the large groups that stream to us during festivals. Furthermore, he was poor himself as a child and knows how it feels.
The number of children has grown enormously. Thank God Dona Regina and Dona Helena had pity on us. Dona Regina sews purses, pillowcases, blankets with the children from leftovers and tells them stories while doing so. Dona Helena knits with them – wallets, dwarf-dolls, sweaters. Both are desperate for more room. We are so cramped. Everything is done in the tiny children’s room, which contains a three-tier bed, a closet and desk. Children swarm everywhere – on the bed, the floor, the desk. And the smell and the heat that develop after two hours of work! The smell improves somewhat when Cido is giving his cooking lessons at the same time. Meanwhile I help the children with their homework, clear a niche in the kitchen to prepare supper, listen to Ruben’s multiplication tables practice, do rhythmic clapping with Marcia, etc.
Space! Space! Space is what we need!
JULY 1977
I've just returned from Guarajú, the beach serving the Sao Paulo upper crust. Dr. Gudrun of the anthroposophical clinic lent us her holiday house for a week. Us, that is, me and fourteen children from the favela as well as Maristela, Marcia and Rubens. As the children entered the house they were stunned for a moment, then broke out in cries of joy, ran through all the rooms and just couldn't believe that it would belong to them for a week. The same thing happened when we went to the sea: first apprehension looking at the infinite expanse of water, then they skipped in screaming for happiness. So much water all at once. Most of them knew only the miserable favela stream where they get their water. The week was a complete success: water, sun, an excess of room to play, rocks to climb, sand and castles and waterfalls to build. For once they were always clean, with full stomachs and occupied as children should be. I could teach them all the games I knew (ball-games, halma, memory, mikado, jumping, racing) During the mid-day break they read, drew or knitted. Most impressive was that everything was fun, even the things which don't usually inspire much enthusiasm like cooking and washing dishes. My main occupation at the sea was counting heads in the waves. What a fright when one wasn't visible behind the waves!