Dance Lest We All Fall Down: Breaking Cycles of Poverty in Brazil and Beyond

Acknowledgments

ix acknowledgments This list of friends who have contributed in various ways to this book is inadequate and represents only a small number of those involved. The Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropological Research gave me the first grant that made this entire journey possible. I am grateful to all the people who have helped and guided me in Bahia, many of whom appear in the pages of this volume. Naming just a few include the Santos family, the McCallum-Texeira family, Jair, Zeze, Lazaro, Jogo de Dentro, Lula, Curioso, Don and Luzia. During the creating of Bahia Street, I have also been guided and supported by many people—some of whom also appear in this book. In particular, I would like to mention the first Bahia Street Board, Margaret Schulte, Pat Ingressia, Eduardo Mendonça, and Mark and Carol Salkind, and our first sustaining contributors Alex Uxbridge, Ina Whitlock, Michael and Beret Kischner , Betsy Willson, and Roger Clark. To all of our other donors and volunteers—far too many to list—you have made Bahia Street possible . Susie De Paolis has spent invaluable hours managing the Bahia Street Trust. Bobbi Ballas, Robert Barclay, Gus Stewart, and Henry Schulte read early versions of the manuscript and made comments that I found greatly helpful. Early versions of various encounters from Part One of the book appeared in the Clam Cove Report of Vashon Island. My editor, Ashley Shelby was invaluable, guiding me to transform the manuscript into a strong, readable narrative. Bryan Blondeau and Kyra Freestar very kindly inputted my handwritten edits into the computer manuscript, Melanie Wyffels proofread the Portuguese. Margaret Schulte helped with the last minute editing. Nancy Bacon gave me her much-appreciated, pragmatic, and practical support, and conceived the book’s title. I thank Carol Flotlin for her generosity, time and advice. James Eng gave me his quiet confidence throughout. And without Rita, this book would have had no reason to exist. dance lest we all fall down Breaking Cycles of Poverty in Brazil and Beyond This is a true story. Some names and incidents have been changed to protect the privacy of the people involved. Although some conversations are verbatim, taken from field notes, others have been constructed from memory. I have condensed various occurrences and occasionally shuffled the time line in order to create a more cohesive narrative. The incidents and people in this book, however, are real. Likewise, the recording of the conversations and interactions reflect a reality that was sometimes painful for me to experience. I hope, through the words of this book, I have been able to convey some of the insights, struggles, and courage of these people I have been lucky enough to know. xv Tropical nights fall quickly. I stood alone on a curb in the city of Salvador da Bahia, Brazil. Rain, surprisingly cold against the warm night air, flattened my hair, soaked my scalp, and migrated through my shirt to the hollow of my spine. A man standing beneath the awning of a darkened store watched me. I had stayed too late at my appointment. Buses were no longer safe at this hour so I hailed a taxi. The driver slowed, water spitting from beneath his wheels. He leaned over the passenger seat and opened the backseat door. I closed it gently so as not to batter the flimsy metal of his locally produced Brazilian car, then opened the front door and climbed in beside him. I checked him out: scruffy hair, gaunt cheekbones, a short beard. His long thin fingers lay lightly on the steering wheel. He took stock of my appearance: tall, white skin, light hair. A foreigner, or perhaps from Southern Brazil. Certainly middle-class. His eyes glinted, almost metallic in the dim reflection of the dashboard lights. “Thanks,” I said in Portuguese. “What a downpour! It’s not supposed to rain like this in December.” The driver visibly relaxed at the sound and slang of my lower-class Portuguese. “Tell me about it,” he said. “Bad for business, nobody’s out. The weather’s gone wacky lately, you can’t count on anything. Where you going?” “Carlos Gomes, near Dois de Julho.” “Right.” He turned onto a dark side street, a shortcut I also knew. I acknowledged his street savvy with a nod. He smiled. “Look at this kitchen store,” I...