And here we are.
One year ago, after roughly two years of applying and reapplying for the Fulbright English Teaching Assistantship, I received my host-city placement for the ETA program: Belém do Pará, in Brazil's northern, Amazonian region. It was not the city I wanted. It wasn't even close: geographically, culturally—none of it. Brazilian friends responded to my placement with raised eyebrows and half smiles: "That's like, a whole different Brazil." (Imagine a foreigner-friend of yours telling you they'll be moving to the US, and upon clarification, you find what they really mean is that they're moving to Texas.) For a short time, I was confused, frustrated, disappointed. But, before I had yet learned the mantra of Brazilian complacency to the come-what-may, I said some English version of "Pois é." Alright. That's the way it is.
But Belém consistently exceeded my expectations. It didn't take long for me to be truly glad to call myself a resident. Para's globally recognized culinary culture (I still half regret opting out of our five-star restaurant's all-local 12-course tasting experience) and celebration of its African and indigenous heritage were elements of Brazilian culture that I would have at least partially missed out on had I been placed anywhere else.
And the people. The friend for whom I had the most consistent respect caught my attention one evening while we were talking about our migratory generation. (I was a living example of transience.) I asked him if he'd ever considered moving to another part of Brazil like several other of his friends had done. "I can't leave Belém," he said simply. Nine months after this conversation, I'm just beginning to understand why.
It wasn't at all easy. There were sweltering afternoons when I was just plain done living within spitting distance of the equator. I could never ride another bus in my life and really be okay with it. I won't miss being shamelessly stared at by absolutely everyone. And I absolutely will not miss the machismo, homophobia, and overall misogyny that plagues the city far more epidemically than malaria or dengue.
But there are absolutely things that I will miss. Things that will grow into saudades. There are many I haven't even noticed yet; they've been such a consistent part of my life that I've forgotten they're uniquely Brazilian. But here are the things I know I'll miss the most about Belém, Pará, and Brazil generally:
The leaving is heavy. So much of this city, this country, has, in some strange sense, grown into me. Tugging my roots out of this southern soil, shaking off the dirt (some of it, anyway), and returning to the land I was born into will not at all be easy. It will be painful and frustrating. It will be confusing. But it always part of the deal. And, yes, I want to be back in what I can't not call my "home country," even while I want to stay here all the same. (I think it was good that God decided we should be bound to space, because how tempting would it be to leave little bits of ourselves everywhere we went, until there was nothing left? And yet, don't we find ways to do that anyway?)
Alright. Any longer, and this self-indulgent existential rant will itself spiral into nothingness. So here ends this chapter of my love affair with this beloved country. If you've been following since the beginning, dear reader, thanks for sticking with me through it all.
And, like any other love affair, is it ever really completely over?
One year ago, after roughly two years of applying and reapplying for the Fulbright English Teaching Assistantship, I received my host-city placement for the ETA program: Belém do Pará, in Brazil's northern, Amazonian region. It was not the city I wanted. It wasn't even close: geographically, culturally—none of it. Brazilian friends responded to my placement with raised eyebrows and half smiles: "That's like, a whole different Brazil." (Imagine a foreigner-friend of yours telling you they'll be moving to the US, and upon clarification, you find what they really mean is that they're moving to Texas.) For a short time, I was confused, frustrated, disappointed. But, before I had yet learned the mantra of Brazilian complacency to the come-what-may, I said some English version of "Pois é." Alright. That's the way it is.
But Belém consistently exceeded my expectations. It didn't take long for me to be truly glad to call myself a resident. Para's globally recognized culinary culture (I still half regret opting out of our five-star restaurant's all-local 12-course tasting experience) and celebration of its African and indigenous heritage were elements of Brazilian culture that I would have at least partially missed out on had I been placed anywhere else.
And the people. The friend for whom I had the most consistent respect caught my attention one evening while we were talking about our migratory generation. (I was a living example of transience.) I asked him if he'd ever considered moving to another part of Brazil like several other of his friends had done. "I can't leave Belém," he said simply. Nine months after this conversation, I'm just beginning to understand why.
It wasn't at all easy. There were sweltering afternoons when I was just plain done living within spitting distance of the equator. I could never ride another bus in my life and really be okay with it. I won't miss being shamelessly stared at by absolutely everyone. And I absolutely will not miss the machismo, homophobia, and overall misogyny that plagues the city far more epidemically than malaria or dengue.
But there are absolutely things that I will miss. Things that will grow into saudades. There are many I haven't even noticed yet; they've been such a consistent part of my life that I've forgotten they're uniquely Brazilian. But here are the things I know I'll miss the most about Belém, Pará, and Brazil generally:
- Portuguese
- regional fruits, dishes, and drinks, and the restaurants who serve them (e.g., açaí—the real stuff, cupuaçú, passion fruit, tacacá, jambú, maniçoba, the caipirinha at Casa das Onze Janelas, Cairu, mangueiras, coconut water, farinha/farofa, tapioquinhos, pão françês, mixto quente, cheap-but-ice-cold-beer, pupunha, pamonha, guava, tucupi, vatapá, brigadeiro, filhote, dourada, pescada amarela, castanha do Pará, Jefferson, etc.)
- all of my favorite Brazilians
- walking just about everywhere
- trees growing out of the sides of buildings (and generally the messy, unsterilized way that sidewalks, streets, and buildings seem to have personalities)
- random people selling random things in random places
- the river
- unfailingly perfect evening air
The leaving is heavy. So much of this city, this country, has, in some strange sense, grown into me. Tugging my roots out of this southern soil, shaking off the dirt (some of it, anyway), and returning to the land I was born into will not at all be easy. It will be painful and frustrating. It will be confusing. But it always part of the deal. And, yes, I want to be back in what I can't not call my "home country," even while I want to stay here all the same. (I think it was good that God decided we should be bound to space, because how tempting would it be to leave little bits of ourselves everywhere we went, until there was nothing left? And yet, don't we find ways to do that anyway?)
Alright. Any longer, and this self-indulgent existential rant will itself spiral into nothingness. So here ends this chapter of my love affair with this beloved country. If you've been following since the beginning, dear reader, thanks for sticking with me through it all.
And, like any other love affair, is it ever really completely over?
Um cantinho e um violão |