It’s slightly unbelievable that I landed in Brazil one month ago. Plenty of things have been excitingly familiar and comforting: beer served below freezing, rice and beans with everything, fresh squeezed juice, and other things non-culinary.
Living in Portuguese again has felt like breaking out the favorite hoodie that spends summers in the bottom drawer—only a hoodie is usually the last thing on my mind. The availability of cheap and free cultural events and centers makes diving into an appreciation of northern culture an incredibly accessible effort. And perhaps the most-missed (and most Brazilian) thing of all: time passes in a completely different way. Days aren’t measured by tasks accomplished, though there is plenty to be done. They’re measured by time spent with others, by the grand events of lunch and café da tarde, by a visit to a museum, or to a friend’s house, or simply to the river. Steps on uneven sidewalks are the only way the clock ticks, and if the rain really comes down—which it most certainly does—all slows to a pause at the mercy of boundlessly generous clouds.
Other things, though, have been a little harder to weather, so to speak. One of the most difficult is the constant awareness that I am in fact “other.” Having been raised in a world in which whiteness is a social default, I am unaccustomed to being inherently of a minority hue. Blue eyes are an uncommon sight in the north, and as soon as I open my mouth, there is no doubt: I’m not from around here, and it is futile to try to pretend that I am. I have never in my life been so consistently and shamelessly stared at (which is, admittedly, a cultural phenomenon largely independent of race), and I am constantly aware of my foreignness.
However, I refuse to be a “tourist.” Gringo? Obviously. American? Inevitably. But I live here. Belém is home, for now. It’s where I shop, work, live, eat, and sleep. And come November, I will have lived in this apartment on Avenida Nazaré longer than I’ve lived in any one place since starting college. I live here.
I work here, too. Classes at UFPA officially begin tomorrow, and the preparations we’ve been making are finally coming to fruition. A significant amount of my weekly hours will be spent at the university, assisting and co-teaching English classes, organizing language labs to supplement class time, and meeting to plan and integrate cultural events into the academic calendar.
In the university especially, there is an incredibly rich culture of volunteerism, fueled by the realization that since every dime of tuition is paid for by tax dollars, students have the obligation and the privilege to invest into the communities that are putting them through school. So, roughly half of my work hours are spent outside the university in various language-and-culture programs and activities that are offered freely to the community of Belém. It’s quickly becoming obvious to me that this is some of the most exciting and rewarding work I’ll be doing during the next nine months, though we’re only just beginning.
Living in Portuguese again has felt like breaking out the favorite hoodie that spends summers in the bottom drawer—only a hoodie is usually the last thing on my mind. The availability of cheap and free cultural events and centers makes diving into an appreciation of northern culture an incredibly accessible effort. And perhaps the most-missed (and most Brazilian) thing of all: time passes in a completely different way. Days aren’t measured by tasks accomplished, though there is plenty to be done. They’re measured by time spent with others, by the grand events of lunch and café da tarde, by a visit to a museum, or to a friend’s house, or simply to the river. Steps on uneven sidewalks are the only way the clock ticks, and if the rain really comes down—which it most certainly does—all slows to a pause at the mercy of boundlessly generous clouds.
Other things, though, have been a little harder to weather, so to speak. One of the most difficult is the constant awareness that I am in fact “other.” Having been raised in a world in which whiteness is a social default, I am unaccustomed to being inherently of a minority hue. Blue eyes are an uncommon sight in the north, and as soon as I open my mouth, there is no doubt: I’m not from around here, and it is futile to try to pretend that I am. I have never in my life been so consistently and shamelessly stared at (which is, admittedly, a cultural phenomenon largely independent of race), and I am constantly aware of my foreignness.
However, I refuse to be a “tourist.” Gringo? Obviously. American? Inevitably. But I live here. Belém is home, for now. It’s where I shop, work, live, eat, and sleep. And come November, I will have lived in this apartment on Avenida Nazaré longer than I’ve lived in any one place since starting college. I live here.
I work here, too. Classes at UFPA officially begin tomorrow, and the preparations we’ve been making are finally coming to fruition. A significant amount of my weekly hours will be spent at the university, assisting and co-teaching English classes, organizing language labs to supplement class time, and meeting to plan and integrate cultural events into the academic calendar.
In the university especially, there is an incredibly rich culture of volunteerism, fueled by the realization that since every dime of tuition is paid for by tax dollars, students have the obligation and the privilege to invest into the communities that are putting them through school. So, roughly half of my work hours are spent outside the university in various language-and-culture programs and activities that are offered freely to the community of Belém. It’s quickly becoming obvious to me that this is some of the most exciting and rewarding work I’ll be doing during the next nine months, though we’re only just beginning.