Salvador de Bahia - first trip to the favelas

I am on my way to Paripe, a favela suburb of Salvador, situated at the very northern end of the West coast (incidentally very near where Lulu goes on Holiday – at the Naval Base – Base Natal) to spend the day on the beach with some friends. To get there the bus passes along a road that hugs the end of the ocean where possible, through Cuidad Baixa and then on through mile after mile of favela. If you look at a map of Salvador it’s soon easy to work out that over two thirds of the city is favela. And just think how many people are crammed in together in that area. Salvador has an official population of 3.574.804, and that’s not counting the several thousand tourists who flood the city every day in high season. I don’t know why but the poverty here strikes me a lot more. It is really gut wrenching. And it’s not to say that I haven’t seen real poverty before, there are favela equivalents in Costa Rica and Cuba (despite the supposed governmental housing reforms) as well serious poverty in all the other Latin American countries that I have visited. But in Brazil the difference between the rich and poor is much more noticeable. When you are in Barra or Graca or another one of the other southern suburbs it’s easy to forget that there are people living without running water and electricity only a few short miles away. There is serious money here too. Brazil is supposedly one of the fastest growing economies in the world and it’s certainly reflected in the price of the amenities. A few days ago I went to Shopping Barra (a large up-market shopping center relatively near to where I live) and I was literally shocked at the prices. I couldn’t find a pair of shoes for under 35/40pounds and clothes were generally more expensive that that. I mean admittedly this comes from someone who doesn’t like to spend more than 20quid on a pair of shoes – but still!! Anyway enough of that.

The landscape and cityscape begins to change as the bus moves away from the south of the city, cars begin to shrink in price, luster and size, shops have boarded-up-windows broken glass, and endless graffiti. The number of churches also drastically increases; though these are often little more than concrete square blocks with roofs and crucifixes stuck on front. An endless parade of scrap metal junk yards, derelict buildings, and men and children loitering on street corners meets my eyes. Things begin to deteriorate as we pass through the real favela, infinite, stretching in every direction as far as the eye can see. A tirade of inestimable red, grey, brown and black hues broken only by the occasional flash of green from a cluster of palm trees. It was heart breaking. Dusty malnourished children sit listlessly on low walls or on the ground, their skin stretched painfully over their ribs. Women with dull glazed-over eyes trudge home, their shopping bags pitifully empty. Men stand together in groups, tensed, as if expecting an attack at any moment. I become increasingly uncomfortable of my appearance and skin colour. Even though I’d taken care to wear older looking clothes, carry a beaten looking bag and not wear any jewelry, I am still very aware of how much I stand out, and am really struck by the vast differences in our circumstances. A deep sadness presses against my chest, constricting my throat. It is the sort of sights to make you want to give up every home comfort, uproot yourself from everything you know and spend your whole life trying to combat the overwhelming tide of poverty. One of my newly acquired friends here in Salvador is an Italian who has lived here for the past two years working for an NGO. They also pay him to go home to Italy several times a year for meetings and conferences as well as a pretty decent salary. More importantly he is really making a difference. Sounds like my perfect sort of job methinks!


After about half an hour, we finally reach the outer northern suburbs of the city, still noticeably poorer than the south but with one big difference – that the people here look alive, smiling and laughing as they go about their daily business. Joie de vivre crinkling the corners of their eyes. The oppressive weight of poverty in the air is not so keenly felt here. The bus pulls into Paripe, and I disembark, admittedly very relieved to find two of my brasilero friends waiting for me. Another short minibus journey later and we are at the beach, a curved golden arc of fine sand and splashing children (it is Sunday after all). The day passes pleasurably enough and before I know it I am on the bus back to the south, travelling one more through the endless roofs and huts of the favela.