Mission to Brazil: City Center Sao Paulo

It’s Wednesday after breakfast, I recover quickly from the embarrassment of showing my barbarian habits to my Brazilian hosts. It is very light hearted and I can relax now. I will be gone for the entire day, limiting the time for mishaps; time being both a good and uncertain thing.

It is arranged for me to tour and observe the center of Sao Paulo with Br. Gabriel as my guide. I grab my English to Portuguese dictionary and a small notebook. Brother is wearing my Fedora as I come jogging out of the small house that all of us men share. The only remark he makes is “let’s go” and then he starts to walk a little ahead of me.

I catch up and look at him until he looks back, “It’s a good look. The order should think about a change.”

He smiles. I am still not sure if he understands or is humoring me. “Indian Jones…” He warbles a throaty chuckle with a closed mouth smile. We continue walking quickly as he removes my hat from his head and flops it, side cocked, on my own.

Brother Gabriel is in his late twenties, and has the qualities of an older sibling. He controls his movements with intention as if trained, and it adds to his natural drawing presence and approachable authority. He shaves his head close in contrasts to his curly beard, which starts at the sideburn borders at his ears and ends three inches below his chin. His beard has no hard point and it lengthens his oval face hiding the youthful puffiness of his checks.

We take the bus around the neighborhoods, in the daylight I can see that no street is straight or even for a half a block. The bus rocks side to side and front to back with no regularity. Looking away somewhat dizzy, I notice brother’s eyes as we ride to the commuter station. He was focused somewhere else, each pupil framed with a rusty red cross that blends into the spectrograph greens on his irises.

“He could bring a room to quiet seriousness with that look,” I thought.

We reach the station and I took a couple pictures showing the congestion of the people getting on the train. I was told at the ticket window that taking photos was not a welcome activity, but I already taken his picture.

We traveled another two hours on multiple transfers to the city center. We walk down five flights of people packed stairs. Passing vendors stands on each level selling breakfast fare and bottled drinks. Each landing is a floor and the stairs dump all of us like water into that level. The stairs to the next level continue on the back side of the flight of stairs we just came down. For me, it breaks up the 30 min descent. I observe the change from the calm line up on the stairs, to the frenzy of cutting off and pushing on each floor levels. Both brother and I laugh as he points out our forceless and uninfluenced pace as we drift with no less speed to the bottom of the station. It was funny to see Br. Gabriel so kindly take many elbows and shoves from people in a big hurry, only to pass them because there path had stopped dead.

We walk into the grand center of the city and in front of me towers the Cathedral de Sao Paulo (St. Paul). It is a beautiful renaissance style domed building with two tall and ornate towers in front which flank the dome on either side. The long stone plaza runs to the stair of the Cathedral and rows of palms line the sides and middle to add a structured feel like a monstrous hall way. We walk in the direction of the church and all along the rows are people laying again the trees, on squares of cardboard, or blankets. These are among the 12,000 homeless in the city of Sao Paulo, and it is explained to me that between 100 and 400 live in the city center. We walk by a man in a suite with a portable sound system, he is yelling in a circle to the whole of the city. I focus on the blaring speaker behinds him and turn to find Br. Gabriel embracing and talking to a homeless woman on the side of the plaza. He is engaged and listening peacefully. I see her smile builds as he blesses her the sign on here forehead and with his presence.

On the left side of the Cathedral is the Federal Court Building, which is tan toned concrete with Roman statues and columns. The weight of the build is evident as the male and female statues hold scrolls, swords, books, and shields. I turn and look at the park like square below. Brother says “the court house is Beautiful.”

“It is, As is the Cathedral.” I questioned.

“Yes, but I always like the buildings like this.” He paused, “I studied the law.”

“Really, when was that?”

“I was in school for law at the university, before the Fraternity.” He turning and walked to the water wall fountain and waved me in front to have my picture taken.

“This must be a favorite place for you, you know, with the church and court house.”

He could read me lightly fishing at more information, “Yes, it is. We see our sons at pastoral.” He smiles.

In the grassy areas strips of lawn and alongside are tents and pads in all the corners of the square. The density of them builds as we walk farther away from the grand buildings and into the sitting areas. I see brown habited men off in the far side. We approach to greeting from the brother all barbering men and waving with their free hands. I take a few pictures and watch the stir of commotion around the main prep area. They bring in all the water and supplies to shave and trim hair for anyone that show up. They wear rubber gloves for each of the clients, and use one razor blade per man. They clean and sanitize in a certain order and quickly set up for the next son. It is a popular and welcomed benefit to the homeless in the city, so it is not surprising to see a great number of brothers and formandos staffing it.

Those working in the square are skilled at shaving and cutting hair. I could see all the benches in a 20 yard area filled with those waiting or being served. They placed an apron on the man and were off to work cutting with simple 4 inch bladed scissors. At the completion each man was given a water rinse over his head and then the next would be draped and so on. The whole scene was full of smiles. It was light hearted and busy, never hurried or mechanical. The happy mood was defiant as the bright sun edged into our shared shade; it was almost 11 AM.

Brother asks me for my camera, and I am handled gloves and scissors.

I have met many people in short time in Brazil, and it is hard to recall all their names. At time it is hard to recall the name of the person I just meet. I think a cross between situational overload and the seemly exotic names adds to it. So I will apologies once to all the great and interesting people that I have met, and ask them to please hold no grudge for my incapacity to recall their name. That being said I may choose credit a person I have met briefly with a name I do recall, or to place a trait that I have observed in a group onto a named person.

I cut the hair of a man named Jefferson, which was a strangely common name to me that stood out among the others. It was easy to remember, because that is my home town. Another memorable thing about the hair cut was that it took me one and half hours. I even had Brother Gabriel working one side as I worked the other. I starting cutting Jefferson’s hair and under estimated the volume of black tight curls. When I was done his head was nearly shaved, which was his request. He didn’t seem to mind the length of time and was very gracious. Of course he had a buddy talking with him and handing him cigarettes and water from time to time. My only concern was not to cut him with the scissors. I rinsed his head and he gave me a hug and a hand shake. I told me thank you and I thank him for being so easy going.

It was shown to the shaving station and I asked for a quick lession. A light featured young woman with short dark hair, and a long heavy brown shirt walked over with a razor and cup of water. Her name was Mariane and she was a formando, and she spoke English. I met her earlier in the morning when she gave Brother a big hug and talked with me about the goings on of this mission. Mariane’s home town is Governador Valadares, in the state north of Sao Paulo called Mina Gerais, and it is where Br. Gabriel has lived for around two years. Mariane’s family is very active in the Fraternity and her mother and brother are lay associates. Governador Valadares will be my home for about two months, after this week in Sao Paulo.

She was having a small issue shaving a part of our man’s neck, so I asked to help. I turned out to be good at shaving, so I asked if I could help with other men needing a shave. The next two men I shaved went smoothly, only a few nicks, but nothing serious. Mariane was a great translator and when we had to go, she told me to hug her family for her.

Even with a language barrier, the sons, the Fraternity members, and I smiled and laughed for the few hours we were together. The action of cutting hair and shaving someone is humbling, because you are at the service of that person. Once you are invested, you are caring for someone, and that energy is grounding. You are required to take the time to slow down and focus. Yes the guys walk away cleaner and manicured, but beyond that is a kind touch, affirming their value as human beings.

We walked back by the preacher still yelling into his microphone, and the people around shielding from the nose of it. I asked brother about that man preaching in the square. “What is he saying? Does he talk about the homeless here?”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“But what about the homeless, is he speaking for them? They’re everywhere.” I realized brother was lost, because I was talking too fast.

Brother explained only what he knew, “We are here most days with the sons and daughters, and the preachers are here too.”

I think of the grand buildings of justice and the cathedral that overlook the whole of this very wild scene. They are silent as the only sound cresting the portable speakers is the midday traffic racing around the plaza.

***

Below is the English versions of the Fraternities newsletter:

Removal of Homeless from the Streets in Viaduto Bresser, Sao Paulo.

The religious and lay-associates of our Community were with Father Julio Lancellotti, in Viaduto Bresser in Sao Paulo, together with the homeless who were removed violently, having their tents and other personal items burned, as well as personal documents.

***

In order to give you reference. The area in the article above is a ten to twenty minutes by foot or transit from the city center in an area.

From my research, the Brazilian Press does discuss the social problem of the homeless. But I hear very little about the police’s push of the homeless from areas in Sao Paul. The area I was in one month ago was reportedly broken up and many homeless relocated to other locations in the city.

The unsightly nature of the poor communities is never removed by the police and governments of the world. It is a reflection of the societies in which it resides. The care to the least of our brothers and sisters is the mirror for us to know our true priorities, and where as a collective society we align our values.