Some "higgledy-piggledy houses"

On my travels so far, I had enjoyed wandering away from the tourist attractions - seeing how the 'real' people of a city live, popping into a local's cafe, maybe having a game of pool in a bar. So on spying my first favella near the Maracana soccer stadium, I pulled up my shorts, hitched my thumbs under the straps of my little rucksack and put my best skinny white traveller foot forward.

The guidebook was right on one count - the maze-like, rambling streets enticed me in and did their best to get me lost. I was trying to work my way to the top of the hill, but each street seemed to end in a cul-de-sac, or at someone's front door, forcing me to retrace to the last junction and try again.

The houses were like nothing I had seen before - each one was a little shack thrown together from a pile of bricks and a couple of breezeblocks by a person who had already drunk the fluid out of his spirit level. As room to build new houses had run out, there was only one solution - applying for planning permission must have been along the lines of "I want to put my house on your roof, that's OK by you isn't it?" What, from a distance, looked like a miracle of planning and building to have got the houses fitting together so closely, turned out, on closer inspection, to be just a miracle. I'm sure the phrase 'safe as houses' - widely used in Britain - is not part of the Brazilian language.

Wandering the streets past, but not too close to, these little houses, seemed like so much fun (despite the occasional rat and huge mound of festering rubbish), but I now realize that my angel must have been working overtime.

The people I saw in the favella seemed really happy despite their poor and precarious surroundings, and their rather tatty clothes. Kids were out in the street playing soccer (of course!), young teenagers would buzz past on their trail bikes, and music blared out from all sides. Everyone was full of life in the way that only carioca's (people from Rio) can be. To me, people being happy, despite being poor, was what life was all about - proof that we'd got our priorities so totally wrong in Britain. And I had not seen anywhere that that applied more than here.

The favella

After twenty minutes or so poking my nose around, and getting mostly warm smiles, but the occasional odd look from the locals, I wandered back down, as I had a ticket to the Maracana stadium to see Fluminense ("Nense!, Nense!, Nense!") take on Botafogo ("Botafogo!, Botafogo!, Botafogo!"). As I left the favella my angel must have gone off for a long lie down.

The next day, whilst having a typically tasty Rio cheeseburger and passion-fruit juice in a cafe in the Catete area of Rio, where I was staying, I was approached by a grizzled looking Canadian with clattery false teeth, apparently an 'Nam vet, called Richard. He told me he was one of only two people in Rio who could take me on a guided tour around a favella, and the only one who would do it on foot. I told him not to worry, as I had already been around one myself.

When he had recovered his composure, and replaced his teeth, he told me how stupid I had been, and proceeded to stand up and tell everyone in the cafe what I had done, receiving the appropriate incredulous looks. I agreed to accompany him on one of his own tours the next day, and headed off to do some research in the local book shop.

This is what I found out...

Each day in the Rio favellas there are an average of 13 murders, down from 40 a day in the early 90's. Four of those 13 murders are of children. That's because the children help the different drug cartels that virtually own each favella. The main reason that the average has come down from 40 is that the local police have been forced to stop sending in their own illegal death squads to kill people. It's been known for tourists to wander in, and later to be deposited on the other side of the city minus money, belongings and clothes. Most people who live in a favella have some kind of gun - someone from a nearbly favella had recently shot down a police helicopter with a rocket launcher. See the film City of God for more details!

So I joined the tour rather more clued up and distinctly more concerned than on my previous visit - Richard had an agreement with the drug gangs of one favella to do walking tours, providing he slipped them some money. We met the sentries on guard at the bottom of the road, had plenty of bullet holes pointed out to us, drank beer in a local bar, visited the cartel boss's luxury (in favella terms!) house, and Richard recounted stories of gang war, police brutality, and how a German tourist who demanded that a local show him a gun almost met his end. I felt reasonably safe with Richard - he did seem to have a rapport with the locals in charge. Apparently, the other favella guide - Marcel - does his tours from within a van, so you don't feel quite as intimate with the locals, although you can make a quick getaway if necessary!

No Stress

Richard can be found in Catete, in the bars or the casino - the bouncers will know where to find him, but he will probably find you first! He's quite a pushy character, and if you meet him, you should be quite firm with him, as he will try and sell you all sorts of other tourist activities that you don't want to do. However, he can take you on a fascinating tour!

I loved the buzz, the fun and the excitement of Rio so much that I will definitely go back one day. I was mugged three times in my two months there, so a certain amount of street wisdom is essential when wandering around away from the tourist areas, but the rewards are worth it! I would never go into a favella on my own again, and I've been extremely kind to my angel ever since!

Questions?
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