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As a model for change, Bahia Street is exciting. It is doing what few “development” projects are able to do—namely, to effect change in an international partnership that gradually passes power from the part of the organization granting the funding to the part of the organization doing the on-the-ground change. In this way, Bahia Street is empowering not only the girls, but all of us involved in the infrastructure as well.

Abraços,

Margaret

part three

laughter lessons

twenty-three

leaves of understanding

“Oh, oh. Here she comes.”

Rita and I were sitting at the comida a quilo where we often went for lunch. We had invited Karey to join us.

There was a slang term common in Bahia at that time, amizade colorida, meaning a friendly relationship with spur of the moment privileges. These coloridas did not have the quality of the “one-night-stand” in the States. Literally, colorida could be translated as having “color in your cheeks”’ in keeping with the Brazilian idea that it is healthy to have sex.

So, as Karey approached, Rita said, “Karey’s cheeks look colorida, but not the way we would hope.”

Our intern Karey was having trouble in Salvador. Rita had asked me to talk with her and give her some support when I arrived, but I wasn’t sure I could help. Karey expected the girls to be as adorable in their behavior as they appeared in their photos. She wanted to control them in class. She couldn’t. Nothing in her life’s experience had prepared her to deal with children this disturbed. We should not have interns, I told Rita. It’s a disaster.

Life was altogether hard for Karey in Salvador. She wanted to do her capoeira, but people took her money for nothing, deceived her in various ways (a well-established capoeira art form in itself actually). She said she was lonely and that she constantly felt out of place. Being Jewish, she had thought she could find connections in a Salvador Jewish community, but their practice was so different from what she knew in the States that she only felt alienated.

Karey also couldn’t handle the street comments from the men. She reacted the way most United States women would, feeling that these comments were meant to humiliate her. I wasn’t sure I could teach her, as Luzia had for me, to take a street power for herself, to play with flirtation, trade power play for street power play and to keep her strength for herself.

Rita liked Karey and also felt responsible for her. She wanted Karey to feel happy, to relax into Bahia. Neither of us was sure what to do.

When Karey reached our table, she slammed herself down into the chair beside us.

“Brazilians are barbarians!” she burst out. “How can this country consider itself civilized? I don’t see how I can possibly live here. I don’t want to even stay here anymore!”

Rita glanced at me as I glanced at her. “What seems to be the problem?” I asked Karey.

Her eyes took the shiny look of gathering tears.

“Last Saturday was Passover, so I went to the synagogue, but no one was there. I found the rabbi and asked him where everyone was, what was happening. He apologized, saying he was sorry I hadn’t heard, but there was a very important soccer game this weekend, and as no one would have come to Passover at the same time as a soccer game anyway, they had postponed Passover celebrations until Tuesday!” She slapped the table, a hard snap that echoed around the room. Other customers glanced at us, then looked away. “They moved Passover for a soccer game! What kind of country is this?”

Rita looked at me, and I could see that she was trying not to smile. “In Brazil, we have many faiths,” she said, “but soccer is the central religion.” Karey turned her head away. “And,” Rita continued very gently, “this is Bahia. People take their spirituality inside them. But the outside ceremonies, we are relaxed about that. It doesn’t really matter what day we celebrate Passover, does it? If Tuesday, the synagogue