Dance Lest We All Fall Down - Margaret Willson [94]
We sat in silence for a few minutes. I asked Nelson for some sparkling water. Rita asked him to bring a glass for her as well.
“Seems strange someone actually trying to take over Bahia Street, this little idea that you and I had a couple of years ago.”
“Yes,” Rita said. “Once we have done the work, with no salaries, of setting it up.”
“So, Rita,” I said hesitantly, “why can’t you just fire Ana? I mean you hired her. Just say she doesn’t fit and give her notice.”
Rita shook her head. “It’s not that easy. Ana is very well-connected in Salvador. She could make things very difficult for us.” She paused. “I have to be more political. I have to let her go, but let her think that she is deciding to go.”
I smiled. “You are becoming a director, Rita.”
“I have to keep her as a friend—she is a friend. It’s complicated.” She looked up. “I may be able to have her move into a position as a consultant and then say we don’t have money for that in a few months. She thinks we have tons of money because you’re involved, but at least that would get her out of the classroom where she’s causing so much unrest. And, she would like being called a consultant.”
“So, we would basically be paying her some of our hard-earned money to do nothing so she doesn’t destroy what we have worked so hard to create?”
“Yeah. That’s about right.”
“So, since you almost never use your salary, she is, and will, be making more than you… for doing nothing.”
“Yeah.”
“So I propose a compromise.”
“What’s that?” Rita looked at me guardedly over the top of her water glass.
“You take your salary so you can continue your photography for the joy of it rather than having to do whatever to support yourself while you do a full-time job at Bahia Street. And we pay her for as short a time as possible.”
“Most people in Bahia hold two or even three full-time jobs, you know.”
“Yes, I do know, but I’m not talking about them, I’m talking about you. If you get sick, or just too tired, this whole thing falls apart.”
“True.”
“So?”
“How are we going to pay for this, Margaret?”
“I don’t know. I’ll think of something.”
“Becoming indispensable is a trap.”
I shrugged. “You think I haven’t figured that out yet?” Rita smiled. “Sure, you have a compromise.”
“To survival?”
Rita raised her glass. I raised mine. “To survival.”
To a Mailing List of 110: May 18, 2000
Dear Volunteers, Donors, and Friends,
Our Bahia Street dock keeps moving as I am trying to write on the computer—a very strange sensation, especially on this anniversary of Mount St. Helens’ eruption…
I recently returned from Brazil, and on the way, got stuck in Chicago for two days because of plane problems, but finally arrived in Salvador to give a paper on Bahia Street for a symposium on race, class and gender. Participants for the symposium came from all over the world, and it was a wonderful meeting of ideas and connections. Rita, Ana, and the mother of one of the girls all came to comment and discuss the paper I presented with others in the symposium. I might emphasize how unusual it is at an academic conference for the people being written about to actually participate in the discussion (in fact it is essentially unheard of and made several people nervous.) It did, however, make for a fascinating and lively discussion and considerably expanded contacts for Bahia Street.
The rest of the time I spent visiting the girls and working with Rita. She is working very hard to find us a new space for the tutoring. The Church of the Blacks is generously allowing us to use an upper balcony of the church for the tutoring, but it is noisy and very hot, making concentration difficult for the girls. We also do not have enough desks or chairs and the girls have to share a bench. The light is also not good. And the location, although about fifteen minutes walk from the school, is in the tourist