Irregularity

So I've picked my brain to come up with what I would call "regular" in my life hear. Here's the short list.

1. The digestive system, probably due to beans served with every meal, very few preservatives in prepared foods (which are also very few), lots of strong coffee served "puro" (black as coal), and the abundance of fruit and their juices. Every store could be considered a form of "whole foods".

2. My maid, who has not missed a day of work in six months. Now, what she does when she's here I consider to be very irregular. She spends hours polishing the granite floor and doesn't take a cloth to the sticky tile in the kitchen. But who's complaining? I HAVE A MAID THAT COMES TWO DAYS A WEEK. I'm surely not complaining.

3. The delivery man from the bakery that delivers breakfast to the guards every morning. You could set your watch by him.

4. My 5:00 glass of wine.

That's it off the top of my head. In the Summer months I could add the huge rain storms that roll in a round 3, but it's not Summer so they're a still a distant memory. All else, just doesn't stay the same. Here's my list of "irregulars"

1. The school bus. It's is either 10 minutes early or 10 minutes late, so we just aim for in between.

2. The weather now is erratic, very much lie Michigan during change of seasons. Yesterday it was 90 and sunny, today it's 60 and raining.

3. Offerings at the grocery store. One day you find ten different American candy bars. The next week, not one. This goes for domestic brands as well. Don't get too attached to something. You may never find it again.

4. Consistency of name brands. You buy three packs of the same bacon brand and they look and taste completely different, one thin, one more smoky, and one that is almost all fat. Not sure if this is due to lack of regulations, changing suppliers, or inconsistent pig feed. It's true of many products, though very apparent when it takes three packs of bacon for one meal.

5. Network programming has no rhyme or reason. I was so excited to find a channel with Oprah at 4. That lasted two days. The next time I tuned in, it was a creepy Shirley Temple look alike, speaking in Portuguese.

6. Store hours. You may head to the mall on a Sunday and expect the stores to be open by 2, when in fact, they don't have to open at all. Opening for business is an option, even in a mall. You'll have more options to shop at 4, as there aren't really "regular store hours" here. I don't recall ever seeing an "hours of operation" sign.

7. The traffic. Although there is traditional rush hour here, you never know when you'll encounter a major traffic jam. It can be 10:30 on a Tuesday on a street that is normally smooth sailing, and BAM, the traffic is dead stopped. There's never a visible reason for it.

8. The language. Although the entire country speaks Portuguese, every city, state, region, family, and economic level, has it's own version. No one speaks "Rosetta Stone". When in doubt, remove the consonants and slur.

For a person who likes a routine, consistency, and "the expected", Sao Paulo could be a very challenging place to find comfort. As one who has been working on my "going with the flowness" for a few years, it's a place of constant immersion therapy. Just a few tips to cope - never leave home without something to read, an umbrella, and a GPS. On a regular day, you may find yourself detoured, an hour early, and caught in a rainstorm, all on the same errand to a store that has yet to open. The good news is that there will be a delicious cup of coffee within walking distance and a clean apartment when you get home. There are a few things in Sao Paulo you can bet on...and if you have a bad day here, you can rest assured that tomorrow won't be the same. It may still be bad, but it will definately be different.

Mrs. Albertina Conde, Betina's Mother

That was the subject line in an email from Saint Francis, the kid's school, six days ago. I was a little excited thinking that Camryn had once again received an invitation to a classmate's house. You see, many times I've received invites delivered through the school, as they're not allowed to release other students contact information. Boy was I wrong.

The body of the email conveyed in a few sentences, that Mrs. Albertina Conde, Mother of Betina Conde had died the night before and her burial was that day at 2pm. WHAT?!? I'd like to say that I thought "poor Betina" and went about my day, but the truth was, I couldn't stop (and haven't stopped) thinking of that little girl and her family.

I immediately located last year's Yearbook and went from class to class trying to find Betina. I found her in Kindergarden, a year older than Camryn. Then as I paged through to find pictures of Aidan and Camryn's teachers, there they were. Betina and her Mother, a large candid of their smiling faces at an event we also attended. I remembered them from that day.

Well, that was when the tears started, the tears that continued for the entire day, the tears that came from somewhere I still don't understand. I'm still fighting back my sadness as I write this post, a post that's been on my mind since then. I have a small idea why it made me so sad and still chokes me up. It was the thought of that little girl coming home from school on Thursday to her Mommy and then burying her in the ground on Friday. I was in culture shock.

Since then, I've taken a little time to learn about death rituals in Brazil. What I've learned has explained the business like email from the school and the quick burial that day. It's also got me thinking of the emotional value of handling death the Brazilian way.

When a death occurs in Brazil, the body is buried within 24 hours. Although I first thought this was strictly due to the lack of embalming in South America, I didn't run across any reference to that fact. What I did learn, is that once a person is no longer alive, the "body" is just that, a body. There's no reason to keep it around. The family and friends in the immediate vicinity gather at the grave sight and watch the burying of the body. This is attended in normal attire, not fancy or austere funeral clothes, a "come as you are" affair. Thus the email from the school inviting us all to take part. This is the more "public" part of the ritual which then allows for the true grieving process to begin, the one that is more private. This is considered "day 1" of 7.

I can only speculate what the next six days are spent doing, but I do know that this is when the long distance relatives travel from afar and surround the bereaved. They often stay together, they share meals, sleep when they're tired, and cry as much or as little as they want. In my family, this would probably be a time for memories, laughter, tears, and hugs. It sounds so much better than sitting in a funeral home, on a set schedule, trying to forget that there is a dead body that looks nothing like the person you loved, laying in the background.

On the seventh day in Brazil, there is a memorial, a mass, or in some cases, just a laying of flowers on the grave, depending on the religious affiliation. After seven days, life attempts to get back to normal.

Before I took the time to learn about this, I thought how awful it was that Brazilians rushed through the grief process, how cold it was for Saint Francis to send that email. Now I know how wrong I was. I feel better knowing that Betina has been surrounded this last week by people that love her and her Mom. Tomorrow is day seven, and on day eight, the family will leave town, go back to work, go back to school and life will go on for a little girl in Brazil.

She was just a name and a face to me, but meant to touch my life for some reason.

Rest in peace Mrs Albertina Conde.

Thank you for prompting me to learn about my new culture and reminding me how life can change in an instant.

Note: I may have interpreted some rituals incorrectly, so if you know differently, please comment and teach me some more.

The Help

I've always liked to blog about topics that relate to current events, which has been a little hard now that we're living in Brazil, but the hot topic on FB this week seems to be the opening of "The Help" at theaters. I read the book a few years ago and put it my short list as being one of my favorites. I too would be anxious to see the movie and probably sorely disappointed that it didn't equal the book.

When I read the book, sitting at the pool at Hard Rock Hotel in Orlando, I never thought I'd be able to relate my life to it in any way. Yet here I sit today in my living room in Brazil, listening to my Help sing Brazilian gospel music as she hangs the laundry to dry.

My Helps name in Terezinha. She speaks zero English. We communicate by gesturing, Google translate, my bad Portuguese and occasionally my good friend Jennifer as translator. Terezinha spends two days a week at my apartment from 7:30am to 4pm. She gets paid about $100 us dollars a week and is very happy to be here. Me on the other hand, am just getting used to the idea of having another person in my space, touching our things, washing our underwear and cleaning up our messes.

When we came to Brazil, I was adamant that I didn't want any help. Little did I know that having help in Brazil is much more a social status requirement than an indication of whether you can handle your own household chores. I really thought I was going to be one of the rare expats that didn't hire a maid. I also thought I'd be able to keep this apartment clean on my own. What I didn't know, was the amount of grime living in a polluted city did to every surface in your house, how different all the cleaning products were, and how much pressure David was getting at work regarding the expectations of contributing to the Brazilian economy.

After weeks of dirty feet, dull floors, and encouragement from Visteon, we were finally placed with Terezinha, a transfer from another Visteon employee that was leaving Brazil.

She came to us with lots of things she wouldn't do and I accepted her with no expectations. My philosophy is still that any work she does, is less work that I have to do. She has managed to remove a few years of dirt build-up, make the entire apartment gleam, and has now started to offer to do the things she once refused.

After six months, I've finally managed to live as normal when she's here and accept the man power that she provides. The hardest obstacle for me has been not feeling guilty that a 60 year old woman is working hard and I may be sitting down reading a book. What I keep being reminded of is how grateful she is to have this job and how the money she makes is actually considered a good salary in Sao Paulo.

The language barrier has been a little difficult, but has also been a blessing in keeping our relationship completely professional. I think if we easily talked about our lives, the poor woman would be stuck chatting with me half the day. As it is, she does her job as she sees fit and I go about my day like she's not here.

Just a few tidbits about domestic help in Brazil:

Terezinha is what they call a Diarista, meaning a "day maid". Day maids work no more than two days a week for the same family and are paid by the day for their services only. A maid that works more than two days is considered full-time, and as their employer, you are required by law to pay their taxes, re-imburse for transportation, provide lunch every day, and give paid vacations and holidays. As labor laws become more complicated and salaries increase with inflation, more and more Brazilians are employing day maids, although most Brazilians and expats I know employ their maids full time.

Any Help in Brazil is treated as such and are required to take a service elevator and use a service entrance into the residence. Most residences have a maid's room where the maid rests , eats and uses their own bathroom. This has been a hard practice for me to get used to. I've often invited Terezinha to lunch in the kitchen or dining room, but she insists on eating in her little room instead. I now realize she's comfortable in her place.

As I recall the civil rights movement in the book "The Help", I can't help but wonder when Terezinha won't be comfortable eating lunch in her little room or if she resents me now but keeps her mouth shut. These are things I'd like to talk about if I could speak Portuguese enough to understand her, not how I want my T-shirts folded. I already see the language changing on modern Brazilian floor plans. There are no longer "maid's" rooms, but "utility" areas. I hope in the future, a separate bathroom for the maid in Brazil, sounds as crazy as a separate drinking fountain for blacks in the US does.

I know I can't change this foreign world in a year or two, especially when I can't speak the language, but it does just take one voice and someone willing to listen. Until then, I'll just graciously enjoy the help and continue to invite her to eat in the dining room.