Chandi Guestblogs

It is me.  Chandi.  Do let me grace your ears with an ode to Salvador.

You all might know that I love me some author of obrigadabrasil.  Love her from the top of my real hair, through my fake fake ponytails, through my synapses and veins, to the bottom of my formerly aching feet.  It was my great pleasure to meet her in such a locale as Salvador.  Before I got on my plane on Thursday, July 15th, I was suffering.  See, I did not know that I was suffering.  Suffering from over-stimulation, lack of apprecation (me of others, others of me), physical burnout, slightly oppressive self-consciousness...and more.  Salvador, even if temporarily, cured me.  No more nerve ending twinges - no creeping headaches - no aching feet in the morning - I am refreshed.  I touched down in Salvador.  I spotted my very, very tanned, beloved friend, ecstatic, waiting for me.  She deftly negotiated in some very very competent porteugese, our arrival back to porto de barra and the start of some good southern healing.

This is why, you too, should go to Salvador.  I am 29 years old, but I have never had a completely relaxing vacation.  Childhood doesn't count - I was angry for not being independent then.  Even when I went with M to her parents' spot in the Sea Islands of South Carolina, I was making photo albums, writing post cards, watching T.V.  - being a busy lady.  Well, as I looked out the 10 foot by 8 foot window of the apartment living room, wide open, to see the sea - I chilled.  5 floors up, air that kisses your skin, no mobile phone, no home phone, no planner, no real appointments, a t.v. but one that was almost never on, I let my mind rest.  You can do that in Salvador.  It is okay.  As Jill would say, "no jacket, no umbrella, just warm."  You cannot help but smile in Salvador.

And the people.  I read in some academic journal, a comparison between race politics in the U.S. and Brazil.  The author called the U.S. system one of segregation and exclusion, while the Brazilian system was called one of integration and domination.  Having said that,  without analyzing how domination takes form, and while I believe that Brazil has the capacity to be appreciative of all people, as a person of color, I just felt...right.  Being American probably let me close my eyes to some of the ills of oppression, which I know exist.  Before giving myself away with my non-portugese speaking self, I was able to flow with life in Salvador.  No turned heads, no questions asked.  I belonged.  No need to worry about my tummy pouching out - no need to contemplate my semi-permed natural hair, and my completely kinky purchased attached ponytail - I fit right in.  No need to hurry my gait, no need to navigate stares that say "ooh, you are exotic, you are a black person, here."  Nope, the only stares were occasional ones of appreciation - of atavistic recognition.  Stares that say "you are just like me.  haven't we met before?  maybe we can meet now."  And the words.  Well, I don't speak porteugese, but I know I didn't hear disparagement or filth.  Other cultures might be extravagant in compliments, but how can you not appreciate hearing "beleza," and the walker keeps walking.  You don't get called a bitch if you don't answer.  You brush up against an unsuspecting sister on the street, it's all good - a smile and a "descupe" from both parties, and everyone keeps walking.  Maybe southern manners are the norm everywhere  -  being warm must keep people acting nice. 

And how good is it to see what looks like a hip-hop crowd, shaking their hips and picking up their feet to live samba... hours on end.  One sister grabs your hand, you join the circle, you shake, you laugh.  For a minute, your mind doesn't get it.  And why are all the Black boys called Luis, Lauzaro, Hernando, Sergio, Ronaldo?  I'm like what - but shouldn't your name be...Joe.  Or Rasheed.  Huh?  Nope.  I say to self - Chandi, relax your mind - this is Salvador.  Isso, Chandi.  This is Salvador.   And as the clerk at the local grocer asks for a second form of id for my credit card (cause hey, they are the bomb, and I can pay with my credit card - go development), and I am like what, I don't have other id with me - and then she looks at my name - hears my non-port speaking self and says (I am told by M) "oh, that MUST be YOUR name."  I get it.  Here, my name is not the norm - Black people here don't have names like Chandi - I have to relax my mind, don't I.  Cause, I, thanks to people who love me, am in Salvador.

Here in Salvador, you eat food that is a true cross betweenWest African fried mashed black eye peas in palm oil and African American rice and gravy.  You gaze at architecture that rivals the most beautiful in the world - you stroll on cobblestone - okay, not in mules with pointy heels - but do as the Salvadorans do, and put on your flip-flops - you'll be fine.  I can choose to challenge myself with capoiera - or lay on the beautiful wooden sofa with lovely cushion and stare at the sea for hours on end.  You laugh and play with grown people - who know that it is okay to laugh and play.  Late for lunch  - no problem.  Beijos all around.  Want two kisses?  Muah, muah.  (and an extra squeeze, just because you are so cute)

 
Here in Salvador, your new friends blow peanut skins off the peanuts for you, warm the naked peanuts in their hand, and then present them to you.  Antiseptic American, you thank them "obrigada" and toss them away.  while they are not looking.  (cause my mind was not quite that relaxed.)  Your new friends, name unknown, share their 40 ozs of watery beer.  :-)  In little plastic swish cups.  In club hole in the wall.  With one light bulb dangling precariously, while the band, man with tiny guitar and all, play from their souls.  And you say "obrigada."  And soak it all in.  And when your new friend who has driven you to club whole in the wall says - "Agencia va"  (We the people, we go - because we in Salvador, is always we the people)  and it is raining.  You do - and you don't worry about your sleek, lovely ponytail attachment getting drenched - you beatbox in the streets, hold hands with your girls, take off your shoes. And say "obrigada brasil - obrigada."