Sunday Mass for the Masses

The Igreja Universal and its Evangelists soldiers are back. I say they are soldiers because they stand at attention outside the Prestes Maia and at church. They also, have a one track mind, Jesus is everything you will ever need they repeat to me. Any time a woman would exit the building, the man at left would signal the woman at left to pursue and attempt to convince her to go to church. There's really nothing wrong with having faith. But as you will see I question the legitimacy of their goals.

I came along because I was hoping to have access to the church. I have been refused to photograph the Igreja Universal ceremonies several times. There's been a long battle with the media accusing them of fraud and manipulation. The truth is that only 10 min. after the beginning of the ceremony the crowd was already marching up the stage to make donations, just like I had seen in the periphery. Little white envelopes full of cash were being dropped into a large glass box. It looked more like Jesus was getting monetary votes of approval. The preacher repetitively revolved his sermon on becasue you give the lord now he will give back. Invest in the lord, he says.

On the bus there I sat next to Maria da Lapa and three of her twelve children. I had not seen Maria in a while. Maria has confessed to being a nymphomaniac. Reason why she is a mother of 12? The eldest married and living in the building too, with her own three children. Maria, lost her home four years ago due to her husband's alcoholism. She was a bit depressed now, even knowing she was going to get an apartment in Itaquera. She kept asking me if I knew of an NGO that could help her get her kids back to school so she could "get them off her back" for a while. Maria doesn't want to work but she did finally confess she's going a crazy with eight children in her single room shack in the Prestes Maia.

When we arrive at the church and before letting the residents off, the soldiers make it perfectly clear that they are here because God wants them to be. There are no coincidences, they say. God wanted you to be here today because it is God who has helped you find a place to live and has commanded that your situation be resolved. As the residents got off the bus, me included, the soldiers blessed us our heads with holy water.


The theatre operatics were at work. I must say the Evangelists make up for the boredom of Catholicism. Going to church here is very participatory. Anyhow I was in and shooting! Ha! I didn't last more than five minutes before the security and a lawyer member pulled me aside to know why I was shooting. It didn't matter that I explained how I was documenting the goals of the Prestes Maia residents and how faith had helped them survive. I needed the permission of the preacher, too busy on stage now and who would certainly tell me I needed permission from central headquarters. I had visited that building in Santo Amaro last year, asking for permission. It looked more like the vautl or general headquarters of multinational. I never got a reply.

The lawyer and second in command here told me to come back next week. They did invite me to stick around for the ceremony. Can't you shoot after the ceremony, outside? they said. Useless I told them, the moment was now. And so, I left. It wasn't long before Helena, who had invited me rushed out to ask me back in. She said, if you can't shoot stay and listen to the lord, he has brought you here for another reason. God wanted you to come church today not to shoot pictures, she insisted.

The Preacher and his Wife

The evangelist church of the Assembleia de Deus (Assembly of God), like the Igreja Universal (Universal Church) is scattered through out the periphery slums of São Paulo, in small warehouse like units on almost every block. Some are well established, housing up to 300 people while other smaller satellites have only begun. Each block is a potential target area.

Right on the end of the "Duas Pistas", a long double sided avenue dividing the Jardim Pantanal from the Jardim Helena, lies the Assembly of God. It's also a reunion point Thursdays through Sundays for the the youth to gather, drink, flirt, dance and do drugs. I visited an Assembly of God church on Sunday, amidst the youth gathered outside. With me was Santa, sister of Donizete (the alcoholic I've been photographing) and daughter of Dona Fatima.

The decoration is minimal, but I couldn't help noticing how the altar was red with a white back drop and blue curtain on top. It looked more like a Republican gathering. I was going to photograph the preacher under his permission. Then a guest preacher showed up with his wife. He saw me with the camera and asked me if I took pictures? I said yes. Then he asked me if I was a photographer. Again I said yes. I was afraid he would ask me if I take pictures with the camera. He wanted as he said, "...just take five professional photos. It's for my new CD." Adalberto Junior and his wife, tour the eastern periphery of São Paulo promoting their CD's. His are speeches. Her's are songs for and of Jesus.

Adalberto was an odd character and his wife, to be honest, spooked me. His wife began singing to promote her new CD, US$6.50. Adalberto's speecher were US$5.00. People barely carry a dollar around here. In the meantime Pastor João was busy working the music board and playing guitar and bass for the day. Something like his day off.

Evangelism may not be my cup of tea and the preachers often scream too much and say little. It becomes like a brainwash often, repetitive nonesense. They're not all like that, but for the most part they are hard to follow. However, religion, and pentecoastal for most part in these areas provides food (rice and beans) and hope among the chaos. A great part of the people here suffer from durg abuse, alcoholism, domestic violence, loss and unemployment. The state is absent in all these social problems, but the evangelists are there every night of the week.

Adalbarto might not have made a lot of sense. And he tried childlishly to manipulate the little crowd into buying his CD. Amen!! he shouted, those who want my CD say amen!! No one. He then proceeded to bless pastor João and asked for another amen! Amen everyone shouted. He blessed then churh and asked for another amen!! Amen they all repeated. He then said say amen! if you want my CD or my wife's. The room was silent.

They're poor but they're not stupid Adalberto. I'm going to follow him on tour in exchange for his pictures. Could be quite a show.

Between Jesus and the Vice

It's 7:30 in the afternoon on a Saturday. I haven't been back here in seven months. I know this exactly because Marussia is not pregnant anymore and her baby is only two weeks old. She's 19. Tete's bar has also just closed yesterday after arguing over the rent with Edson. She's moved the bar into a darker part of the slum. It's good for her, there's a lot more alcoholics there, including the seven men there now, all drunk, including her husband. Tete has a thick moustache and she works hard. She worked and made more money as a hairdresser when she had her own beauty salon in the neighborhood. It's dark in this bar, cramped and humid. She left the salon business because like her husband she got lost in the booze.

I move on to Gel's house. He's got a new home and now runs a small theatre company in the back. The house used to be a party salon so he now uses the space for the theater and rents it out for parties too. A rave is about to begin in a couple hours, this time the drug of choice will be ecstasy, not the usual coke and grass. It's a private party, so Gel will lock the door later in the night. No one gets in no one gets out! A young cross eyed samba singer has showed up in a skimpy little outfit. Gel's prey for the night. I'm in a t-shirt, jeans and sandles and feeling comfortable. She's complaining how hot it is. She's begging for the fire to be put out.

The police in the last two months have been hitting hard, cracking down on the noise pollution they say. The neighborhood knows they're cracking down on them and the little fun they have in their lives. This is the periphery of one of the largest cities in the world. Two thirds of a near twenty million population lives on the margins of the city. They occupy it and they live here because when they got here 15 years ago there was nothing but the bush and the Tiete river. It was easy then now it's overcrowded and dangerous.

The Pesquero, slang for a pick up bar, used to lie on the back of neighborhood on the river's edge. The community knows it belongs to the PCC (Primeiro Comando Capital), but it's owners and members are retired. Some weeks ago a young girl turned the mafia boss, Sergio, into the police. The PCC went out on a manhunt to kill her. They killed her alright but she was the wrong girl. The police, under pressure of the newly elected right wing government, cracked down on them. They've know of their activity for some time but the police here have to look the other way sometimes if they want to survive too. The Pesquero was a drug trafficking joint and the best place to pick girls, drunk, stoned and high on expressing their sexuality. Most people told me they shut the place down because the original land owner wanted his land back. Why? Who could benefit from building anything out here?

It's late, past midnight, and I'm searching for Bola, a University of Sao Paulo, social worker student. He lives in the local public library run by a Marxist cultural group. I'll be spending the night there. Bola is hanging out with Wagner and others watching a DVD. I sit in and watch his 56 year old father under a 100W light bulb fixing wrist watches. Tomorrow he'll head downtown to a local street fair. Soon after the movie's over a small rat climbs out the window. Wagner's father starts to train the dog again to learn how to hunt it down.

The next morning I've gone looking for Dona Fia. I bumped into her 44 year old son Donizete. It's almost 11:30 am and he's drunk, can barely speak and much less walk. We head back to his house. One of his younger nieces, Vanessa, has returned to the neighborhood. She used to be part of the PCC until her partners in crime were killed in front of her. Seven days earlier to their death they had robbed a car at gunpoint in the exact same place. Four evangelists were inside. The driver handed over the car and told the assailant that he was handing him over to God. The next time they tried to rob a car, the police were waiting for them. Vanessa managed to get away and soon afterwards became an evangelist.

Her younger brother Eduardo was at the house too. The family lives in adjacent concrete blocks. One each for three sisters, a tiny hole in the wall for Donizete while Dona Fia lives up stairs in a dark brick room. Eduardo had a near fatal motorcycle accident two years ago. He's blind in one eye and partially crippled on one leg. He too was reborn into the Pentacostal faith soon after. Today he's at the house because he's left the temple and some of its followers in brand new Fiat have shown up to try to get him back in. Vanessa told me he's gone back to drug trafficking. The PCC now uses him as a transporter.

Vanessa and him at are odds over family troubles. They love each other but can't resolve their differences as she tries to steer him away from where she almost died. The room becomes an hallucinatory half bible half psychological therapy talk, where only Jesus can provide the answer to the devil's acts here present. The world is coming to an end they keep repeating. Earthquakes, wars, global warming are all signs that Jesus is coming back. Vanessa cries in frustration too because upon her return to the neighborhood, within an hour, her cell phone has been robbed and she has been accused of stealing someones credit card to purchase it. The same people she says have her cell phone.

Saint Mathew is being read by the evangelist couple. The couple describes how they too survived a near death experience where killers came to their house in search of the husband. Jesus of course made sure they were saved. Donizete sits in a corner yelling, "It's all lies". His mother Dona Fia threatens him with a sandal. It all ends in a circle of prayer for the family, for Eduardo, for Vanessa, for Donizete and for the photographer who has joined them on this gathering under the word of Jesus.

Vanessa heads around the corner to the local bar. She's drinking beer with her cousin as her nine month old child sucks on dirty lollipop that has fallen to the ground more times than she has. She tells me she's coming back to the neighborhood as soon as she either leaves her husband or gets him off the drugs. Alex, is at the bar too. He's 21 yrs old. I haven't seen him in seven months and he looks as happy go lucky as ever.

Alex has three kids from three different women. None of them let him see his kids. He became an orphan shortly after his father brought home the AIDS virus to his mother. Alex says his father denied it until he died of AIDS too, shortly afterwards. His father engaged in prostitution regularly. His only family is his older sister, abandoned by her husband with seven children. The eldest seventeen. Alex's new girlfriend has gotten him a job at a chocolate factory where her father manages the place. He's optimistic. Fabiano, a friend of Gel's theatre company is hanging out with Alex at the house with his soon to be wife and her child. She got pregnant when she was 17. I ask them about Jacqueline and her sister Evelayne. I had been shooting Jacqueline shortly after she gave birth at 17. Alex could not recall. I could and how he had hit on both of them. When I showed him the pictures he remembered. He also remembered having slept with both of them.


Sex here is like a cigarette, you have so many of them you only remember those that burnt your fingers, or those you got pregnant. Condoms are so easily available it's not a question of sex education. The girls don't pressure the boys to use them because it's a good way to trap them or to get up on the social scale and pounce around saying your a mother now, an adult, somebody!

Life is short and feeling as much joy as possible is not a priority, it's a right you can't deny yourself here. I stayed on talking about sex and it's meaning. It's wild here, they say, I don't know what to tell you. They kept on drinking cheap wine, the "Nightrain" like stuff Guns N' Roses sings about during their junkie days in Los Angeles. It's well past 4 pm and I'm drunk. Time to get some lunch. I find David and Cimar smoking a joint in the corner. That's another story to tell, but like the local Hip Hop group Os Racionais says, "periferia é periferia... em qualquer lugar" (anywhere you go.. the periphery is the periphery).