King of Sampa

Alemão is homeless, over sixty years old and from what I can tell quite possibly schizophrenic. He lives under a tree on a overpass in an upper class neighborhood.

On every ocassion that I have visited him he talks to me of multi million robbery, fraud, extorsion, murder and rape that ocurred twenty years ago. In this crime, an American was killed. As far as I can understand this American, named David, got involved with a woman who betrayed him because she was actually the lover of a man in the Comando Vermelho criminal organization. Somewhere along the story the man was killed, for his money and the woman's daughter was also raped in the process. Somewhere else along the line a transvestite appears, as usual?

Alemão also says, the criminals are waiting for him to die so that his mother will inherit the loot, located in his bank account which he cannot access because he lacks proper ID but is to his mother;s name. So the criminals are actually after his mother. How old would she be now?

He may be mentally ill, but it fascinates me every time I visit him to hear this story and try to make sense of the pieces he offers me in bits. His story actually never changes which makes me ever more curious. Yet, what really fascinates me his will and power to survive, feed his dog and apparently look quite happy.

On the first photograph above he was describing to me a king that had lost his clothes and tried to sell them to him as authentic.

10 Million Daily Users

It's 6:15 AM. The trains have been coming in from the periphery since 430 AM. They are packed. The Subway trains to get here to leave the city at 530 AM was packed too. It's at least a 45 min train ride in or out from the station.

Castles

Eight o'clock in the morning. Northern of Sao Paulo, Brasilandia to be exact. Inside the Jardim Elisa Maria neighborhood, a soft fog rolls through the neighborhood. A river, a very polluted one, runs at the bottom of the valley/ A sort of hidden "favela" it is.

These houses reminded me of ancient ruins in the deserts of Morocco. Like homes coming out of the mountain. Caves almost. Will these houses remain 200 years from now? 500? Will someone dig them up or will the city actaully urbanize these areas properly someday? I doubt it.

Exodus

The Prestes Maia 911 occupation by the MSTC, after a four year battle for a dignified home, has lost and the building is now being vacated.

Beyond the Roof of the City

It's about to rain and heavily. Some 3,000 families are camped out under improvised plastic tents since March 16, demanding proper housing. They are part of the the MTST (Movimento dos Trabalhadores Sem Teto). The movement has occupied a farm area of over 1,300 square meters, just outside the southern edge of the city of São Paulo, in Itapecerica da Serra. It's a political attempt to further the cause of the lack of proper habitat and part of on going race to reach Labor Day celebrations/protest.

It's sad to see these people here. Most of them really don't seem to know what they're doing. Many come from the northeast. Many have lost their jobs and can no longer pay rent. Others come from the adjoining urbanization and are supporting the movement. Many have abandoned the site too. It's most evident among the hundreds of abandoned single person tents.

The camp includes some small commerce, mostly bars. It's like the begining of another periphery. Yet the illusion is that this is a grand scale occupation when in fact the original 12,000 population has been leaving. The population now floats on a daily basis. However, it's important to note that these people are in dire need of a home and have been flowing from the inner middle of the city and past the periphery. In other words the city may have reached it's denominated urban limit, but the population grows and wants to lay down new concrete that will adjoin to it. The Meta city is growning alive and well.

I walked the camp from edge to edge with "Tres Reais", a sympathetic ex marine corp who abandoned the military, tired of seeing the abuse he had to give to his own people. In fact he himself has participated of various disoccupations. He is here now to fight against that and support the cause. And find a home.

Most of the people I met had the same, perhaps orchestrated answer? "We are here because we are homeless." Some I could admit looked the part. Others, like the young crew cooking barbecue inside a smokey tent, seemed to have come in for a laugh and to add to the list of families. They came from the neighboring urbanization. It doesn't matter really, as if these families are not enough, there are hundreds of them elsewhere in the city in worse conditions.

The rain finally came, in a downpour and with it the wind that lifted a few tents. I took shelter with a family who explained to me how they had lost their rent privileges due to a single delayed payment. Unemployment wasn't helping. The father of the family is mentally incapcitated. The daughter still breast feeding her first born was abandoned by her partner. Like so many other families I have met in the occupations, the female is leading the household.

When I left there was an assembly gathering. A relgious one and a political one to boost morale. The camp is scheduled for eviction on May 7. The MTST is trying to reach an agreement to move them out into an area under the control of the mayor of Itapecerica. Whatever happens, these people will add to the continuous flow and growth of this city.

Back to a Nowhere Home

Miriam used to live in the occupied Prestes Maia 911 in downtown Sao Paulo. Her youngest daughter, aged two, developed an allergy so severe to mold in the building it scaled her skin. The doctor told her she had to move out of wherever she was living. Miriam works as a social assitant for an NGO helping homeless people get off the street. This same NGO helped her buy a one room cinder block house on the periphery slum Jardim Pantanal. Was this a coincidence? I finally found a tie to the Prestes Maia occupation and to the expanding periphery settlements.

She bought the house for US$2,500. She has a paper entitling her to the house but the land on which it stands is owned by someone else, so it's ok until the owner claims the land. In other words someone built a cinder block house on illegal land and sold it. For Miriam to keep her job she has to get her children back into school. Downtown they all went to school. It's full of schools out in the Jardim Pantanal but there are three times as many children. After two months in the periphery she found school for her two eldest. She was thinking of taking the youngest with her downtown, drop her off at the kindergarden and then go to work. She starts work at 7 am. This means she would have to leave home at 430 am walk to the train for 30 min, take a 1 hour train, take the subway to the kindergarden and then go to work. Her social counselor prohibited her from leaving her home with her child at such early hours.

Miriam had been working for the NGO St. Lucia, where she had a contract offer for $US350 but upon entry they reduced it to less than $US250. Then they fired her and she received a new job offer before moving out to the periphery. She couldn't take it because of the prohibition by her social counselor. However Miriam is absolutely sure she can get a new job if she moves back to the downtown area. That will take months Her husband, who beats her frequently, stayed in the Prestes Maia because someone obviously had to put food on the table. So the family has a home now, has poor schooling for the children and the parents are seperated for better or worse.

Out here in the periphery her children have nothing to do but hang around the mean streets. Downtown they had a park one block away. Downtown there was infrastructure, restaurants, supermarkets, public transport, etc. Here there is nothing, her home doesn't even have a bathroom and she'e living in dangerous part of the slum. She now believes in the MSTC (Movimento Sem Teto do Centro), even if its corrupted. The MSTC is a socialist movement occupying abandoned buildings downtown, in an attempt to get people off the street or those who can't afford a rent. Miriam knows that no matter what she's not staying here. She's going back to the MSTC and to another occupied building. And she's going back to fight, because she's living proof as she says that when city hall evicts the over 250 families in the Prestes Maia and spreads them out in to the periphery the will have nothing, once again.

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).