A Tale of Two Cities, From the South Zone to the South Side

 Cantagalo, Pavao, Pavaozinho from Terere's House

They say home is where the heart is, but my heart has been broken up and scattered across so many cities in so many countries that it feels like I’ll never find my way back home. I’m moving again tomorrow… to the 4th place in 3 months. I’m hoping this place will be a little more permanent than the previous places I’ve stayed (Note: I stay places, I do not live in them), but in all actuality, I may very well pick up and head down south “sometime in the beginning of the year”. 

2 boxes, 2 bags, 2 suitcases (one small, one carry one), 2 laundry baskets, 1 TV, and 2 hours. That’s all I need to pack up all my belongings. I should be going out to watch the fights tonight with my team, but I’m too tired to say goodbye, too tired to work through the complicated explanations of the unknown rhythm and reason of my chaotic life (I’m also .too sick to stay out to 2 A.M.)

The other day, y dad sent me a text message asking for the names and numbers of the people I would be staying with… maybe I can use living with this time.  It was early in the morning and I was either ubering or on the long expensive metro trip into the city for work. I was livid. 24 hours ago I didn’t know if I would have a place to live come Monday. I guess it was mentioned that I would have to leave in November, but since it was never brought up again and since my life is a constant series of unfortunate events that generally require my immediate attention, I let other problems become more of a priority. My life is permeated with the constant tension of uncertainty.

Would I find a place to live, would I have money for the rent, could I find money to pay for the metro to get to work, could I get work, would I have to sign a lease, would I have to break the lease in a month and move down South, how much would I have to pay to break the lease, who would move my stuff, might I have to accept failure and move back in with my dad in Pennsylvania for the first time in over 10 years? 

I could be sleeping under the same roof as rapists and murders, frankly, I didn't care as long as I had a place to stay and a way to make money. What did I care about names and numbers? A simple are you ok? How are you doing? Or, have you had a nervous breakdown yet? All seemed like more appropriate, less infuriating questions at the time. I was walking. Into the cold and through the industrial park across the street from my suburban safe haven where I often worried about getting attacked in the dark of night. After all, there were plenty of big trucks and empty spaces to be dragged into. It was a 30-minute trek to the metro station. Then I’m sprawled out with my book on a metro train, two trains to get to my new “home”.  I sat reading and nervously checking the deposit tucked away in my pocket. I was supposed to be in Philly with my dad already, but I had pushed back my trip home to visit my family in the pursuit of money, I couldn’t afford to miss work. I could no longer afford the persuit of happiness that had dominated my time in Rio. This is America. Time is money. Money is power. Everything else is irrelevant. 

“Can you even pay the rent?” Jesus Christ. He must have been running down a list of all the wrong things to say, one by one picking out and accentuating all my insecurities.

Once again uncertainty jarred my senses, leaving me paralyzed in an indecisive purgatory. Trapped between the two cities that I love. My steps fell heavy with hesitation. I eyed the remnants of the old city that clung desperately to its place in the world amid the influx of overpriced, hipster coffee shops inhabited by plaid shirt wearing lumberjacks whose pants are too short and whose glasses appeared to be the spoils of a retirement home theft. Since when had the entirety of D.C. converted into an Abercrombie and Fitch ad?

Chess at Dupont circle in between where I lift weights

and where I go to BJJ open mats in the city

Cotton dollars convert to steel anchors that weighed down my pockets, threatening to tear through the material and root me in debt to a city that I love, that I’ve missed, that I just don’t know if I can commit to. 

I could use the money to run. I could wake up in two days, running on the beach with the summer sun of Rio beating down on my back. Running towards the immaculate form of the dois Irmaos Mountains that border the beaches of Ipanema and Leblon. I could run up the 27 flights of stairs that lead to the favela, through the dark, narrow, labyrinth of the community. I could run home, where I had a home, but no address, where no one could find me. Hidden behind layers of secret passages guarded by armed dealers whose eyes searched hungrily for abusive police that threaten their lives, for evasive opportunities that could lead to a better life, for noxious drugs to numb their pain. 

 Police patrolling the strip in the favela with M16s

But when I look up I’m confronted by the friendly faces of the U.S. marines that carry small handguns, instead of the menacing threats of the Rio’s military police that wreak havoc on innocent people. It’s my country, but I’m still not sure if it's my home. 

Redskins hat in the Favela??

My new room is the size of a jail cell, but its 9 minutes away from the metro, which makes it convenient. 5 minutes away from the marine barracks, which makes it safe. Without a lease, which makes it a non-threatening (semi) commitment. The only nice neighborhood in S.E., D.C., which gives me the opportunity to cling to my ghetto pass. 

My new roommates do things like sip wine, discuss new recipes, explore the vast reaches of the world on grant money, close business deals in Geneva, qualify for security clearances, have BBQs on the back patio, and host movie nights on the weekend… you know, typical D.C. shit. I used to frequent that world on a daily basis. I used to rock climb, kayak, and plan curriculum that addressed multiple intelligences, but I gave all that up when I went to Brazil. 

Now I’m haunted by the images of kids that sit anxiously with empty eyes, clutching empty stomachs.  They bear their teeth in defiance, barefooted and gaunt chested thriving on pride instead of protein. There is little difference between poverty in the Dominican Republic, Brazil, and D.C. In all 3 cities, kids struggle. They lay aside the innocence of childhood and claim rights to adulthood at too young an age. Their dreams are just as malnourished as their bodies and survival is the only aspiration in their life. 

Meridian Hill Park, my favorite place in D.C.

Two blocks from the academy

There are 3 main things that have helped me in making this transition. That have grounded me without anchoring me. That have guided me without judging me. That have helped me in ways that I doubt they even realize. 

They would be: 

My coach, Rob, that has understood and advised me through the whole process.  My multiple families that, although they may not understand me, have supported me, feed me, and given me a place to lay my head. Lastly, the Academy, that has opened their doors and given me a way to preserve a little piece of Rio in my life and balance out the tension of uncertainty that rules my life. 

My coach Fabricio Silva after winning BJJ Pro

Thanks to sponsorship sent to Terere Kids Project

Doing an academy visit at Milton Vieira's gym in Rio

To be continued… 

Rumble in the Bronx

Trigger warning: this is probably not my best display of professional language

They say New York is the city that never sleeps. I may sound cliché, but it’s definitely a philosophy that I’ve embraced during my stay here.

Typically when in D.C. or when I’ve less willingly been dragged out to the suburbs of Philly, I train all day and stay in at night (I mean, unless there are fights on), but here in New York there is too little time, too many breweries, and too many people to see for me to try to sit around after training watching Power and Empire (but no I don’t watch Narcos).

This is my New York gansta face

After two extremely stressful months of trying to re-adjust to the American lifestyle and living in a perpetual state of “glorified homelessness”, coming to New York was a much-needed grounding experience for me. With the exception of one friend that I’ve known for 12 years, everyone I know in NY I met in Rio!

Word Is Bond 

I always say that I’m going to do stuff and then once I’ve told enough people it becomes inevitable. I have to do it. I always live up to my word. That’s why I ended up in Brazil, despite the fact that I didn’t know the language or have a lot of money (or ya know a visa). That’s how Terere Kids Project was founded. We made it through the first two years solely on my ability to front my own money and the faith that I could hustle it back before I starved to death. That’s why, despite a lack of any sort of solid foundation in DMV, I planned a trip to New York to re-integrate myself into the Jiu Jitsu lifestyle that I have been missing so much since I left Rio.

It's been beyond dope to see the spread of this logo throughout the world! 

FT Jiu Jitsu was already established but this particular logo was devised by 

Deus Fight Co and myself when I created the Terere Kids Project blog!

Once I’ve told enough people I’m going to do something, I do it.

Luckily one of the people I told was HT, a close friend from Rio who I consider to be my mentor in respects to writing and managing the social project. He also happens to be the senior editor of Flograppling, who happened to be streaming the IBJJF NoGi Pan American tournament in NY this past weekend. He was able to hook me up with a job working the event (if you watch any of the archived events… that was me!). Then I stayed for about a week after the comp, catching up with friends, doing a ton of academy visits, and for the first time ever, I got my hands on a professional camera to play around with.

Bronx Jiu Jitsu

BxJJ was one of the places that I knew I had to hit up on my trip considering my boy Fernando Reals, a brown belt under Shaolin and professor at his own social project, has made to pilgrimages down to the Mecca with his wife Justine, and little man Ernesto. Last year he brought a rack of people in tow, including Nat and Osiris, and Pabs Carela.

BxJJ is owned by Junior Ortega, a black belt under Shaolin, who was born and raised in the Bronx.  Opening the academy was his way of giving back to the community that raised him and the vibe is a straight up New York rude boy style. 

This was a refreshing approach to pedagogy for me seeing that anyone that has interacted with me in the last two months since arriving home from the mountainous concrete jungles of Rio running around in sports bras and yoga shorts, would know that censoring my language and transitioning back into the world of academia has been a struggle, to say the least.

Now I’m not trying to promote explicit language, but the fact that zero fucks were given as to what kind of vernacular was used just goes to show how at home everyone felt training there.

Despite the language, BxJJ is definitely a family oriented gym

Academy visits or I training at an academy that’s NOT in the favela normally entail a level of polite decorum that I’m capable of, but really prefer to reserve for when I’m being paid in a work setting.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m all about respect. I bow on and off the mats, tie my belt facing the wall, shake hands, and never ever arrive late to class (unless I take the wrong subway train and just don’t make it to class). But when it comes time to roll I like to put on trap music, forget about the world, and get down with my little killas. That’s what training at Terere’s was like. Fun, family, 50 cent, and 15-year-olds trying to berimbolo their way to your back and choke the shit out of you. 

Rolling up to Bronx Jiu Jitsu was like stepping right back on the mats with my brother Terere and all the kids from the community that I miss so much.

Another reason I really wanted to check out BxJJ was to see my boy Pab's new self-defense class. The sport of Jiu Jitsu has been blowing up lately, between MMA fighters trying to improve their ground game so that they avoid embarrassing choke out's like Conor McGregor suffered or women looking to get into better shape, the sport is growing more than ever! 

His class was pretty dope. We worked on break falls (that means falling on your ass correctly), practiced some Judo throws off haymakers (that's a big punch), and some grip breaks that lead to broken arms. The class is taught in a gi but focuses on real life, drunk in a Bronx brewery scenarios.  

Shaolin Jiu Jitsu

Polaris inteviewing Shoalin for his superfight with Terere 

So I’ve made several mentions that my beloved Bronx boys are all officially under the Shaolin BJJ name. Vitor Shaolin is a black belt under Nova Uniao’s Andre Pederneiras and teaches at a posh, playboy school located a few blocks away from time square.

I got invited to go to check out their afternoon competition class by Fernando and Junior, but ended up in Brooklyn instead of Manhattan because apparently I was supposed to go down and not up when entering the subway.

Note: I know it’s a few blocks from time square because I took the wrong train, missed training, had to get off the subway at union square to pee and find cell signal and decided instead of sulking around that area I would just take a 40 minute leisurely stroll to Shaolin’s and get up with HT from Flo and my boys from the Bronx and the end of the session.

Shaolin is actually scheduled for a super fight against my brother at the next Polaris event that will take place on October 29th in Poole England. Polaris was actually there at Shaolin’s so missing class was actually an EP

I've been in New York for less than a week but definitely have been through too much stuff to fit into one blog. So check back later for more on different academies (and breweries!). 

Coming Home.

Coming home was supposed to be the easy part. Or at least that’s what most people think. I think people expected me to just slip back into my old life. Startup teaching, buy a car, take on a rent, and maybe even go as far as to finish my research. That’s what most people expect, but not at all what I had in mind.

The only reason I came home was because of two weddings. Nicole and Torryn who were house managers at Connection Rio got married in Michigan last week, and Nicole Hess, from MiKiDo my gym and second family in VA, is getting married in September. I would have missed ONE wedding but seeing as both of them were getting married, I decided to come home.

On July 21st I left Rio and flew into Orlando, Florida to fight in a kickboxing tournament. My mom, her good friend Cindy, and my Coach Rob O’heran flew down to meet me in Florida. I lost my first fight to the tournament champion but it was the perfect was to start the repatriation process. I think they may be 3 of the only people in the world that actually understand the crazy shit I do as opposed to the people that just smile and nod and patiently wait for me to come home and do something “normal”.

Repatriations a B*tch

Training with Mestre De La Riva 

for an article I wrote for Digitsu

In the weeks before leaving Rio I didn’t really have time to dwell on the fact that I was leaving the Favela where I lived and the social project where I worked. I had a lot of weight to cut, packing to do, and an apartment to take care of so I didn't have time to think about goodbyes or enjoy an acai on the beach.

I’ve been through a lot of crazy shit in my 3 years in Brazil, bouncing back between zona sul and barra, Rio and Curitiba, but I always had Cantagalo (and Connection Rio) as my foundation. I trained Jiu Jitsu with Fernando Terere at the base of the favela, Boxing with Mestre Claudio at the top of the Favela, Muay Thai with Jorginho in Pavao, and everyone knew me in Galo. As consistent as the dealers were on corners, and the cops on patrol, I was always walking up or down the hill with a kimono or boxing gloves strapped across my back.  If I didn’t have money my boxing coach would feed me, if I was sad Terere would cheer me up, if I need a fade with no money I’d go chill with Pato, when I needed a place to stay Barba held me down, if I was bored I’d post up at the Rock. Training was a sure thing, 3 times a day and on holidays I could always slide by Connection Rio. I had a million little hustles to bring in money when I needed it, most of them capitalizing on my fluid ability to switch between various languages and my knowledge of the city.



Translating private lessons for Terere was a sweet job, highly educational. I taught English, mainly to fighters but also while sipping corporate coffee at Petrobras. I took Ron Weasley on a favela tour where he caught a glimpse of a ghost with an Uzi and sat on a legend’s coach. I’ve sat on street corners at 3 A.M waiting for Dominicans from the Bronx and at post 9 on Ipanema beach for some bearded Argentines. I learned to edit videos from a guy from Wales while sipping on Starbucks coffee a few blocks from the beach and conducted my first interviews with some of the most popular black belts in Rio.




Admittedly, it was anything but easy, but I apparently I flourish at the brink of chaos and confusion.
I’m so used to leaving, it’s become second nature, but coming back has been an awkward and uncomfortable process.


The GOOD

1.    Meeting my best friend’s baby, my niecey, for the first time.
I’ve missed weddings, funerals, and births since I’ve been gone. Its crazy to see how my crazy ass friends have turned into parents!

2.    Seeing my family and friends (and their fridge).  
I’ve spent more time than ever with my family in the last 3 weeks. I was never really close to them when I lived in the country so it's nice to catch up.

3.     Food
You can get better food here but its hard to find natural food

4.    Traveling. 

Nicole's Bacherlorette party in Traverse City Michigan. I met 

Nicole at Connection Rio when I first moved to Brazil! 

Despite the fact that I have like 0 dollars. I have managed to get around since I’ve been back. I flew into Florida, went to a wedding in Michigan, I’m with my family in South Carolina, and I stopped by D.C. to visit some students before flying here. I have a fight next month so once I get back to Philly tomorrow I’ll have to rush straight down to Virginia for my fight camp. Then I still have obligations in New York and North Carolina.

 As my best friend says, I’m one of the luckiest homeless people alive.

5. Renzo Gracie PA
If it wasn't for the free training from Renzo Gracie PA the only BJJ close to my parents house in the middle of nowhere suburbs of Philly, I think I would have gone crazy. I only got in a few training sessions before picking back up and traveling again but without that safety net my transition back to the U.S.A would have been monumentally more difficult. Jiu Jitsu is very therapeutic.

The Bad

1.    My training routine. 

Training was guaranteed 3-4 times a day of the style that I wanted. Here there are not nearly enough training hours because everyone has real jobs. Plus… I have no car or no money to pay... Once you reach Carioca status, you don't pay to train in Brazil.

2.    My bank account
I never made much money in the first place but when you multiply Broke AF by 3.8 (that’s the exchange rate) you suddenly have a lot more money in your possession! It’s a lot easier to make dollars and spend them in Reals. I also have no hustle game in this country. In Rio, I always had a jeitinho or a little way to make some money.

3.    My Community

English class at the project. A constant struggle!

I miss my house and my favela. Its nicer to be broke but part of a community than it is to be broke surrounded by people with real jobs, car notes, rent, and 5-year plans that would never include working with poor kids in the favelas of Rio.

4.    The Bills
I want a car, but don’t want a car note or to pay insurance. I want a place to live but would rather spend my money traveling than paying rent. These are some seriously conflicting things that mess with my head on a daily basis. It’s hard to live in America without incurring massive amounts of debt.


Me and my brother at the Project with Juliana
who just received a kimono donated from a good
friend from New York!

 

Training with Alliance's Tayane Porfirio in Recreio

cutting weight with my coach on one of my last 

days in Rio! 

Rio das Ostras, almost Paradise, but more like Hell

Winter in Rio. So Cold.

I'm in a real house. The bathroom has a real door and no one is sleeping in my room with me. There are no horn18-year-olds trying to hump me, no entitled black belts trying to leverage their way into my pants, and no motley crews of BJJ boys milling about in the common rooms.

I have my own room with a bed... no, better yet with two beds, and door and my friend from Maryland is tucked neatly away in her own room with her own bathroom.

Yesterday (Thursday) was stressful, so the luxury of waking up and not having to tip toe around my small favela apartment trying not to wake anyone up is a much welcome change.

Me being the dumbass that I am, I forgot my bag on the bus while heading two hours north to Rio das Ostras where my former MMA team PRVT randomly decided to set up a new affiliate. I came to claim a bag of my clothes and training gear that they took from Curitiba so the lost bag didn't really have much in it.

1 pair of Machinaboxing gloves, 1 pair of handwraps, 2 sports bras, 2 yoga shorts, 1 pair of normal yoga pants, 1 bathing suit. Ok, it wasn't much but it is a half of my favorite clothes that I wear on a daily basis. 

A slight break from my normal fight camp diet.

I managed to recover my bag with the help of an old lady and an Indian. The old lady was our Airbnb host who was kind enough to drive me back to the bus station and help me locate my bag... and the Indian was a member of PRVT who worked his magic to have them bring my bag back to me when they were insisting that I take several buses to another town to go find it.

This is a perfect example of what I call the Cria Effect.  Cria being a term for someone born and raised in the hood... Well in this case just a native of the country. Someone who is adept in navigated the sea of bullshit that is thrown at you when trying to accomplish the simplest of tasks here in Brazil.

The old lady took me arounds sight seeing. 

This is some lagoon. 

The people at the bus station told me very matter of factly that I could not get my bag back without taking a bus to another town and then another bus to a garage to sign for it. If you live in brazil you will understand that that also include 3-4 people along the way that will adamantly tell you that NO THEY DO NOT HAVE YOUR BAG, YOU'RE WRONG AND SHOULD GO BACK. You have to shut these people down and continue to insist if you ever want to see your stuff or get whatever your trying to do done... this is very hard if Portuguese isn't your first language and why you should find a Cria to help you out.

So again, the people told me I needed to go sign for the bag. They told the Indian I need to go sign for the bag, and then they tried to tell the old lady... but she wasn't having any of that. She sent the Indian right back all like "she TRAINS WITH YOU" (actually had no idea who he was I got a text message from someone from the team, went and asked for the indian and there was my in).

I was able to pick up my bag from the Indian the next day around lunch time (someone apparently snuck it out of the garage and on the bus to deliver). That's basically how everything works in Brazil, they call it a "jeitinho" or a little way. Its akin to a little kid having a tantrum in the store. They're told they can't buy candy so they throw themselves on the floor and kick and scream until they have their way. 11-8 this works in Brazil (can you have 11 out of 8 of something.... probably not, but this is Brazil).

Tips for Traveling in Brazil

1. AirBnB is a lot more popular that hotels and hostels. You can find a lot of really nice and affordable places close to the beach (Ipanema is a lot better than Copacabana). 

2. Clicbus and Decolar are great sites for finding bus or plane tickets. It is every hard to buy things online with a foreign credit card or without a CPF which is similiar to a social security number that foreigners can and should register if they are planning on staying for some time in Brazil. 

3. Have a big lunch. Brazilians always eat rice, beans, spaggetti, or frenchfries with meat for lunch but finding dinner can be hard... unless you want to pay for a really expensive gourmet restauarant that isn't really gourmet they just have the prices. Food by the weight is really popular but since I have no notion of weight/price I prefer all you can eat places. Expresso Grill in Copacabana is one of my favorite and its only R20.

4. Find a friend, forget a phone. When things go wrong making a phone call will generally make it worse. You need a new bus ticket... well your most likely going to have to take your ass to the bus station then. Can't figure out how to change your plan ticket... then be prepared to take an hour long bus ride to the airport to go to the company. Custumer service in this country isn't just a joke, its nonexisent... and making phone calls in this country takes at least 20 minutes to dail out. 

5. Use whatsapp. It is ridiculously hard to make phone calls in this country. You need to know things like. What state your calling from, what state you're calling to, what cell operator YOU have, what cell company THEY have, and the number for your company, the number for the state, the ORDER THAT THESE NUMBERS Go. So get Whatapp and an internet plan so that you can text message and make phone calls via wifi.

Exiting Rio Das Ostras! Not a second too soon! 

Cops and Robbers: Surviving Rio's Favelas

 

Normally police are not to be acknowledged. Not because I have a problem with them, but because those were the orders I was given day one in the favela. So I walk past them like they don't exist, looking only at the cold steel in their hands. I’ve never had a problem with cops. I grew up in Caucasian-dominant suburbs of Philly far from racism and police violence so I didn’t grow up hating them, but living here, its hard not to learn to reflexively dislike them.

Cops come in packs, never individually. Two is rare but you see it occasionally on the main street. Normally they roam in groups of 4-6 with at least one m16 the rest with handguns. Sometimes holstered, other times cocked down towards the ground, but always hands on and ready to shoot.

My first encounter with cops with guns was at a bar outside of my house in Pavao. They surrounded a kid about 10 years old who was cringing in a corner. They yanked him into the middle of the street and pointed an M16 in his face before letting him scurry off. They may have had reasonable cause to suspect the kid, but he was just a little kid.

I had never seen anything like that before. They showed no respect. Just hostility. That day I understood all of the hate.

B.O.P.E also known as the skulls were made famous from the movie Elite Squad. They were black uniforms and when they come up, you go home. Generally, it’s not much of a problem for me in Cantagalo because most of the searches go on in the upper mountain sides of Pavao. The 5th station or Vietnam. I live far from there.

This dude turned out to be quite the dick. 

Made me delete the pics and almost broke 

my phone.  Their faces are blurred because 

he threatened me. 

C.H.O.Q.U.E is another special force. Not sure what their purpose is but they definitely carry heavier artillery than your everyday patrol and respond violently to attempts to take their picture.

Generally, on the main streets of the favela cops are not an issue. They are ghosts that pass by solidifying themselves occasionally to ransack your backpack and question you.

The cops from last night were a different story. It's not uncommon for the to walk through the neighborhood pointing guns around corners and up the small alleyways that lead to the darker recesses of the favela but these guys were different. I saw them emerging from the entrance to a ditch where my friend and some other people had built their houses (straight up squatter style). There was one guy climbing out with an m16 and one guy posted up in front of him. I continued my trajectory as normal; cops, after all, can be treated as ghosts unless they chose to materialize. It wasn’t till I was passing the first two cops and continuing up some steps that I realized I was heading straight towards the barrel of a handgun some 15 feet in front of me.  I fell back out of the line of fire (glaring at the mofo of course) and waited for his two friends to scurry past him up the stairs, he then lowered his gun and continued past.

I covered the distance and started up the stairs where the guy had been standing with the handgun only to be faced with the barrel of an m16 at the top of the next staircase. The rest of the squad, about 6 more cops all had their guns out and were clearing the areas to the left and the right.

There was a guy next to me also ascending to his house. I looked over at him not sure what to do. Normally I would just walk past them and off to my house, but these guys seemed to be up to something.

He just looked back and told me to wait. The street was narrow and it was better not to get used a shield. So we stopped to wait while the cops continued swinging their guns down the narrow passage.

“Nico!” Someone called my name. It was the little girl with pink kimono that never comes to training because she has no one to take her (that's the excuse at least). I miss her and make the precarious climb down to her house every now and then to talk to her mom. It was the treacherous path down to her makeshift house that the cops were climbing out of when I first ran into them.

The rest of the way home was start, stop, start, stop as me and the random dude from around the way waited for the cops to sweep through the narrow streets. One always stopping and pointing his gun back towards us. Two going out in the front with guns pointed forward, and the others with guns pointed to the flank accessing the multitude of nooks and crannies that lead off to unknown places.

When we got to my own little ally I had to stop once again because the guy was posted up at the top of the stairs. I just stood there staring at the guy as he pointed the gun down the street, and he just stood there watching me watch him. As soon as he was called to move to the front of the formation,  I moved with him, slipping behind him and skipping down the stairs in the darkness.  I continued along a parallel street until I got to my house and had to slip past them once again to get unnoticed into my house.

 

The favela is like a labyrinth. I had descended a level and continued alongside next to the cops... just 10 feet below them with a few building in between. The dark alley I had turned down opens up into a small space right below the corner. The cops who had arrived shortly before me and were breaking shit (chairs and umbrellas probably) above my head.

I generally wear a hat and a backpack and drugs are sold out of backpacks (which is why I think I get stopped and searched all the damn time), so as I emerged from the dark ally I put my hands up and walked as quickly as I could (without running) to my front door. I didn’t want to get shot and frankly, I don’t want them to know where I live.

I had to go out about an hour later and the cops were still holding down the corner. They were searching people with flashlights.

I’ve been searched there before. I was walking by minding my own business when a one of them popped out of the darkness gun in hand. I was surrounded actually, but their black uniforms did the trick, and I hadn’t noticed what I was walking into.

I’m not saying all cops are bad, but here they sure as hell not making any friends in the community.

While I consider Cangatalo to be a safe favela, there's a war going on in the Babilonia favela at the end of Copacabana beach and a lot of violence going on in Rochina, another favela often frequented by gringos.

Last nights gunshots in Rochina. 

One of the kids from the project was home worried about this mom.

Video compliments of HT 
Muito obrigada 

B.O.P. E entered Rochina looking for the right hand of major traffickers but the operation resulted in a 5-hour shootout. Watch here

Funding shortages mean cops don't have the resources they need to keep favelas pacified. That along with gang conflicts in places like Copacabana have caused a serious increase in violence in the last couple of months.

Rio On Watch gives a great overlook over several favelas here in Rio. 

 

Strangers with Candy

Its been 3 years since I've been home and in that time I've been subjected to a lot of strange faces and random places.

Right now (or when I started writing) I'm sitting in Starbucks writing while my computer is being commandeered by two Russians that were recently robbed in Lapa. I've been coming here a lot to work to an employee asked if could help them out, my services have been paid for in a shit ton of free sugar.

They sell this overpriced Red Velvet cake that looks pretty fake here but whatever its my favorite and I've only had 1 Red Velvet cake in the 3 years that I have been away (not counting the Easter cake that was made for me for with beets to make it red, if we count that then I've had two).

If anyone really knows me they know I love Red Velvet and White Russians... but you know... a different kind of White Russian.

My life is punctuated by random events like this one, but thats cool, I wouldn't have anything to write about if it wasn't.

When your really far from home, sometimes its the small things that make you feel better and the strangest people that save your ass. This blog is a shout out to all of the random people I have stumble across along the way. Its far from complete but I have training so if I left you out...sorry.

 

Mr. Xere... who was forced to cut his Dreads in pursuit of a job

Digo Xere is hands down the person that I know the least but has helped me the most. Digo is a native born Curitiban who I happened upon one day in a park in Sao Jose do Middle of Friggin' Nowhere. I was writing in my composition book and he arrived shortly afterwards with a joint and slack line. Digo is a skinny dude in his thirties with dirty blonde dreadlocks down to his butt. As I was getting ready to leave the park, curiosity got the best of me and I just had to ask who did his hair. I love and miss my parents dearly... but my hairdresser... god how I miss my Kimisha

Backstory: I moved to Curitiba last august 2015 to train with PRVT. Problem was I wasn't in the city I was living in the middle of nowhere. Then I got hurt so I was stuck in Curitiba for 5 months and couldn't train and didn't know anyone. Oh and I wasn't IN Curitiba. I was in some small random town close to the airport but far from the city... far from everything actually.

Anyway, a week later I was meeting up with Digo at 5:30 A.M so he could accompany on what would be the worst medical fiasco of my life. (I had my hair done by then too). That first morning (of many early trips to different hospitals) it was cold and rainy. I had to climb out of my house because there was no electricity to open the door to the car port. I arrived at the appointed corner all sorts of pissed to find Digo happily smoking another joint (is weed legal in Curitiba? no. no it isn't).

 No one from PRVT asked to take me to the hospital. Not then. Not later. Not ever.  No one even asked if I was ok. If it wasn't for Digo I would have been wandering around Curitiba blind with my hair in all sorts of disarray. I didn't even get to say a proper goodbye before the team picked up and moved to another city (well first they moved me to a favela so I couldn't really see Digo even when I was still there). I leave so much disappearing has become second nature to me.

 

A group of Germans that came back to Connection Rio 

for a second time (I don't have pictures of the people I'm writing about)

 Next Up....




While exiled in Curitiba I also met a guy named John Smith. Mr. Smith hit me up via Facebook about the acquisition of some event tickets. I had no idea who he was nor did I really have time to find out between training and then subsequently getting hurt and wallowing in self pity. That did not stop him from sending me money for ADCC tickets a major submission grappling event that took place last year in Sao Paulo and of course I was recompensed for my struggles as getting anywhere in Curitiba without a car requires walking for at least 30 minutes or waiting for a bus for at least an hour!

I met Mr. Smith shortly after the tournament when we both found ourselves in Rio. Turns out he real name is Tavares and he is a big Terere fanboy. We talk often. He's from Alabama,  has two young sons that wrestle, and often holds my kids down with money (like for Brazilian Nationals... and the next competition!)

Barbin and JayJay are two of the most interesting strangers that I met here in Rio. Jayjay is a friend of a former Connection Rio guest who was put in contact with me while I was in Curitiba. Before meeting JayJay in Rio I heard a lot about his escapades in Argentina and Uruguay. Jayjay is in the military and apparently uses all his free time to travel. He hit up a couple countries in a small amount of time before making it to Rio and is planning another trip soon.

I met up with Jayjay and Barbin one day at Bibi's sucos. Barbin... I can't remember for the life of me how I know him, but I know him... and it turns out JayJay practically did too. Barbin and Jayjay came to Rio on the same flight, they live in the same state, and that was not the first time that they had been on vacation at the same time in the same country. Instant Bromance was started. They can thank me later.

I don't drink a lot, but when I do, I go to my shitty sushi place and get Caiprinhas for r7! Barbin knows all about that and I plan on finding some shitty food places with good drinks when I make it to New York.

Last but not least there is Ze. Ze is the fake name of one of my favorite, friendly neighborhood lookouts. After several late night mishaps that compromised my living situation in Pavao (the other side of the favela) I saw myself forced to relocate to an area of the community known as the Gaza Strip (well it was known by THEM but not by ME at the time). Ze worked the night shift right outside of my door so he was always there to greet me when I got home from training. He made it to an orange belt in Jiu Jitsu before getting sucked into the life. Money and kids keep him from training. Ze is a straight up dude and we got along well except for nights were he would get bored and listen to music a little too loud a little to late.

A lot of people are scared of drug dealers because they have guns. I'm not. I'm scared of crackheads because they lack logic. Ze kept the crackheads off my door steps and ensured that I could sleep peacefully with no fears of home invasion. The day I was supposed to turn in my key and evacuate the Gaza Strip was one of the worst weeks of my life, I cam pretty close to spending the night sleeping next to him (technically this girl offered to let me sleep on her couch but she was trying to sleep with Ze so she had no intentions of going home before the wee hours of the night so... yeah). At 11:50 at night I was still in the strip with nothing but a fridge, my kimono, and the key that I was supposed to turn into another dealer (and my landlord) before 12 A.M.

  

Some of my kids on in the favela

I'm not about to tell you this whole story for free. But the gist of it was that in a city full of friends and people I pay for to compete in tournaments, when I needed someone the most, the only person around was a stranger slinging crack on the corner and a 16 year old girl. 


There have been a lot of other random people that have come in and out of my life over the past three years. Sometimes its hard to invest time and energy in a person that you know is only around for a couple weeks or a couple of months, but at the same time its nice to be able to have a drink with a cop from the Carolinas (because when you live in the favela you don't  hang out with cops), pick up some editing tips from a dude from Canada and I even met someone that delivered a baby with a headlamp... that last one blew my mind. 


Ok I suck at goodbyes. and ending blogs.

I'm going to do Yoga at the project.

Peace.