Reflection on Brazil

by Jessica Mehl

Well my trip to Brazil has come to an end. Our service at the worksite is complete and my project and exam turned in and graded. I have had fun, but I have learned even more so. These past 3 weeks through working alongside the masons and the kids, visiting hospitals/schools/etc., and group discussions I have been able to learn and observe what it means to live in oppression and poverty. You cannot drink the water here, wastewater runs openly along the edge of the streets, vultures rummage through trash, the minimum salary is less than US $1, something like jelly is a luxury item, 12 year old girls think prostitution is what 12 year old gilrs are suppose to do . . .The people with $ and political power devalue the lives of the "have-nots". And what is my role? Do I trust the oppressed's ability to free themselves and therefore work not FOR but WITH them? Will I risk such an act of love? Or will I revert back to falsely generous mindset that with the necessary resources those who "have" can end the oppression FOR the oppressed?

The greatest regret I have about this trip is not conversing with more people. I shied away from speaking once I quickly learned how different portuguese is from spanish. And then the quote "the limit of my language is the limit of my world" rang true for me. It's hard to measure the value of lost interacton I cost myself and denied the Brazilians around me. But I would place it high in light that my best memory of Brazil will be the one time I truly attempted to leave my comfort zone and speak a combination of spanish and portuguese: Maria (a fellow student) and I asked Geli(our bilingual Bazilian program coordinator) about attending church and she sent us off with her sisters and other family and friends who don't speak English at all. But their patience and genuine friendliness toward us was amazing and after church we sat around their home and started to sing silly songs like the hokie pokie and then the apparently universal Jesus Loves Me and then someone broke out the guitar and we sang the Brazilian praise songs we had learned earlier in church . . . Amizade . . . in case any of you are wondering, it's portuguese for friendship . . .