It was a warm January day not like any I had ever had before..Mostly because I was in Brazil and not frigid Illinois. Myself and around 35 of my classmates decided to spend 6 weeks of our winter in the lovely nation of Brazil. Our curriculum consisted of taking coursework in political science, literature, art, and history. My Portuguese was far from perfect by the end of my trip but basic communication skills were developed. My class spent one day visiting the first pacified (deemed "safe" for tourists") favela in Rio de Janiero.
The day consisted of leaving our hotel room after a brekfast of a variety of fruit juices, pastries, and seasoned meats, catching a bus across the bustling city, and riding a tram up the mountainside. On the tram ride our class had to be broken up into multiple groups as the tram could only fit a dozen or so. On the way up I stood next to an elderly woman who by the looks of her was returning from the market. She stood quietly amongst the tram filled with a class full of suprisingly energetic American students.
We reached the base of the favela and waited for the rest of the class to arrive. I walked around a bit and took in the scenery. I even made a new friend while I waited. Frank, I decided to call him was a whity mangy dog that met us with one of our program guide's friends who lived in the favela. About half way through the trail of windy and steep stairs I began to feel a bit clausterphobic (the houses were a bit close to the sidewalk for comfort at some times even blockng out the late afternoon sun). We made it to an overlook of the favela where there stood a statue of Michael Jackson outstretched in front of a mural of the once legendary star (apparently he did a music video in this particular favela). I took in the sights as the group relaxed for a bit while some of the kids who lived in the favela came out to fly their kites. The children flying their kites reminded me of the Indian kids I read about in the novel "Kite Runner". The stark contrast between favelas was what kept with me to this day. Some were as I expected ran down and surpisingly still standing while a few had lanoleum floors with nice couches and televisions inside. Of course these observations were made from the handful of homes we passed by with open doors. As we left the favela a Christ calling struck me deep in my soul. In almost too cliche a moment for myself to really admit as I walked out of the favela and began my trek back to the bus stop I saw the words "Christ Saves" grafitti'd on the walls of a pastel colored home. Moments later a few young boys that couldn't have been older than 3 or 4 came up to us and asked us for change. Our program guide informed us that we should be hesitant to give the boys money as they may be working for a drug lord or the like. Still, a class full of 35 American students could not resist and the boys made their way with a pocket full of coins. It wasn't until I returned to America that I realized what those words did for my life. I always felt a call to travel abroad and was excited beyond measure to travel to Brazil, a nation I hope to return to some day. In that favela Christ still reaches the hearts of those who may have never heard of missionaries or evangelism. Nonetheless it is the people of these roots that stirred my heart to walk and love as Jesus walked.
