Apart from not holding me back and instead supporting my decision to go to the continent with 43 of the 50 most dangerous cities in the world (of which I have recently learnt Porto Alegre is one of them), my parents have not exactly helped me in my quest to mould into a native here.
Not only have they given me tall genes, blonde hair and blue eyes, making me a special rarity this side of the globe, they have also given me an unpronounceable name for any Spanish or Portuguese speaker. The harsh ‘g’ sound simply doesn’t exist in either language meaning that no one, apart from those who speak good English, can pronoun my name currently. I have to repeat my name several times, almost singing it, every time someone asks ‘Qual é seu nome?’. ‘Meu nome é Georgia’. ‘Chucha?’ ‘Não é Gzeeeeor-gia.‘ ‘Chuucha? ‘And so the endless circle continues until I give in and say ‘Hmmm quase, pode ser’ (almost, that will do.)
To avoid this awkwardness I have now created a Brazilian identity for myself. Every time someone asks my name, whether it be a taxi driver or the ladies in the various uni cafes, I now go by the pseudonym of Gabriela. This may stop the confusion of how to pronounce or spell Georgia but it means that at times it looks as if I’ve forgotten my name. I have to pause and think, right what is my name?! Or I have to force myself to hide my smirk when my trick works the treat. Sometimes I even get the nickname Gabi written on my coffee cup! Success!
‘Nome?’ ‘Umm Gabriela.’
However, now I am getting more accustomed to my new identity. At times almost too accustomed to it. In my Pilates class (22 going on 62?!), I had to think twice when the teacher asked for my name. No, don’t call yourself Gabriela, Georgia, it might be easier to pronounce but these people will know you personally.
Another time I faced a small identity crisis was when I was volunteering at a soup kitchen for the homeless. When I asked the woman serving arroz (rice) next to my feijão (black beans), I was so excited when she said her name was Gabriela that I so almost said ‘meu nome também é Gabriela! (I’m also called Gabriela!) No Georgia, your name is Georgia. Gzeeeeor-gia.
With my Mexican friends calling me Georgina, my Spanish friends calling me Pequeña Georgia and me now calling myself Gabriela, who knows what sort of identity I’ll have when I return to the UK?! The question currently on my mind though is, will Gabriela travel with me to Argentina or will she evolve into another personagem (character)?
Now back to my parents and their inability to equip me for life in Latin America (only joking guys, well sort of…). With the first social interaction of exchanging names proving more difficult than normal, the second social interaction of breaking into dance is even more difficult, for my parents have also not passed on any sort of dancing genes. I might be an English anomaly when it comes to drinking tea but I am not an anomaly when it comes to having hips that just don’t move. Rhythm is in everyone’s blood here but sadly not mine.
This is the biggest part missing from Georgia’s (or was it Georgina’s?) true transformation into Gabriela and the main focus of this blog: dança e música! We finally got there, thanks for holding on guys, the beat’s about to pick up I promise. (See what I did there?! Clever ain’t I?!)
I came here knowing that the height, blondness (not in that way people!!) and blue eyes that my parents blessed me with would make me stick out. But I was also aware that the dancing side of things may be an even bigger obstacle than the Portuguese side of things. And I am sad to say I was not wrong. I thought my previous six months in Latin America may have loosened up the hips but sadly the muscle memory hasn’t quite come back.
However, Georgia’s transformation from a stiff English oak tree to Gabriela, a swaying palm tree in the wind, is underway. As with any challenge, the first step to overcoming it is accepting help offered to you. Sometimes this is a hard thing to do but it’s often essential. In my case, it is definitely essential. So I have finally given in to being taught how to dance by my Mexican friends. I have to swallow my embarrassment as I am taken through the dance steps one by one in the middle of the room with everyone watching. Stepping out of your comfort zone is what the Year Abroad’s all about amirite??!!
First, get low. Hands on thighs, bum out, shoulders back. Yep, you’ve got it, I am feeling really comfortable at this point… Then slowly circle your hips in a figure of eight, using your knees to guide the movement. Shoulders and upper body must stay still and straight. When the beat drops, you do too. Then come slowly back up leading with your bum which also moves in a figure of eight. A figure of 8!! Your bum! What?! Easy right? I wish. I cringe out of my skin as Ale instructs, ‘más bajo’ (lower), or even worse, ‘más sexy.’ Dancing Brazilian style involves fast and seemingly complicated samba footwork and even more bum shaking. I haven’t quite cracked it yet but it’s work in progress…
Now onto música! For those of you who criticised my love for Reggaeton, you will be pleased to know that it is now almost all that I listen to. The cabana is never not without music and the majority of the time it’s Daddy Yankee, Nicky Jam or Calle 13 who fill the airways.
After an evening of homemade burgers (featuring the best caramelised onions I’ve ever eaten in my life), the drum and tambourine were whipped out and the happiness continued.
However, Reggaeton has a competitor. Brazilian funk. Although it’s not funk but funkeeee.
**Quick side note on Brazilian pronunciation**
The contrary to English which has the ‘silent e’, in Brazilian Portuguese they have the ‘imaginary e’. Whatsapp is no longer Whatsapp but Whatsappeeee. Facebook is now Faceebookeeee. Want a KitKat or some TicTacs? They’re now KitcheKatcheee and TickeeTackeees. A laptop or notebook as they’re called here? Lapeetopee/ noteebookee. And the list goes on. So now Brazilian funk music just got more funkeeee.
You could say that Brazilian funkeee music is a cousin to Reggaeton but with even more hip and bum shaking. Sadly the machista lyrics continue but the catchy beat means once the lyrics are in your head, they’re there to stay. And in my case that means that only three lines of a song are constantly on repeat as I only manage to understand a few lines of each song.
My experience with Brazilian musical instruments is about as catastrophic as my dance moves. Having played the piano for however many years and the trumpet for five, it would be normal to think that I had a bit of rhythm in me. But no, I defy expectations/the ordinary!!
Take the tambourine for example. For many, including myself, the tambourine is reminiscent of Primary School music lessons; a great instrument to jingle and shake. Yet, 10 years later it turns out, my tambourine playing skills have not progressed much… My hand is as inflexible as my hips when it comes to creating beats.
On the other hand (excuse the pun) my Brazilian friends can transform the humble tambourine into an instrument that deserves centre stage. The beats they create and the speed their hand moves instantly make you feel like you’re in the middle of a samba party.
Speaking of samba, I went to a fun samba gig a while back. There I got mistaken as someone else’s sister and while I think it has more to do with the fact that we were both white and blonde (more on European looking Brazilians to come in another blog…), rather than my dancing moving, I’ll take it to mean that my dancing was up to scratch.
I have started volunteering at a school/centre for disadvantaged children who live in a vila (favela) nearby. It’s a real eye opener to see another reality other than the privileged one I am part of at uni. One day they were practising Christmas songs, of which I recognised by their tunes. However, being in Brazil, obviously drums and tambourines were involved. There was one song I didn’t recognise at first because its new jazzy tune. Then I realised it was Jingle Bells. With the beat being led by drums, it definitely sounded a lot more jingly! Then the drums took off and suddenly everyone was up on their feet dancing. One of the workers grabbed me by the arm dragging me to the front of the room of 30 children. I didn’t even have a second to let go of my English reservedness before joining in with the crazy dancing. The children even semi sing grace before their lunch and afternoon snack.
In an almost intimidating ‘question and answer session’ with a smaller group of the youngest children (6-8 years old), of which I just about managed to understand what they were asking, I was asked to sing an English song. Sing? In front of a group of people? Don’t think Georgia, just do. So the first song that came into my head was ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ (lol). My ‘performance’ (with added actions of course) wasn’t quite as traumatic as I had expected luckily. It turns out that the song exists in Portuguese too as ‘Brilha Brilha Estrelinha.’
On Saturday I spent the afternoon at there, at a capoeira event. The children have lessons once a week and on the weekend they were receiving their new levelled bands. Capoeira developed during slavery and today it remains a strong symbol of cultura negra in Brazil. It mixes martial arts with dance and is accompanied by music- drums, tambourines and berimbaus- a cored instrument made from wood with a gourd at the bottom. It’s amazing to watch. You have to move so quickly, legs swinging high, cartwheeling, back flipping around the middle of the circle of everyone else.
On a rather random note, I have seen a surprising number of public pianos. There is one in the entrance to our library and they are also in shopping centres. Free for all to play or listen to music. I like it. Sometimes, when someone is playing the piano in the library, I ever smile as I enter the dreaded building.
England best prepare itself for the swirling samba sensation of Gabriela that is heading home….
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