Trip to a local school

Today, as we thought there was a bus strike (though there wasn't), we did not begin work on the projects. We spent the morning chilling. There is a woman, Rosa-Alice, who lives in the convent here, though she is not a nun, who set up a school in a nearby favela and teaches there. As our afternoon was free, we asked to join her at the school and she was happy to take us. Whilst she caught the bus, we walked, and we met her near the favela. Her hips aren't in the best condition, so the bus that takes her most of the way is helpful. When we met up with her at the bus stop near the favela, there were police gathered on the other side of the road. A body, covered with foil-like insulation material was on the floor. A man had fallen from a block of flats, apparently. It was bizarre. There was no ambulance. 

We began our walk up the hill to the school with Rosa-Alice. Kids were gradually arriving. Things are pretty laid back in Brazil. Schedules are kept to loosely, it seems. The school was halfway up the hill: a yellow building with 3 blue windows that stands out against the backdrop of comparatively smaller, typically red-brick, houses. There were 3 classrooms, and an office for the teacher. Upstairs, there is a large cafeteria room where the kids eat and play. Rosa-Alice started the school her herself. She gets no support from the government, as it is in a favela. They said she was crazy to even think of establishing it. She wrote to contacts in Switzerland and France etc. asking for money and support, and she got it. The school teaches English and French, as well as expected subjects like Maths. There is a computer, printer, and a few oter pieces of electronc equipment, The kids get a meal as well. They arrive at 230pm for lessons, and eat at 4pm. Then they play and go home. After we were shown around the favela - to the top of the hill with great views - we watched the kids play after their sweet porridge-like meal. 

I say 'watched' ... Sister was the first to get dragged into that frantic, violent game of tag, where boys throw each other around like rag dolls, never whining; always laughing, always smiling. Soon we were all in the mess. The girls joined, and soon the sea parted and the genders separated into different games. The girls carried on the game of tag, but for the lads: the football came out. Whilst we separated into two groups of guys and girls, we shared the same space, and our game of football forced us to weave in and out of those long-hair lurgie ridden opposites in order to retain possession. It wasn't a traditional game of football, from what I could gather. Rather it seemed to be a test of who could keep the ball for the longest. The boys did not hesitate in smacking the leather rock around indoors, sometimes nailing some young lass  in the back of the head - they never complained though. One boy was particularly  good at faking fouls; rolling around on the floor and clutching his knee exclaiming "foula! Foula!" when someone brushed by him, if at all - he learns from the best I'm sure.

Before long they were crying "chio!" or "chi!" meaning "uncle!", in order to steal a pass from me. They liked me, but thought I was pretty average at football (they're just envious of my mad skills).

After, the kids were gathered by Rosa-Alice for final prayers in the classroom, before dismissal. Outside the bus stop the body and police were still there, several hours later. "its inhuman and bureaucratic", Rosa-Alice commented. Not quite sure what she meant by the latter. We walked home as a storm began, and arrived back at the convent pretty soaked. Good day though. Projects begin tomorrow.