It's a little known fact...

The other day, I found myself wondering why the English language had no term to distinguish the second person plural from the second person singular.¹ It's all about you, which is why, of course, the alternatives of y'all, yous, youse and you guys had to be invented, otherwise how could one easy differentiate a greeting to all versus a greeting to one in particular. To understand why a situation such as this could be allowed to exist, I went to the Source of All Knowledge² and did a little investigating. And ... as it turns out, you actually is plural. It's the singular that we are missing.

Back in Old English, there existed the second person singular - thou - and the second person plural - ye/you.³ The accusative versions being thee and you, respectively. At a time when English was being highly influenced by other languages, a change was made to allow for a second person singular formal - thou being informal - as existed in most other languages. Continuing to follow its neighbouring languages, the English language started using the second person plural - you - as the second person singluar formal, pretty much along the same lines as tu-vous-vous, tu-usted-ustedes, tu-você-vocês, du-Sie-sie, etc.

Overtime though, the use of the informal died out as people insisted on being shown a little respect, thank you very much. And we were left with you and you, second person singular - formerly singular and formal - and second person plural. Of course, these days, when the words thou-thee-thy are used, we always assume that they are more formal than you-you-your, but in fact they show even more familiarity than do the roots of you.

So instead of trying to find ways of pluralising you when addressing more than one person - since we would be pluralising an already plural word - we should actually be starting a movement to bring back the second person singular informal. Are ye with me?

¹ It's been a little slow in the Funny Stories from Brazil category.
² Previously known as your local public library, now known as Google.
³ Not to add more confusion, but somewhere along the way ye - the original nominative second person plural - got replaced with you - the original accusative second person plural, making the nominative and accusative the same in both the singular and the plural. Ha!

Differences between Canada and Brazil - Difference # 62

By municipal and I believe, federal, law (really!) bread in Brazil is sold by weight. Perhaps people thought that they were previously being charged for the air pockets?

(Wo)man-eating Cocophone

It turns out that there are two types of cocophones in Brazil. The gentle kind with a straw stuck in it so that one can enjoy it's sweet watery milk and the vicious (wo)man-eating eating kind which we found dotting the coast of Alagoas a few weeks back. Fortunately, I managed to escape!

Silliness

In southern Brazil, there is a town called Xanxerê, which makes me laugh, since Xanxerê is pronounced exactly the same as Jean Charest, Québec's current Premier. In fact, if Jean Charest were to travel or move to Brazil and wanted people to correctly pronounce his name, he would have to change it to Xanxerê.

A little lightness for your Saturday morning!

Taking Advantage of the Poor

Today, I learned two things from my cleaning lady:

i) That she was robbed at a notorious-for-robbings bus terminal and had lost her purse, a change of clothes, and R$47.50 [CAN$23.75], money that she can hardly afford to lose; and

ii) Unbeknowst to me, a telemarketer has been harassing her on the days that she works for me, relentless trying to get her to donate money to a charity. One day, several weeks ago, she answered the phone and a telemarketer asked for me. When she indicated that I wasn't home, the telemarketer turned her sights to Claudia, and used all the tricks in the book to get her to donate some money. Claudia pledged R$5.00 [CAN$2.50], still money that she can hardly afford. Since then, the same telemarketer has called Every Single Week asking when they can come pick up the money. Every week Claudia indicates that that week is impossible, but maybe the next week. I found this out today. On Monday, I'll put some money in an envelope and leave it with the doorman. Then, we'll have a lesson in saying no to telemarketers.

Poor Claudia.

Okay, I Lied

But I just couldn't resist this one last final post about garbage. It is too classic, although it will be slightly funnier for those who have been to Brazil and are more than fully aware of the ubiquitiousness of large styrofoam boxes/coolers, usually used to hawk water, beer and pop on the beach and the street, but, I digress....

On Sunday night I ordered in an extremely nutricious dinner from Habib's. My order arrived all neatly packed in aluminum dishes set in mini pizza-style boxes, with the exception of one order. Nestled among the boxes was a 15cm x 12 cm x 7 cm styrofoam carton, lovingly lined with a medium-weight plastic "basket" to protect the styrofoam. The box housed two small pieces of baklava-type desserts [okay, maybe not everything was quite so healthy]. I couldn't believe it! A carefully crafted, exact replica of the beer and water coolers. But really, cute as it is, is it really necessary? The cup in the photo is an expresso cup, just to give an idea of the size!

And now, I promise, I will move on to other more interesting topics, such as how I ventured out of my apartment on Sunday afternoon with the idea of heading to the grocery store only to be told by a passerby that "they" were robbing people on the corner and I best go back inside, which I did and which is why I ended up ordering Habib's in the first place instead of cooking something with the groceries that I didn't buy.

Why I ordered Habib's on Sunday

On Sunday afternoon, circa 5pm, I ventured out of my apartment to walk the four blocks to the mall/grocery store with the intention of picking up some groceries. My valient efforts were almost immediately thwarted when a passerby warned me that I should not continue on my route as "they were robbing people" on the corner closest to my home. Neither knowing who "they" were, nor wanting to find out if the passerby was telling the truth, I turned right back around and went back into my building. Hence why I ended up ordering Habib's in the first place and watching reruns of The Kids in the Hall and the Royal Canadian Air Farce.

Good Riddance to Bad Rubbish

Hurray!

This evening, working in collusion with the night doorman, I managed to get rid of all my recycling. Being garbage night (along with Wednesday AND Friday -- I think we only have one garbage day a week in Ottawa and Montreal...), I suspected that I might be able to pass my carefully packed collection off to a good intermediary home. Sure enough, my interphone rang, a passing catador had been summoned, and I rushed down with my cart-load of goods. Confusion aside, shoeless, flipflopless Tiago seemed pleased with the donation.

I suspect that I am getting (if I don't already have) a reputation as that Crazy Canadian Girl....

Last post about garbage from me! At least for a while....

Garbage Transformed

For some reason, my life here revolves around garbage quite a bit. Although I do do many, many, things other than visit garbage dumps and recycling depots, somehow these activities seem to have become a recurring theme in my activities of daily living. This week, however, offered a twist on the theme. Art from Garbage. We had a team of Canadian eco-designers here last week working with Brazilian artists and artesans trying to share value-added techniques to their work of transforming garbage into art.

One of the Brazilian artists participating in the workshop had the most amazing creations on display -- an army of Nordestino - or Northeastern - folk characters completely assembled from trash: shampoo and deodorant bottles; discarded razors and toothbrushes; tubes of toothpaste; water, pop and wine bottles; utensils; plastic medicine containers; margarine tubs; lightbulbs. In short, the works!

The characters pictures above are made a tube of toothpaste (the sax player), toothbrushes (the frevo dancers), and a shampoo bottle (the fruit vendor). The vendor's watermelons are made from the balls from roll-on deodorant! Clearly, creativity is not lacking. Scenes that I found particularly poignant were a catador (garbage picker) made from, well, garbage and a dentist and patient made from toothbrushes. A recent best-seller was a recreation of Brazil's national football team made out of deodorant bottles. Although he managed to sell hundreds of versions of the team, the artist admitted that Brazil's untimely elimination from the Cup was bad for sales....

For anyone who is heading to Olinda and wants to check out the atelier, it is located on the little street heading up to the Igreja do Amparo, just across from the Oficina do Sabor. A perfect outing to combine Olinda's creative food with its creative art!

Garbage: The Saga Continues

It turns out that that I going to have to start driving my garbage around Recife. My building has recently started following a city ordinance forbidding buildings from allowing catadores - or garbage pickers - from presorting the garbage and removing and selling all recyclable materials before it gets hauled off to the dump. Although my general practice was to already sort my trash and give it directly to the catadores as they sorted through my neighbours' refuse, the fact that they are no longer allowed near the building means that giving it directly to them is no longer so easy. In fact, it seems that all the buildings on my street have decided to follow the ordinance, making catadores scare in the immediate vicinty.

Although the ordinance sounds harmless enough - who really wants garbage pickers in one's immediate line of sight? - the impact is unquestionable, as the pickers will have to start working here as opposed to here. Call it the lesser of two evils. Since I cannot in good conscience contribute to increasing the number of people picking garbage directly in the dump, my only solution is to drive my garbage around in search of a catador.

Good thing I bought my car.

You Know It's Bad When...

... your cab driver makes the sign of the cross (twice!) while driving you home during rushhour traffic.

Shellphony in D Major

Another in the Fun Phones series. This time taken during our weekend in Maragogi. Um, yes, I wear this stripped t-shirt an awful lot.

Previous Fun Phones:
Tartarugafone
Frevofontastic
Cocophony
Cangaphone
Cashewphone
Frangophone

Cant. Blog.

Ate. Too. Much. Beef.

Again.

Six Degrees of Caipirissima

The other day, I received an email inviting me to a book launch in Brasilia. I am sure that the email I received was not the only one sent for the launch as it contained only seventeen invitees; however I did find my name snuggled in with that of one of the top presidential candidates in Brazil’s upcoming election. Ah yes, my new circles! Take a number please....

And Now For Something Completely Different...

... and a bit lighter than yesterday's post.

Just because I haven't posted a fun Brazilian phone in a while, doesn't mean that I have run out of subject matter! This pic was taken outside Projeto Tamar's Fernando de Noronha station. Projeto Tamar is a sea turtle conservation project that monitors 1000km of Brazilian coastline and aims to protect the five species of marine turtles that call Brazil home. Several of Fernando de Noronha's beaches are breeding grounds for thousands of turtles each year. Apparently both the nesting and the hatching phases are incredible to witness. Could another trip to Fernando be on the horizon??

To recap:
Frevo-fontastic
Cocophony
Cangaphone

A Fine Balance

Today as I was returning home after a meeting, we stopped at a light and three people approached the car, asking for money. The first, a blind man led by a younger, able-bodied fellow, the second, a man with withered and twisted legs, expertly wheeling himself around on a plank, his legs crossed neatly in front of him. Dressed as a captain, hat and all, his head barely reached the level of the car door handles. Although I frequently stop at this light, today’s characters were new to me.

The corner outside my house is home to a fellow who only has one leg. While he normally uses a skateboard to move about, he also has a wooden crutch which helps him get around. He waves when he sees me in the mornings. Tudo bom? Tudo bom? Some mornings I find him sleeping on a piece of cardboard.

A few blocks away from my apartment is one of Recife’s fancier hotels. Not usually a spot for panhandlers, a few weeks ago, a man with stiff, withered legs was working the light in front of the building. His legs too stiff to use a plank or skateboard, he pulled himself around using his arms, protecting his hands with blocks of wood, his body making an equilateral triangle with the ground.

* * * * *

My Recife Bookclub recently finished reading Rohinton Mistry’s A Fine Balance. Set during the turbulent times of Indira Ghandi’s India, it’s a book that stays with you. All 600+ pages of it.

One of the book’s main secondary characters is Beggarmaster. Beggarmaster is Master of the Streets, Master of the little tin cups the beggars shake as pedestrians hurry past, and Master of the transformations that render the beggars more pitiful, more hopeless, more hideous, and, more profitable. More than anything though, Beggarmaster is an enigma. He develops true affection for his beggars, affection and concern which unsettle the reader’s mind. One of his favourite beggars is Shankar, a legless man who uses a small gaadi, or custom-made skateboard. He wheels himself around using his bandaged, fingerless, hands.

Beggarmaster’s hobby, when he is not following up on his beggars or harassing the police, is sketching new and profitable beggar combinations. Imagine two men, one blind, the other cripple. To survive, the blindman hoists the cripple upon his shoulders, the cripple thus becoming the eyes and the blindman, the feet. Co-dependent, they become one. The trick was to find a blindman strong enough and a cripple man light enough to make the combination work. In another sketch, Beggarmaster sketches himself, a man with four legs, two noses, and ten fingers on each hand, into a freakish triangle which includes Shankar and Nosey, Shankar’s noseless beggar mother.

* * * * *

Brazil is no India. The streets are not awash in beggars or children that have been sent off for mutilation. But sometimes, as I turn the corner on the way home or cross the street on my way to work, I wonder.

Adventuring

This weekend we headed two hours south of Recife to the stretches of beach around Maragogi, just on the other side of the border with the state of Alagoas. I'm not sure whether or not we are beached out [can it be?], whether it was the time of year [the beaches were a little bit too deserted and seemed to have algae issues], whether we just couldn't find the right hidden, unmarked entrance to that paradaisical stretch of sand [unfortunately this can happen!], or whether the tides were such that we couldn't enjoy the snorkling as we had planned [darn tides!], but we came away feeling that we had been looking for a little more out of Alagoas' premier Costa Dourada or Golden Coast.

However ... we did have lots of fun booting along the highway that wove its way in and out of the sugar cane fields. Fit [pronounced Fitchee] had lots of fun in fifth and even did a little off-roading! Awwwwww....

We stayed at a rural pousada which was a farm in a previous life, during a previous era. How great it was to sleep with the windows open to the sounds of the crickets and geese! The view from our window:

So, it was a good weekend, even if it wasn't exactly as we had imagined. A return trip in the near future, perhaps?