Promised Land

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The beach in Fortaleza, Brazil. Photos: Kim Haughton. “Wait, you will see it now!” exclaims our host Suzanne as our minibus rounds the corner. “Look, look! Can you believe it?”, she asks us. And really, the sight in front of us is quite incredible. A ramshackle house covered in graffiti stands alone on the beach in Fortaleza, with a brand new highway running almost right through it. The house, once part of a community of 58 other houses has been the home for Maria Nascimento for the past 23 years and she is fighting tooth and nail to keep it that way. Fortaleza, with a population of 2.6 million in Northeastern Brazil, is a thriving city. For a moment you could be forgiven for thinking you were on the west coast of the USA. To the east, huge high-rise buildings line the coast. Lazy tourists crunch lobster claws washed down with bottles of Bohemia as the sun lowers itself over the Atlantic ocean. Energetic locals jog or powerwalk in their fancy footwear and expensive tracksuits along the neatly paved streets. ‘For sale’ signs are in English as well as Portuguese to attract wealthy European buyers who are willing to pay up to €500,000 for a penthouse in this South American paradise. Driving seven kilometers west along the coast however, the landscape changes dramatically. The high rises disappear and are replaced by favelas (slums) with names like “The Promised Land”. The stunning scenery remains the same and developers know the value of the land in this urban utopia. Maria knows about its value too. For three years she has been fighting the local government through the courts in a bid to keep her home. The other 58 houses around her have been bulldozed and the families have been moved on but Maria has taken on the authorities and so far, she has won. “Tears fall down Angela Silva Nascimento’s face as she tells us how difficult life is for her.” “I was offered 20,000 riads for my house (€7,700) but I refused,” she says. “Rich people who live nearby didn’t have to move. People who were poorer and who didn’t have the same means were being forced to go. I knew this wasn’t right. What I earn is just enough for food and medication for my brother. But that’s no reason for me to be treated differently to others.” Maria’s brother Jamie is severely disabled after suffering a stroke. “He needs to be in a room with good ventilation and the sea air is perfect for him. We don’t want to live anywhere else,” she says. She brings Jamie out in his wheelchair for some fresh air while we are there and the smile on his face when he hits the warm Atlantic breeze is beautiful. She finds strength through her strong faith and the support she has had from organizations like Cearah Periferia, headed up by the vibrant and chatty Suzanne. Supported by Trócaire, they work with poor communities in the city’s 600 favelas. The organisation supports families and communities who have been excluded from society due to the economic development in the city and represents them at local and national level on issues of urban planning and urban development. Drought in the countryside has led to a lot of migration from rural areas. More than 85 percent of Brazilians live in cities. These people tend to be poor and end up living in favelas. Some favelas are located in areas which are totally unsuitable for human habitation. Cearah Periferia have highlighted the homes of 22,000 families in 103 areas in Fortaleza that are dangerous due to risks such as flooding and landslides. One such favela is the beautifully named, “Place of the Goji Berries and Guava”. However, you are far more likely to find dirty nappies and household rubbish than any exotic trees bearing tropical fruit here. Children run around naked and while we were there, a sinister gang of young men gathered, watching our every move. Maria and her brother Jamie, who is severely disabled after suffering a stroke: one of the families in Fortaleza who have been excluded from society due to the economic development in the city and are now supported by Trócaire. Tears fall down Angela Silva Nascimento’s face as she tells us how difficult life is for her here. Toothless and dishevelled, she looks like she has had a hard life so far. “From six o’clock at night you can’t leave your house because people are shooting each other out here,” she says. Her son has already been in trouble with the police but it is not the violence that is the main concern to people here. The favela is situated on top of a sand dune. When it rains, residents hold their breath and their belongings and wonder if this time, their house will slide into the sea. And it does rain. A lot. The day before we arrived, 70mms of rain fell in an hour, the amount that usually falls in a month. Angela’s house is a warren of dark dirty nooks and crannies. She would love to move somewhere she can feel safe. Somewhere that she doesn’t have to look up at the sky and hope there are not too many clouds. So far, the local authority has moved 20 families from the dunes to safe accommodation nearby but Angela is one of 480 families who still waits to hear when her time will come. Back at Maria’s house by the sea, the one thing she misses most of all are her neighbours. "We all arrived here together in 1983. There was a great sense of community,” she says. Her friend Vera Alice comes to visit her though. Vera tried to fight too. She was offered compensation to leave but it was not enough for her to rebuild elsewhere. Some favelas are located in areas which are totally unsuitable for human habitation. “They actually knocked down the house while we were inside,” she says as she grips her infant son Artur tightly in her arms. Vera Alice now lives in cramped conditions with her family in her mother’s house. She has taken a case against the local authority two years ago but so far nothing has happened and she has got no compensation. Frustration with the local authority is obvious. On the one hand forcing people like Maria and Vera Alice out of their perfectly good homes and on the other hand unprepared to provide a safe place for Angela and her family to live. “Public policy isn’t directed towards poor people’s needs. Only in the hour of voting do politicians care about our needs. Health or education aren’t really on their agenda. Policies only exist to fulfil the interests of politicians,” Maria says. The local authority came back to Maria and offered her an extra €3,000 to knock down her house. She said no. “There is no value you can put on this house. It has huge amounts of sentimental value and as an older person I have no interest in moving. This is where my ties are. This is where I’ll stay.” In 2008, Trócaire is focusing on helping communities in the developing world who are struggling to cope with the effects of climate change. To support Trócaire log on to www.trocaire.org

© Copyright 2006 by theword.ie

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