The closely kept secrets of Rio’s largest slum

DOWN TO ROCINHA AND BACK – ALIVE

Nobody really knows much about La Favela Rocinha (pronounced Rossinya). Only that it is vast, unmappable and dangerous. No one can calculate the volume of drug trafficking that takes place along its dark, narrow alleys. None can tell the exact daily toll of bodies consumed by gang wars, vendettas, and innocent collaterals. This is partly because nobody has a clue as to how big Rocinha is. The official count stands at 70,000 souls, but unofficial guesses hover between 150,000 to 300,000.

One thing is clear. Rocinha is the largest, most disreputable favela in Rio de Janeiro. Its notoriety reaching far beyond the borders of Rio and Brazil. Would you like a visit?

Down into the heart of darkness

I mean it literally.
Rocinha’s mass of hovels, multi-stories dives are anchored (“anchored” being a euphemism) on a steep slope overlooking the vast Southern Atlantic. Residents navigate their way down from the top access road through a maze of dark alleys and hidden pathways. Doing the opposite is only recommended when chasing a member of a rival gang, or when trying to escape the Police’s unofficial “death squads”.

Yes, the mighty slum has rightly earned its international infamy. It even played a key role in a memorable scene of  The Fast and the Furious 5.

Avoiding Rocinha when going through Rio de Janeiro’s list of “musts” would be the sensible thing to do. Then again, who goes to Rio because it’s “sensible”?!

That’s why the street-smart folks at the favela came out with a brilliant marketing idea. They turned their slum into a legitimate tourist destination. That’s right, an urban safari for the thrill seekers. Only in this safari the Lions – not the Rangers – are the ones doing the chauffeuring.

And you know what?
It works!

The Devil’s ain’t so bad, after all

I didn’t know there was an opportunity to visit a genuine favela – let alone the biggest most famous one. When I heard, I immediately signed up. My sensible wife made sure our lawyer had a copy of my will at hand and chose to stay in the relative safety of the Ipanema beach.

I left all my valuables – sans my camera and small change money – at the hotel, and boarded a small pickup truck, joining a small group of other adventurers huddled out in the back. The old and beaten vehicle slowly navigated its way through the winding, achingly beautiful side road across the Dois Irmãos mountains and stopped in front of the neighborhood’s only Post Office – right at the top of Rocinha. Our guide – a young menacing-looking local – jumped out of the passenger seat and we all disembarked. He then started off and gave us a short briefing on favela etiquette. Briefly: listen to the instructions, stick together and try not to stare at people too long. “You’ll be just fine,” he said as the pickup truck disappeared behind one of the bends.

Our anxiety levels started fading as we descended through one of the dark alleys to our first stop – a tall shanty house complete with a welcoming owner and a generally joyous group of siblings. He told us about the history of the favela (nobody really knows when and how it was founded), talked about the building code (there is none – but the Rocinha’s use common good sense, and hope for the best) and gave us a feeling of what it’s like living there. He wasn’t shy about the bad stuff. Yet, it didn’t bother him too much as there was apparently a few silver linings to sweeten life in the favela. One of them was right on his rooftop. He took us up a narrow and steep staircase where we saw what must be one of the best views one can ever wish for.

His friendly neighbors waved at us as we gasped with awe.
Perhaps hell isn’t that bad after all.

Down the hill

We left, feeling less scared, and continued down the chaotic paths of the neighborhood. On our way, we met everyday folks who were more than happy to share with us their true-to-life stories. None tried to hide or gloss over the crime, violence, and poverty, yet we encountering no despair.

For them, this was just another aspect of life in Rocinha. The favela offered more than just terror and tears. It also fostered a strong sense of community, and camaraderie that comes from living in a place where criminals are not necessarily enemies and police are not necessarily friends. A place free of the normal bureaucracies and tediousness that comes with life in a developed city. “If your bicycle gets stolen here”, told us one guy with a tattoo in Hebrew reading ‘I love my family’, “you can either go to the police, fill up dozens of forms and never see your bike again. Or, you can explain the situation to one of your neighborhood’s ‘bosses’ and have them delivered to your home the following morning”.If all of this sounds a bit like “Little Italy” of 1920’s New York City, your not the only one.

Finally, we came down the mountain and back into normality. Just outside the huge favela, one of Rio nicer neighborhoods sprawls all the way to the ocean. It comes complete with a golf course, posh villas, and carefully manicured gardens. The small pickup truck was waiting for us in the roundabout waiting to take us back to a place whose rules are clear but complicated. Full of laws, taxes, bills to pay, building codes, permits, traffic wardens, and work.

And although I admit that I came out of Rocinha with a different point of view, I’d still choose our everyday boredom. Yes, for all it undeniable rebellious charm, I’d still prefer to have the police my friends and gangsters – my enemies.