Military Police
I forgot to mention in my post this week about my time spent with the military police. Normally, I wouldn’t trust people wielding semi-automatics and I’m often skeptical of the police in the States, but in Brazil, things are different. I was sitting in the back of a Toyota with some of my volunteers when these two officers hitched a ride on the back. They’re hanging off the ladder. Once we stopped to let some passengers off I called to them that there was space inside the vehicle. One of my vols looked at my like I was crazy as she was eying their weaponry, but I’m a much different person when working here. I talk to everyone. Normally I get stuck with the random crazy person that is obligatory on every Toyota ride. I listen to them rambling on about chickens or cisterns or the municipal government’s inability to do anything. I smile, nod, and say “eh” about a thousand times, which is what is used in the NE more than “yes.” They say, I can’t believe you are American. I thought Americans were evil. This is after they spend 5 minutes trying to figure out where I’m from. Once they realize I’m not from Bahia (NE Brazil with the large black population), the answers vary. I was called Bolivian and Ecuadorian last week. Not sure what they were basing the guess on…
Anyway, back to the military police. So for some reason I had this uncontrollable urge to start asking them lots of questions. I’ve gotten used to making people speak ever since I started seriously doing my linguistic research. Normally I wouldn’t go up to a random military officer and ask how long they’ve been training, what is their job like, how often do they get to use their semi-automatics, or comment on how I usually just see them stand on the side of the road hanging out. But Brazil empowers, empowers me to put my foot in my mouth. Luckily for me, they met my impudent questions with interest. They explained to me what life was like for them in a very candid way. They then asked what I was doing in Brazil (luckily they weren’t the federal police. I’m under the suspicion that they are still after me for losing my exit card the last time I was in Brazil). After talking about work, they started explaining how the people differ depending on what town they are from. The more experienced officer pointed to his cadet, whose smile betrayed the braces that made him look younger than he was, and said that the men from his town are known for their sensitivity. Of course you can’t be in the military police or in Brazil for that matter and accept someone calling you sensitive. So then the cadet told me that all the men from the officer’s town were known for getting fat once they reached a certain age. I couldn’t tell if they were trying to arrange my marriage by giving me town names, descriptions of the male population, and advice on how to deal with them. All I know is that I’ve never laughed so hard with a huge gun 6 inches away.
I forgot to mention in my post this week about my time spent with the military police. Normally, I wouldn’t trust people wielding semi-automatics and I’m often skeptical of the police in the States, but in Brazil, things are different. I was sitting in the back of a Toyota with some of my volunteers when these two officers hitched a ride on the back. They’re hanging off the ladder. Once we stopped to let some passengers off I called to them that there was space inside the vehicle. One of my vols looked at my like I was crazy as she was eying their weaponry, but I’m a much different person when working here. I talk to everyone. Normally I get stuck with the random crazy person that is obligatory on every Toyota ride. I listen to them rambling on about chickens or cisterns or the municipal government’s inability to do anything. I smile, nod, and say “eh” about a thousand times, which is what is used in the NE more than “yes.” They say, I can’t believe you are American. I thought Americans were evil. This is after they spend 5 minutes trying to figure out where I’m from. Once they realize I’m not from Bahia (NE Brazil with the large black population), the answers vary. I was called Bolivian and Ecuadorian last week. Not sure what they were basing the guess on…
Anyway, back to the military police. So for some reason I had this uncontrollable urge to start asking them lots of questions. I’ve gotten used to making people speak ever since I started seriously doing my linguistic research. Normally I wouldn’t go up to a random military officer and ask how long they’ve been training, what is their job like, how often do they get to use their semi-automatics, or comment on how I usually just see them stand on the side of the road hanging out. But Brazil empowers, empowers me to put my foot in my mouth. Luckily for me, they met my impudent questions with interest. They explained to me what life was like for them in a very candid way. They then asked what I was doing in Brazil (luckily they weren’t the federal police. I’m under the suspicion that they are still after me for losing my exit card the last time I was in Brazil). After talking about work, they started explaining how the people differ depending on what town they are from. The more experienced officer pointed to his cadet, whose smile betrayed the braces that made him look younger than he was, and said that the men from his town are known for their sensitivity. Of course you can’t be in the military police or in Brazil for that matter and accept someone calling you sensitive. So then the cadet told me that all the men from the officer’s town were known for getting fat once they reached a certain age. I couldn’t tell if they were trying to arrange my marriage by giving me town names, descriptions of the male population, and advice on how to deal with them. All I know is that I’ve never laughed so hard with a huge gun 6 inches away.
posted by maya at 7:04 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home