Rio de Janeiro – Contrasts

I couldn’t get it out of my head.

That overwhelming number looping in my mind: more than 70,000 people, just on one hillside, more than half the population of my hometown.16.9 million in total, more than Switzerland, more than I can even wrap my head around.

How is that possible?

All those houses, stacked one on top of another, as if they’d sprouted like that. Colorful boxes are tangled together by a web of wires.

Yes, talking about Rio inevitably leads to discussing the unknown world of favelas. They're such a core part of the city, the heart and the scars, all at once.

In case you wonder, I didn’t take a favela tour, and that’s not what this is about.

I did some digging, and it turns out those tours rarely give anything back to the communities themselves. Honestly, it felt like poverty put on display. So I chose not to do it.

The closest I got was standing at the edge of one, just to check out some street art.

And no, just in case you’re wondering again, no one points a gun at you the second you get close.

You realize pretty quickly that the story we’ve been told, doesn’t quite line up with reality.

Rio reminded me a bit of COVID lockdowns. Remember when it felt like if you stepped outside, you’d self-destruct? Yeah, it wasn’t really like that. It was there, sure, you needed to be careful, use some common sense, but it wasn’t that extreme.

That’s kind of how Rio’s reputation works, in my opinion.

"You show up, and you get robbed. You step into a favela, and you die."

Well, not exactly.

Can that happen?

Yeah, it can.

Can you get robbed in a European city?

I have. Plenty.

Am I telling you to stroll around Rio waving a Rolex around like a flag?

Absolutely not.

Can you just wander into the favelas to see what’s going on?

I wouldn’t recommend it.

These communities have their own rules, and they deserve respect. Just like you wouldn’t want strangers poking around your house to see how you live, they don’t either. Those steep, narrow streets? That’s their home. Every turn is a patio, a living room, a life.

So, what’s the deal? Is crime really as bad as they say, or not?

Honestly, I don’t know much. But I do know this: there are always different stories depending on who you ask.

Version 1:The police, brave and watchful, are stationed in every square, every favela, every beach, making sure locals and tourists are safe. They keep things calm when drug trafficking stirs things up.

Version 2:The police also roll into the favelas now and then, guns blazing. Shootouts break out, even from helicopters. Two or three young guys might get killed, and that’s how fear gets planted inside the community, while outside, it looks like control. But inside those favelas, there’s respect. People know each other. There aren’t riots.

Which story is true? Well, the only real truth is that Brazil’s a country with enough resources to be a global powerhouse, but corruption has kept it tied down.

From what I’ve experienced in life? There’s probably a little truth in both stories.

So, what have I actually seen?

I’ve seen hardworking people, out from sunrise to sunset, sweeping the streets, selling cold water, cooking on smoky carts, making art that breathes from the walls, from the hands of kids who dance like they’re made of something lighter than the rest of us. The people in these communities fill the city with music and joy.

But I’ve also seen what’s missing education, healthcare, a future.

I’ve seen how selling drugs becomes a shortcut when every other door has been slammed shut.

When your mother dies young because there’s not enough food.

When your brother is left lying in the street at eight years old after a shootout.

When your father leaves one morning to collect cans and never comes back.

Then, a bracelet, a phone, might be dinner for a few weeks.

Fear of death fades away, and the value of life it’s just not measured the same way.

So, why did it get this way? How did it all start?

Gonna try to explain without giving you a full-on history lecture…

This didn’t just happen out of nowhere. The first favelas popped up in 1897, when soldiers returned from war and since no one gave them land or a place to live they built homes on the hills.

Then came the Afro-Brazilians, who, after slavery ended, were free, but with no land, no opportunities.

As Rio expanded, as tourism boomed, families with fewer resources were pushed to the edges, building homes where the city didn’t want to look.

And little by little, the favelas climbed the hillsides.

E voilá: When you push people outside the system, they don’t just disappear. Inequality grows. Cracks spread. Sometimes those cracks fill with art, with music, with resilience. But when every door stays shut, the only path left might lead somewhere no one chose.

And there’s João, for example. Nine years old, with a smile that disarms you.

Chasing a flat soccer ball, weaving through the steep curves of his neighborhood, heading out like he does every day to walk the beaches selling roasted corn without knowing that if one day hunger outweighs his dreams, someone might offer him something else to sell.

And even with this reality so present, Rio is so much more.

In this city of lights and shadows, I biked from end to end. I waved at capybaras and monkeys. I walked through jungles wrapped by the sea, in awe that I was still in the city.

I greeted Christ the Redeemer, and all the memories it stirred up. Through songs, old movies, and football, somehow, I’ve always felt connected to this city and its icon. Sometimes cloaked in fog, sometimes scorched by the sun, sometimes hidden behind torrential rain, but always there. Unmoved. Watching over this city of contrasts.

I danced samba, ate way too much meat, got lost in concerts, sipped caipirinhas on the beach, reconnected with old friends, watched sunsets that felt made-up, stumbled my way through portuñol…

And all the while, the hills watched back.

At night, those little lights paint a picture-perfect Rio, but they catch in your throat when you think about the thousands of stories flickering there at the same time.

And then you realize, while you’re dancing, laughing, dreaming, they are too. Just like anywhere else.

Rio lays the world bare in front of you. It doesn’t let you look away. You live side by side with all these realities.

But that’s the world, friends, even if we usually choose not to see it.

While we share a bottle of wine with friends on a Friday night, life keeps going on those hillsides.

While you cheer at a football match on Sunday, there’s a kid kicking a ball day and night, dreaming it’ll be his way out.

While we browse dresses for Jacinta’s wedding, there’s a mother out there breaking her back to feed her children.

And even though Rio puts it all right in your face, that contrast rules the whole world.

Up there, the fear of death weighs less, because life has already asked for so much.

Down here, we carry that fear in other ways, it freezes us, makes us build walls.

Out of that fear, we draw the lines, label “the bad guys.”

But maybe… It’s just easier to believe we’re the good ones.

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