Bairro de Boa Esperança

Publish date 21-02-2023

by Roberto Cristaudo

I was on vacation on the island of Boa Vista in the volcanic archipelago of Cape Verde, off the northwest coast of Africa. I was staying in one of those mega tourist villages with no identity, all the same, approved in a characterless format, exportable to any part of the world.

After a couple of days of muscle toning, aperitif games and a darts tournament, I began to no longer tolerate those privileges of a cruise tourist and I felt like the characters described by David Foster Wallace in A funny thing that I will never do again.

So I decided to venture outside for a walk and headed towards the town of Sal Rei, about 5 km from the hotel where I was staying. Surrounded by the salt pans from which it takes its name, Sal Rei attracts people from other islands in search of work and was once a very important center for salt harvesting. Immigration today is mainly due to the great demand for personnel to be employed in tourist villages, such as the one I was in, giving life to some favelas or bairros, as they are called this part. They are often dilapidated places, without drinking water, sewage or electricity, but which in their own way try to have some dignity.
I had left the tourist village for about an hour, it was noon the sun was falling directly on my head and there was no way to shelter.

The heat had become unbearable and I missed the air conditioning, the swimming pool and the possibility of having the food and drink of the all-inclusive treatment as I pleased. I asked the few people I gradually met and they all showed me bars and restaurants run by Italians, praising the espresso coffee or pasta bolognese that I could find while feeling at home. But I didn't want to feel at home, I didn't want an Italian coffee, I just wanted a cold beer, or a local drink and some shade to rest and quench my thirst in peace.

I came to the end of the road, beyond was only the ocean. A group of children were playing with a deflated balloon while others were carrying large, colorful bins. They welcomed me smiling. A series of dilapidated houses lying haphazardly along the coast intrigued me, prompting me to enter that maze of narrow streets. Without knowing it, I had arrived in the Bairro de Boa Esperança, the largest favela in Boa Vista.

There is no drinking water in the favela. It is purchased at 15 cents per litre, transported in 25-litre plastic drums and used sparingly for drinking and cooking, while there is water for washing of the sea. The adults work in tourist villages where drinking water is used to fill large swimming pools, where there is unlimited food and air conditioning everywhere, twenty-four hours a day. Tourism is tolerated by the inhabitants of the favela because it brings work and money that are easier to obtain than the hard work of the fisherman, which is still largely done anyway.

You need to apply for a permit and pay a fee to build a shack, but no one owns the house and the land where it stands, which remains at the disposal of the State. During the vacation, I returned several times to the favela. Every time I was ashamed of that injustice for which I felt, in spite of myself, responsible.


Roberto Cristaudo
NP December 2022

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