“Ninguém merece”

Being blonde in Brasil is no easy task. I mean, sure, it’s neat being “one of a kind” in a foreign land, but sometimes you find yourself wishing you could blend in. Some days I feel completely normal, but then I step out in public and quickly remember how exotic I look to those around me. I’m a 5’9 blonde, with blue eyes and fair skin. I’m surrounded by olive complexion, 5’0-5’6 (on average) Brasilian natives. Of course I’m going to stand out.

And if you want to go shopping in Fortaleza, make sure you’re not long and lean. Clothes here are not made for my body type. And they definitely aren’t in my price range either. Did you know clothes at the mall are quadruple the price of American mall clothes? Talk about frustrating.

Saturday was frustrating for this reason. Let me elaborate.

A week ago, a guy named Isaac (who I have mentioned before,) asked me to attend his graduation party with him. Me, being the sweet Texas gal I am, new and eager to make friends, said yes without hesitation. I like parties. And as it turns out, Isaac is a journalism major also. I mean, really, how could I say no?

Anyway, his party would be a formal one: fancy dresses, food served, pictures taken, the whole nine yards. This party would honor every member of his class and each member would invite friends and family. I would be attending as his date; his “madrinha.” This literally translates to “maid of honor,” but is not meant in the same way we use it in the United States. In my mind, I imagined this as a fancy word for “date,” since no literal translation was available. And that was the last I thought of it.

I still needed to find a dress though. (Before I left Texas, my mother suggested I not bring any “nice” outfits or dresses with me since I wouldn’t be attending anything where I would need them. Little did she know I would need a formal dress and shoes two weeks into my trip. And after seeing the prices at the mall, I resented her for it. You live and you learn.)

Amanda, a new friend from the Palhano’s church, offered to take me shopping Saturday morning. We went to a shopping strip near Centro where four to five blocks of various dress stores are located, and all reasonably priced too. A bargain shopper’s paradise. However, it’s only paradise if you find what you’re looking for…

I kid you not, the two of us went to every single store on the strip. If they sold anything that even looked like a dress, we checked it out. But like I said before, when you’re long and lean, and in a county where almost no one has your body structure, you quickly find shopping very difficult. On top of that, I’m just picky to begin with.

We worked up a sweat, entering and re-entering stores, going outside and then inside over and over for three (yes, three) hours. Amanda even called her mother-in-law, who sells clothes at an outdoor “mall” nearby, to see if she had anything that might work. We went. We saw. We left empty-handed.

Nothing was working out for me. I was beginning to feel hopeless.

After a regrouping session at an area “Chinese food” restaurant, (if you want to call what I ate oriental,) with Amanda and her husband Haron, I returned to the Palhano’s house in hopes that Patrícia would come to my rescue. She, Catarina and I went to the mall in hopes of finding something that would compliment my tall and slender self.

Twenty shops and two hours later, I finally found something that would be appropriate. I literally did a happy dance when I found something suitable. However, I was sick knowing I could pay for the same style dress at Forever 21 for 70% less. EMO MOMENT. And shoes on top of that?? Well there goes the neighborhood.

Promising myself I couldn’t sweat the small stuff and that the worst was over, I returned to the house exhausted. With the party two and a half hours away, I decided to paint my nails and listen to my favorite Modest Mouse album while I gathered myself.

Never in my life have I spent so much time shopping for one thing. Never, ever. And never again.

I dolled myself up about thirty minutes prior to departure. Patrícia would be in attendance at the party also. Isaac was allowed to invite friends too, so he choose five of us from the church to come join his family and him. I was glad she would be there; she could help me understand what I couldn’t.

Looking fresh to death in my light blue, knee-length dress (to match my eyes of course,) we left the house. Arriving with Isaac’s other friends, Patrícia helped me explain to the ladies in the group how ridiculously stressful my day had been. We laughed about it together, reliving my happy dance and our shared determination. She joked with me saying, “Well at least it’s over now!” I joked back, saying “The day isn’t over yet!”

No. No, it wasn’t.

Upon entering the party at Imperium Buffet, I was surrounded by elaborate journalism themed decor and regal adornments wall-to-wall. Each graduate had a designated table with a photo placed atop to indicate reserved seating. The room was still fairly empty, but it didn’t take long for the place to fill up. The best comparison I can give for the type of dress code implemented is this: imagine your prom, but on steroids. And it’s not just your age group; it’s all ages, (and shapes, and sizes).

So Isaac arrives with his family, and soon after, the live band starts playing. Isaac approaches me and says “I need you to come with me.” Okay, no big deal, I thought. I must need to meet his classmates or something. But when we went behind a curtain, I started to feel uneasy. There, I found the rest of his classmates, along with their dates, or their “madrinha’s” as Isaac called them. The mood behind the curtain was very energetic. More energetic than what I would have liked. Oh dear God, I thought. What have I gotten myself into?

Come to find out, I wasn’t just his date. Nope. It couldn’t be that easy. I would be walking with the rest of the madrinha’s through the curtain, down a “runway” which ran through the center of the crowd, and then stand in a semi-circle at the far end of the room on a dance floor to await the graduates. While waiting there, each graduate would be introduced individually to the crowd with their chosen theme music, and we would walk back down to the halfway mark of the runway to receive them. Upon receiving them, we would walk back to the dance floor until all the introductions were done; dancing would commence immediately after.

And no, I didn’t understand those instructions the first time. Nor the second time either. I knew I was in trouble when Isaac couldn’t even explain them to me. Oh, to be a fly on the wall behind that curtain! Had it not been for Bruno, another madrinha who happened to know enough English to help your girl out, I would have been up a creek without a paddle.

I don’t know how I kept from hyper-ventilating. Maybe it was the continual internal pathetic pep-talk I kept giving myself. (This will all be over in thirty minutes Candice. This is only thirty minutes of your life. This cruel torture can’t possible last longer than thirty minutes, right? This too will pass. I’m going to kill Isaac later. You can do this. Just look straight ahead. Don’t worry about the couple hundred people staring at you–you know, since you’re the tallest one in the line and blonde and everything. You’ll be fine. Just smile and try not to think about it.)

Aye aye aye. Awkward. In shock. Embarrassed. Nervous. Out of place. Uncomfortable. Choose one; that’s how I felt.

With the best composure I could conjure up, I made it through the whole run-down without any major fatalities. And it only lasted about forty-five minutes. Bearable, in the span of a lifetime. As soon as Isaac and I were safely back on the dance floor, I leaned over and said “I didn’t sign up for this,” and with a smile, “I’ll be mad at you later. Right now, let’s just do this.”

I returned to the table after I fulfilled my responsibilities where Patrícia sat, just as shocked as I was about the whole ordeal. She had no idea. Had she known, she would have saved me.

But you know, as I sit here writing this 24 hours later, I’m happy to have this experience under my belt. Sure, I was mortified while it was happening, but now that’s it’s over, I’m pleased to have this unique, interesting and memorable moment to share from my Brasilian adventure. No telling how many more are to come!

In Brasil, there is a popular expression people use when talking about a situation similar to mine. They say “niguém merece” which means “nobody deserves this.” No, I didn’t deserve this, but looking back, I’m a better person for it. In an unconventional way, I put myself to the test, and overcame my erratic emotions that could have easily taken over, but didn’t.

Here’s to keeping calm and carrying on. What’s next Brasil?

Candice