Tag Archives: Fortaleza

When a Company Dies

23 Sunday Sep 2012

Posted by in Brazil, Economy and Finance, Working Life

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Bankruptcy Graph

Source: ActionCoach Brasil (acisa.org.br)

 

When our Brazilian Temporary Visas came up for review and renewal, I was working at Melon Exporters S.A. Since my estranged husband had returned to Guyana, I had to prove to the immigration authorities at the Federal Police Department that I was capable of providing for myself and two sons.

After checking my Application for Renewal Form, the courteous Federal Police Officer handling our case looked up at me. “Shouldn’t your position be secretary?”

“I am the import-export manager,” I said, showing him the Declaration from Melon Exporters S.A. stating my position and monthly salary. I had also brought a recent newspaper clipping about our company and its founder. Melon Exporters S.A. was a success story for the State of Ceará. We had a good export record. I was proud to be part of the team.

My first inkling of trouble came when my colleague in the Finance Department shared her concerns about our financial woes. Melon Exporters not only had to contend with rising operational costs, but also the effects of prolonged drought in the semi-arid region. While the population of over two million in Fortaleza contended with water-rationing, the increased salinity in the shrinking reservoir, feeding our melon plantation, affected our yield, the size of our fruits, and their sucrose content.

To preserve our overseas markets, the owner and managing director obtained agricultural lands along the bank of the Rio Jaguaribe, the life-line of Ceará. The new and ambitious project came at too great a cost. Our bankers’ refusal to renew our credit finance heralded the end. A bold strategy to inject life-giving working capital only prolonged our death throes.

As the staff shrunk, those of us who remained had to assume the responsibilities of the departed. Providing our overseas clients with answers and updates on developments became my task. We, the five survivors, knew that the time had come to let go of the bond we had developed as a successful work team.

Our last year-end staff party was dismal. Together with our spouses and children, we only filled two large tables put together at the open-air restaurant where we gathered to commemorate the passing of the year. No Santa Claus lifted our spirits with gifts for everyone. A team member and I won the two cash prizes. We exchanged gifts with our secret friends, picked two weeks earlier. My secret friend, the young receptionist and telephone operator, gave me a pair of drop earrings of a helm in black and gold – a memento I treasure to this day.

For the first time in my professional life, I was part of a dying company. It shook my world and my confidence in working for small- and medium-sized family-owned enterprises. As a working solo Mom, I had to let go of the bond I had developed with my colleagues and the man who had given me so many opportunities to grow as an international trade professional. With a heavy heart, I had to move on.

 

Brazil: Training as an Import/Export Manager in the Fresh Fruit Market

10 Sunday Jun 2012

Posted by in Brazil, Working Life

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Port of Rotterdam, Netherlands – Europe’s main trading and distribution center for fruits, vegetable and fruit juices (Source: thelink.co.in)

When I embarked on my new career as an international trade professional, there were no international business courses yet available at the educational institutions in Fortaleza, capital of the Northeastern State of Ceará. Anyone seeking qualification in the field had to move down south to the major commercial cities, such as São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro. Then in 1990, President Fernando Collor de Mello (1990-1992) opened the Brazilian market to imports, increasing the demand for qualified international trade professionals throughout the country.

By the time I had joined the import/export team at Melon Exporters S.A. (fictitious name), two-day specialized certificate courses (a total of 16 hours) had become available at privately-run training institutes for business executives and entrepreneurs. Qualified experts in their fields, the majority of them from São Paulo, conducted these courses. During the two years (1992-1994) that I worked at Melon Exporters S.A., the president and owner of the company, at my request, not only granted me the time off (usually Fridays and Saturdays), but also (at his own discretion) granted approval for payment of these courses.

I also participated in one-day seminars conducted by the Banco do Brasil, controlled by the Brazilian government and responsible for issuing Import and Export Licenses; conferences for importers and exporters held by state and federal government organs; and regional agricultural fairs and expositions.

At the request of the company’s Commercial Director, I kept a record of the UK wholesale market prices for melons published in the Fresh Produce Journal. I read the weekly-published journal from front to back, as well as a monthly English magazine for fruit growers (the name slips me) that the company also subscribed to. Through books (we did not have Wikipedia at the time), I immersed myself in the European fresh fruit market and the logistics of moving fresh fruit from the farm gate to overseas buyers.

It was a fascinating and challenging journey of discovery, learning, and achievement!

When one lacks funds, time or whatever obstacles stand in the way of achieving one’s goals, there is always a way. It requires more effort and determination. With focus and passion, it is truly amazing what one can achieve.

Brazil: My First Meeting with an Overseas Client

20 Sunday May 2012

Posted by in Brazil, Working Life

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Buggy Ride across Sand Dunes in Ceará, Brazil

Source: guiadolitoral.uol.com.br

 

My first meeting with an overseas client took place on a Sunday at the beach front of Tabuba, 13.7 miles from Fortaleza, capital of Ceará. With an extensive beach and high sand dunes, Praia de Tabuba is great for buggy rides.

Doutor Antônio, the owner and president of the melon exporting company where I worked, provided company transport to take me and my two sons to his private beach condo at Tabuba. The hot, outdoor churrasco (barbecue) called for light, casual clothing with swimwear for a dip in the condominium’s swimming pool or a wade in the ocean.

Arriving at the condo, we were escorted to the outdoor patio on the ground floor. While Doutor Antônio introduced me to our visiting British client, CEO of a major food chain, seated at a table with the company’s three directors, his wife Dona Rosa took my sons to join the other children under the care of their two teenage daughters.

When Dona Rosa introduced me to the wives of our British client and company directors, one of them expressed relief at my arrival. “How do I tell her that I adored the changing of the guards at Buckingham Palace?” she told me.

Seated in a prime position between Dona Rosa and our honored guest, I soon realized that my role at the churrasco was that of English/Portuguese interpreter. There was nothing complex about the conversation among the women: small talk about Brazil, England, and family life. But being a first-time interpreter required great concentration on my part, reminding me that the beautiful sunny day by the beach was in fact another working day.

Over bottles of cold beer and servings of barbecue meat, chicken, fish, and French fries sprinkled with grated cheese, the men appeared to be communicating well with their limited English-speaking skills. At the women’s table, those who did not drink beer, like yours truly, could choose from fresh fruit drinks and coconut water.

But the day was not all work. In the early afternoon, we all went for buggy rides along the beach and across the sand dunes. What a thrill! More so for my sons who also had a great time playing with the other children.

My first contact with an overseas client was a lesson in small talk and the first of numerous future experiences as an interpreter. If you plan to do business with Brazil, I strongly recommend that you brush up on your skills in small talk. Be prepared to answer questions about your country and to share personal tidbits about yourself and your family.

Through such informal business events, Brazilians develop trust with their (potential) clients for a long-lasting business relationship. The visiting British couple spent that weekend at Doutor Antônio’s condo in Tabuba. Brazilian hospitality at its best.

On Monday morning, I accompanied our president, commercial director, and British client on the two-hour drive to the company’s melon farm, over 125 miles from Fortaleza.

Carnival in Brazil

26 Sunday Feb 2012

Posted by in Brazil, Festivals

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Carnival in Fortaleza – Ceará – Brazil (wwwcarnaval2012.org)

Almost everything stops during Brazil’s four-day carnival extravaganza and festivities. The most celebrated festival in Brazil takes place yearly before Ash Wednesday. For some revelers, four days are not enough. They continue partying and binging throughout Ash Wednesday and the rest of the week.

Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of the Christian forty-day Lenten Season. It is a period of fasting and penance in remembrance of the suffering and death of Jesus Christ, and culminates in Jesus’ resurrection (Easter Sunday). Carnival can therefore be considered as a kind of last indulgence in worldly pleasures before cloaking oneself in self-denial during Lent.

In the early years in Brazil, I watched the Rio Carnival broadcast live on the TV. The vibrant colors and sparkle mesmerized me. I fell in love with the samba. With lessons from my girlfriends, I learned to dance the samba… somewhat.

During carnival in Fortaleza, capital of the State of Ceará, thousands of people leave the city for the beaches and the interior, as well as for other cities across Brazil. The exodus starts on Thursday night and escalates on Friday night. To avoid the bumper-to-bumper drive along the coastal and other highways, we left the city early on Saturday morning.

For those who stay in Fortaleza and the tourists who visit the sunshine, coastal city for carnival, there is Maracatu – an Afro-Brazilian street parade in which the participants dress up like the Portuguese royal court of the Baroque period. Since most Cearense are moreno (brown-skinned), they paint their skin black. (I found this weird the first time I watched the parade.)

Aracati, 87 miles distant from Fortaleza, is one of the popular carnival destinations in Ceará. People dance through the streets behind trios elétricos – large trucks specially equipped with high-power sound systems and platforms for musical bands and singers to perform for the crowds. The favorite rhythms are forró and axé.

The year my sons and I spent carnival in Aracati, the sun was merciless. Jet streams of water sprayed the crowd, keeping body temperatures in check. Conservative and a teetotaler – a spoiler for ‘playing’ carnival – I observed the revelry from the sidelines of the crowd. Exhausted at the end of the day, I stayed with my sons at the pousada (inn) while my friends danced through the night. With the sound of the trio elétrico reverberating throughout the small town, sleep did not come easy.

After a few years, the Rio Carnival lost its allure. For me, it became a tourist attraction that thrived on debauchery. Across the nation, carnival appeared to be a pressure cooker valve for the working class: a release from the year-long pressure of living on minimum wage. People do whatever it takes to raise money to ‘play’ carnival.

 

Starting Out in Brazil: Kindness from a Stranger

08 Sunday Jan 2012

Posted by in Brazil, Immigrants, Relationships

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Source: http://www.jangadeiroonline.com.br

Life is full of wonderful surprises.  There are times when, unexpectedly, strangers come forward to help us. Senhor Alencar in Fortaleza, Brazil, was such a person. A few months following our arrival in Fortaleza, Andrew – a friend of my husband who had helped us to settle down in our new home – took us with him downtown to Sr. Alencar’s home-improvement supplies store. The store was well located at the corner of two busy streets.

Andrew was one of Sr. Alencar’s regular clients. If I recall correctly, Andrew went there for paint. He introduced my husband and me to Sr. Alencar: a forty-something year-old man with a gentle face and kind eyes, calm manner, and soft-spoken.  He and Andrew conversed in Portuguese, with Andrew interpreting for us.

Andrew told Sr. Alencar that we had recently arrived in Fortaleza from Guyana and intended to offer private English classes.

“I would be happy to put up a sign in my shop,” Sr. Alencar told us. “How can persons interested contact you?”

“They don’t have a phone yet,” Andrew said. “We’ll have to work something out and let you know.”

“If you wish, you can use my phone number for contact,” Sr. Alencar told us.

His offer surprised me. He did not have to do that. But he did.

“God bless you for your kindness, Senhor.”

Andrew translated my response. “Deus te abençoe.”

We consulted with a Brazilian lawyer to assist us in obtaining permanent resident status. After languishing in a state of limbo for two years, Sr. Alencar gave my husband a copy of an article published in a São Paulo newspaper. President José Sarney (1985-1990) had announced amnesty for all foreigners residing in the country in an “irregular situation.” Our Brazilian lawyer assured us that it was not a trick of the government and that we should present our documentation to the Federal Police, as instructed in the official announcement.

Through his interest and thoughtfulness for me and my family, Sr. Alencar changed the course of our lives in Brazil. A small thought, a small act can go such a long way.

What moves people to treat strangers with kindness? Only God knows what lies deep within our hearts. We are capable of reaching out to others with no expectation of something in return. In Brazil, I learned to accept the goodwill of others with joy and appreciation.

A few years before my sons and I left Brazil, I had the opportunity to visit Sr. Alencar at his store. Following years of one economic crisis after another, his store was a third of its former size. This time, I did not need someone to act as interpreter. I was fluent in Portuguese.

“The economy is bad,” he told me. “But, thanks to God, we’re still in business. I can’t complain.”

I thanked him for what he had done for me and my family. “Deus te abençoe.”

Brazilian Friend of the Heart

16 Sunday Oct 2011

Posted by in About Me, Brazil, Human Behavior, Working Life

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Source: Photo by tmpdan, selected for Google Earth (www.panoramio.com)

Fleeing to Brazil where they speak a language different from my own rocked my world. On arrival, I could utter in Portuguese only bom dia, boa tarde, boa noite, obrigada, por favor,  and com licença.

My husband’s Guyanese-Brazilian friend loaned me a Portuguese-English textbook. With nouns having male and female attributes and verb-endings that changed with you and me, and all those others, the Portuguese language seemed a formidable language to learn. I set a target of memorizing ten new words a day. A pocketbook-size English/Portuguese dictionary became my closest companion. For the correct pronunciation of words, I found help in watching the popular novelas de televisão, Brazil’s soap operas.

Help came the day my husband came home with an English-speaking, Brazilian young man willing to teach me Portuguese. He was the life-buoy I craved for surviving in Brazil. I will refer to him as Gabriel.

The afternoon Gabriel took me, my husband, and two sons to the Ponte Metálica – the famous ‘Bridge of the Englishmen’ and remnant of the former Port of Fortaleza – I was unable to squeeze my way out of the packed bus to get off with them. I had to remain on the bus until the next stop. My sons were relieved to see me; Gabriel apologized for the crowded bus. This was the first of many popular places around Fortaleza that Gabriel took us.

Gabriel shared with us some of the dos and don’ts of Brazilian life. He did not make fun of me after I told a store clerk that I was looking for shoes pra você (for you) instead of para mim (for myself). When he graduated from the State University of Ceará, he invited me to join his family at his Graduation Ball.

Through Gabriel, I learned of an opening for a secretary at the Sociedade Brasileira de Cultura Inglesa, a private school for teaching British English and culture. I got the job. After working with them during January and February 1989, I secured a position of import/export assistant at an international trade consultancy firm.

Gabriel was discreet about his sexual orientation. At the university, where we had our first Portuguese lesson, young women flocked him. I never saw him holding hands with another male. Only after knowing me for some time did he disclose that he was gay.

Gabriel taught me that a person’s sexual orientation does not change one’s humanness; that our preconceptions about others rob us of the opportunity of getting to know brilliant and generous individuals who can change our lives for better. Knowing Gabriel, I was able to embrace and work well with gay co-workers at a West Hollywood retail store – enriching my life experience.

Gabriel was my first Brazilian friend, um amigo do coração (friend of the heart). Many other generous people journeyed with me during the sixteen years I lived in Brazil. You will meet them by-and-by.

Living Behind High Walls

14 Sunday Aug 2011

Posted by in Brazil, Urban Violence

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Entrance (Portaria) to Apartment Building in Fortaleza, Ceará, Brazil

When I migrated to Brazil with my husband and two sons in April 1987, Brazil had not long ago emerged from 21 years of military dictatorship rule (1964-1985). As we settled in to make our home there, we did not realize that Brazil had a long way to go before it could address the glaring inequality between the population and the minority upper class that owned and controlled the agricultural lands, major industries, financial institutions, and the media.

During our first week in Fortaleza, we entered a tiny neighborhood mercearia (grocery shop) and boggled at the shelves stuffed with a wide variety of canned, bottled, and other food products. In the stores in downtown Fortaleza, there were no shortages of consumer goods – all Made in Brazil.

Our elation was short-lived. Inflation, like a woodpecker, whittled away at the meager profits of our home-based pastry business. Like the low-paid worker, we could not earn enough to keep pace with the constant price increases of staple and other essential items.

Together with the majority working class, we jostled for survival. Street children and adolescents roamed downtown, major streets, and beach fronts in search of food and whatever they could snatch. They targeted women (myself included) and the elderly. Bandidos (bandits) did not hesitate to kill whenever they encountered resistance. If you had no money, they took your clothing and shoes, leaving you in your underwear. Pistoleiros (gunmen) for hire eliminated enemies and rivals for as little as fifty US dollars.

In the middle and upper class neighborhoods, private security guards manned portarias (guard huts, like the one shown in the above photo) at the entrance of apartment buildings. Houses hid behind high walls, some with signs ‘Cuidado com o Cão’ (Beware of the Dog). To avoid triggering angry responses from guard dogs on the other side of walled residences, I shunned the sidewalk and walked on the street.

I was not familiar with the numerous popular breeds of guard dogs. But one of them was notorious: the Pit Bull.  The Pit Bull had arrived in Brazil a year after we did and soon gained a reputation as a beast, capable of brutally killing a person. Cases of such deaths usually hit the headlines of Brazil’s TV Network.

The day a Pit Bull escaped from a yard while I was walking by on the street left me shaken. Before his owner had secured him by his collar, he had snapped at the back of my left calf, ripping my sheer nylon stocking, and leaving red teeth marks.

Brazil is currently debating a law to prohibit the sale and breeding of the Pit Bull as well as sixteen other fierce dogs. A number of Brazilian states have already done so. Owners of Pit Bulls must secure them with collars, chains, and muzzles. Offenders are heavily fined. Imprisonment awaits those whose animals injure or kill their victims.

The Pit Bull was not my kind of companion. I found refuge from the violence stalking the city behind high walls.