Under normal circumstances, all of them sit in air-conditioned offices and plan cam- paigns against AIDS, malaria and dengue fever. But today they are part of the Escravos de Mauá (the Slaves of Mauá), one of the most lively street carnival groups in Rio. The samba song of the Escravos is, "What Has Been and What is Still to Come." But today, right now is all that matters: this moment when the whole city is caught up in the rhythm of the samba.
During the slaves' parade, thousands
fl ock to Praça Mauá, usually Rio's red-light district. But today it belongs to the carnival. The marchers turn onto historic Avenida Rio Branco, a ruler-straight gorge between tower- ing bank and offi ce buildings. Diesel fumes rise up from trucks carrying overhead micro- phones. "Perfume for the revellers," someone jokes. The band plays a march; trumpets and trombones glitter in the sun. Junior, the lead vocalist, who is usually in an army uniform, is in pink today, with breasts made of sponge and his torso stuffed into a corset. Laurent, a Frenchman with an Asterix beard who comes from Paris every year for the carnival, is dressed as the devil, with two horns sticking out of his grey hair. Women with plastic sacks are dashing between the revellers collecting empty beer cans, each of which earns them two centavos (about a penny). Beer vendors push carts full of beer cans on ice. Drinks have to be estupidamente gelado ("stupidly cold"), say the cariocas; otherwise, it's difficult for people to last through these street parades. It's 42 C now. My wife touches up her
36 WESTWORLD >> NOVEMBER 2012
