What a morning. We left home just after 5am to head into town to Poupa Tempo, the govt offices where Tat was to renew her RG. It was drizzly, tiny droplets of rain floating and dancing, never really hitting the ground, landing gracefully and soaking everything they touched. In the light of the street lamps, the overhead wires looked as though they were beaded with diamonds. We were about to take a photo when the bus arrived. The bus was packed with steaming bodies... shouted conversations, the bus conductor playing with cell phone tunes, a girl singing along to some private tune on her mp3 player. We swayed and bumped along as light crept almost imperceptably into the sky.

The fresh air as we got off the bus was delightful. A group of elderly folk in white with perky white caps were doing some form of slow movement... not sure if it was Tai Chi. The walk to Poupa Tempo was uneventful. We chatted and laughed, glorying in the fresh, cool air. At Poupa Tempo, we got into the queue to get the number to be in the queue - yes, confusing. We wanted to take photos of their fascinating old/new light fittings. These things were huge, very antiquey with flourescent lightbulbs in them. Needing permission from the building admin, we decided against it. When Tat's turn finally came, we were somewhat dismayed to find that hers wasn't an ordinary case. She has to choose her nationality... and no one really knew what the next step was, but we could find out at a 'cartorio'. The cartorio's are basically clerical offices set up as middle men between the public and the government offices. Just another link in the chain... just another palm to cross. The cartorio was going to open in around 2 hours. Nothing else is open in the city before 9am - Brazilians aren't early birds.

We set out to wander around Sé. Sé is a mostly-paved semi-park fronting São Paulo's main cathedral. The Sé metro station runs below. Sé is in the heart of the city, it's center. All city measurements are taken from this point. We took a photo of a gorgeous rain sprinkled rose, then crossed over to another garden, where we took photos of some really interesting flowers. A little further along, I took photos of some shattered safety glass on a 'bridge' going over the pond. We caught sight of some fragile plants with dainty bell-like flowers. I took a few photos and handed the camera to Tat. As I handed the camera over, her cell phone rang. In that split second when we both looked down to the cell phone, a 'wind' blew past. We were robbed. I say, 'a wind', as the bridge was empty. It was a big bridge and wide... there was not a soul to be seen other than the two youths over head in another 'pond' taking their early morning bath. It took a second to register what had happened. Tat was on the ball. She dropped the umbrella she was carrying and gave chase... yelling for anyone to catch the thief. I think this guy could have given Road Runner a run for his money. I have never seen anyone run like that. They look in the wrong places for Olympic athletes. I followed as fast as I could, but I'm not exactly built for high speed chase. Two other men joined Tat in the chase. The cops and security guards we passed just looked on.

The chase got to where the area was very dicey. My hot-headed, impulsive daughter finally stopped, thankfully. There were two cops on the corner. One kept muttering about not being able to leave the car and the other said, "Don't worry! I'll get on my white horse and chase the scoundrel down!" Ok, not quite in those words. He ran off. I think he must have fallen somewhere. He was still dapper when he returned, but obviously hurting. He was totally bewitched by Tatiana. After radioing a bulletin to the other cops in the area, he very 'officially' took down Tat's details, interspersing his assurances about catching the criminal with "I wish I had eyes like yours" and "You're very pretty" (how does she do it... even when she looks a wreck, she attracts them!). I suggested she autograph a photo for him ; )

Around that time, Tat's two fellow-chasers came back. They lost the thief in the bus terminus. It was assumed that the thief got on one of the buses. What astounded us was that these two were homeless men and they were angry! We thanked them profusely for their efforts. They went off swearing that if they caught the thief, they would make him pay. We made our way, slowly, back up to the scene of the crime. There, we found one of the chasers talking to a woman, also homeless. She was ranting that thieves like that bring a slur on them, as they don't steal. When they spotted us, they went on about what they would do if they caught him. I guess they have their own justice system.

We left the area and headed to the bus to go home, a little heavier in heart than when we arrived. Tat's documents could wait for another day. The lesson? Not that we should be more careful when going into town. That is a given. That boy stole to get a pitance with which he could buy his next bottle of glue - or he stole to 'pay' an older person... a controller. He was skilled at his 'art', probably having done that since he was barely out of his mother's arms, if he spent any time in his mother's arms at all. Then there was the two homeless men who helped give chase. They had nothing to gain from helping, though on hindsight, I think there was a reward expected. I think, though, that they chased because they saw a crime committed on their 'turf'. Yes, we learnt a lot about humanity and our perceptions of people this morning. As for me, the material loss is not welcome, but when I watched my child running, and sometimes losing sight of her - it was a long distance - I feared something happening to her. I cannot begin to describe the relief when I finally met up with her again and could put my arms around her. Life is precious.

I'm sleepy....

Thought I'd treat you to another dose of dimples ; ) I've been doing my nut getting the printing of Tat's ID photo right. Each program has decided to play up in its own way. Like the fat watermark? This photo won't be swiped... it had better not be or I'll go after blood. I had fun last night checking my site's statistics. I found one of my photos was being hotlinked to a forum. Kippy, stop laughing. It was a generic enough photo of an old man selling limes at the streetmarket. I wouldn't have minded all that much if it weren't for the bandwidth being used and the fact that it was being used in a not-so-savory environment. I love bandwidth theives though... they make life fun. I swapped the photo out with a huge banner in bright red accusing the user of theft : )  I doubt they'll leave the link up for much longer. 

The weather was hot here today with a token splash of rain this afternoon. It was rather fun walking in the rain to the village. I then had a bad kitchen moment. Mac 'n cheese was on the menu for tonight and the white sauce curdled - yay! Then, instead of putting the cheese into the rescued white sauce, I plonked it into the boiling water, which was on hand waiting for the pasta. Nice going there. Tat fished the, by then molten, cheese out of the water and rescued that. The whole meal was a rescue effort. Guess I'm grateful it was rescuable.

Anyhow, tomorrow morning, we need to be in town by around 6am *HELP!* to get into the queues for the govt offices dealing with RG's (what they call the local ID cards), so that madam can get hers. Then we need to get her registered as a voter - more fun, but at least that is closer to home.

Have a great day tomorrow, my friends. I have grand intentions of catching up with everyone when I get home. I'm getting behind with mail and blogs again.

First, a note... Welcome to the Seffie Club, Tat! She's finally legally a South African, having received her South African ID book yesterday :)

My own identity crisis started at birth. Good time to start this sort of thing. Gives you plenty of time to get used to it ;) My paternal grandmother wanted me named after her and my maternal grandmother wanted her to disappear off the face of the earth, preferably. My mother was a weak thing back then. Crafty tendencies only developed later in life... or maybe she was aware of what she was doing. She ended up combining the two grandmothers' names to make up my name. My gran always assumed that my name was hyphenated. After all, her daughter could surely not combine the two women who had no time for each other!

At the age of 3, after the debacle that caused me to spend time in hospital, my gran took me to live with her. I went from being a van der Merwe to a Miller. What a change.... pure Afrikaner to Scot? Miller was, Jim, my step-grandad's surname. I was happy. I adored my grandfather. I went to primary school under the name Corri-Anne Miller. I was fairly used to the horrid first part and got became adept at getting people not to call me Corri. If there was one thing that brought the monster out in me, it was someone calling me Corri.

Fast forward to high school. My gran went to register me and was told to supply my birth certificate. Then came the shock. She had never paid attention to my birth certificate. She was told that I had to go to school using the name on the birth certificate. I had to switch back to being a van der Merwe. As a teenager, you could imagine me trying to explain this to my peers. Not only that, but we discovered that my name had been spelt wrong all those years. I was Corrianne, not Corri-Anne. Funny that my mother never once mentioned it!

And so life continued. I got used to my new identity. The first name was definitely easier on the eyes and less effort to write and I really don't mind being a van der Merwe. To this day, I go as van der Merwe a lot.

Along came Jorge. We got married and I had to get used to his highly complicated surname. Wow... now there was a humdinger to spell, not to mention trying to pronounce it! Lasevičius. Needless to say, everyone gets it wrong. I learnt to live with it though, but avoided saying it at all costs. What a tongue twister. When Tat was born, we had fun (not) teaching her to say her name. Naturally, she got a simple first name and no middle name. No one in our small family has middle names, thank goodness. When it was time for her to start writing her name, the fun really began. Being really clever, she got the hang of it quickly enough, so it was just a case of training everyone at her school to cope with it.

Brazil began a brand new era for me with identity. The Brazilian consulate in South Africa licked and stamped my passport and said I should apply for immigration once landing in Brazil, on the grounds of family reunification. Jorge had been in Brazil for 10 months already by then. I came over and became nothing... quite literally. From being a highly independant woman in SA, here I couldn't open a bank account. I couldn't legally work. I could do nothing. Jorge was meant to sort out my residency, but it was complicated. The consulate in SA had messed up big time. Now, I could only get residency if Tatiana applied and said she wanted me to stay. She was a naturalised Brazilian due to her relationship with Jorge. The fact that we had been married for 13 years at that point meant nothing. They wouldn't recognise a South African marriage at first, as marriages in churches aren't considered legal.

We had to start collecting documents from here and from South Africa. All our documents, mine, Jorge's and Tatiana's. This took ages. Two departments come to mind that all expat SAn's will recognise - home affairs and foreign affairs! Let me not forget to mention that I developed a rather close relationship with the local Feds here. For the time that I was collecting all our paperwork and spending a lot of quality time at the Feds with them picking at the documents and finding fault with the tiniest of details (requiring more visits to the SA consulate here - thank goodness for Anne, who was Administrative Consul at the time. She saved my sanity!) and more documents ordered from SA and translated. Are you getting the picture yet? One of the details that was 'wrong' was the fact that Tatiana's grandparents aren't mentioned on her birth certificate. Here, your parents, grandparents and their dogs are all mentioned on all documents. Another 'minor detail' we overlooked when registering Tat back home was that her birth certificate listed her as Lasevičius, while mine listed me as van der Merwe, so we couldn't possibly be related *insert sarcastic tone*

Two years ago, I finally got the visit from the Feds, complete with their impressive black cars, black uniforms and armoured to the eyeballs, just in case I was an assylum escapee, to check that I was who I was and that my neighbours could confirm that I lived where I said I lived. Luckily the chap who interviewed me was nice enough. I got the precious letter telling me to collect my protocol, a tiny slip of paper with my future RNE number on it. No, I still had no ID, but I was one step closer.

Would I sound odd if I said that last year when I finally got the magic card, it was a total letdown? I guess that might have been because I'd waited so long for it, that I was fully expecting a gold-plated card with Her Royal Highness the Now Legal Corrianne Lasevičius engraved on it? Or perhaps I expected to be collected by limo and taken to the highest office at the Feds. I don't know. It came so unceremoniously, it almost snuck in at the door.

So... I'm legal. I have an identity card too. I still can't open a bank account, but I can sign my name away on Jorge's credit cards or open a clothing account... basically, I have the license to blow money instead of saving it. I find that rather amusing. Of course, I'll never be allowed to vote here, being an alien, but I can and do have to pay taxes. How sweet they are :)

*note* The scrap of paper at the top was what I had to carry around here as identity for well on 2 years. It was only valid for 180 days, but they kept having delays (strikes) in producing the final document. Luckily no one questioned that scrap of paper, as it had magic stamps on it ;) I have become a great believer in magic stamps!

I have an identity. I am Tint.