Wanderings in Brazil – Where Life Cannot Be Planned

It begins in the body.

I wake suddenly at six in the morning. With the feeling that I have overslept. My body believes I am still at home. That the day is already underway. But here, in Brazil, the morning is quiet. The air is heavy with a warmth that has not yet fully risen.

This is how a journey, which will last for two months, begins.

Not with a step. But with a shift.

Arriving in Another Tempo

Brazil teaches you something before you have time to think.

That tempo is not something you decide.

It decides you.

By midday, the temperature rises toward 35 degrees. The body grows heavy. Thoughts slow down. Work does not stop because you choose to rest—but because you must.

At first, I try to hold on to what I know.

The plan. The structure. The efficiency.

But it does not work.

So I do the only possible thing: I yield.

I work in the early morning. I rest when the sun is at its highest. I begin again in the evening.

This is not inefficiency.

It is another way of being in the world.

Two People Without a Common Language

My first meeting with Pedro alone was meant to be a working meeting.

I had prepared carefully. Translated questions. Thought through every theme.

He took control within minutes.

And there we were.

Two people. With a shared intention to cooperate. Without a shared language.

We drew. Laughed. Misunderstood. Began again.

My wife later said we looked like two children trying to play together without being able to speak.

It was an accurate description.

And yet, something happened there.

We found a tone.

Not through words. But through willingness.

Hans-Georg Gadamer writes that understanding begins where control ends.

I begin to understand what that means.

When an Agreement Is Not an Agreement

In Norway, an agreement is something fixed.

In Brazil, an agreement is something that lives.

Meetings move. Times shift. Plans dissolve.

At first, I become irritated. Then unsettled.

Gradually, I begin to see something else.

Not a lack of respect.

But a different priority.

Life first.

The agreement after.

My colleague Trond, who speaks fluent Portugese,  smiles and says, “This is how it is here.”

Slowly, I begin to understand.

Numbers and Human Beings

I came here to work with data.

705 questionnaires. More than 2,600 people.

System. Structure. Analysis.

But then I find myself sitting in a garden.

A family living with illness. A medical student speaking. Neighbors joining in. Laughter. Comments across fences.

No anonymity.

No distance.

Only life.

Pedro says:
“They have names. They are not numbers.”

I sit there with my codebook and feel the tension.

Between what we call knowledge—and what we call life.

Children Who Find Space

In Rocinha, I see children playing.

Not in playgrounds.

But in the spaces in between.

On stairs. In steep slopes. Wherever space allows.

What is a good life?

The question loses its comfort here.

Martin Heidegger writes that we are always thrown into a world.

But the world is not the same for everyone.

And still: life finds a way.

People and Power

One day, I find myself sitting in a meeting with people who manage great wealth.

I am not entirely sure why I am there.

But I listen.

To numbers. To strategies. To global connections.

And then—to something else.

A willingness to help.

“Call us anytime,” they say.

Not as a contract.

But as a relationship.

I begin to understand that networks here are not only professional.

They are existential.

The Good in Practice

I meet a company that does something I have not seen before.

They employ those with the weakest starting points.

Not as charity.

But as principle.

They say:

The most qualified will always find work. We make space for the others.

I think of Aristotle.

Of practical wisdom as action.

This is not theory.

This is ethics in practice.

Becoming Dependent

Then my wife, who was with me on this journey, becomes ill.

Fever. Dehydration. Uncertainty.

Our new friends here are more than willing to help.

They contact a doctor. A hospital nearby gives necessary help.

We are no longer observers.

We are human beings in need.

And perhaps this is where understanding happens.

Not in analysis.

But in dependence.

What Carries

When I look back, it is not the project I remember most.

It is the people.

Meals. Conversations. Small moments of closeness.

Martin Buber writes about the encounter between I and Thou.

I have felt it here.

In glimpses.

And that is enough.

Walking On

This journey did not first and foremost teach me something new.

It took something from me.

The illusion of control.

The belief that the world can be planned.

And in return, it gave something else:

A slower understanding.

That life must be lived before it can be understood.

A Quiet Ending

I came here to work.

I leave with something else.

An experience that the world cannot be ordered.

But it can be met.

With openness.

With patience.

And with a willingness to remain present in what cannot be explained.

Perhaps this is where practical philosophy begins.

Not in the answers.

But in the way we choose to be present.

                                                                 A slower understanding.

                                            That life must be lived before it can be understood.

The text is mine and written in a conversation with OpenAI/ChatGPT, which also created the illustration