I love babas

Just back from our third Birthday party in Brazil. This time a Brazilian married to a Swiss New Yorker. But essentially it was a Brazilian party. Who was there to talk to? Why, the babas of course. Dressed head to toe in white. Enjoying the spread of food and endless cups of coke, and generally trying to get the most out of their life of minding rich (or relatively rich) people's children. Let's see: Well today one was smacked by her charge, another dragged around and dressed up, and yet another sitting lonely on a bench while her little lady ran around making a mess which she would probably have to help clean up later. They're generally nice people, with a story to tell. And somehow more accessible to me than the lean ladies who lunch swanning around with glasses of wine in their hands. Perhaps it is me - reverse snobbery as my father calls it - or perhaps it's a cultural or language boundary. But for now, I love babas. They are warm, friendly, and generally kind people who often have a smile and a nice word for you when you feel hopelessly lost (and fat) amongst the Brazilian mob.