Sitting Bull
Gustavo de Almeida Nóbrega was a man from Patos, Paraíba, the son of a small rural producer, who arrived in Rio de Janeiro in 1965 at the age of 17. He was brought there by his uncle, a sergeant in the army, who lived in Bangú, near the Vila Militar. Gustavo threw himself into his studies and took the entrance exams for engineering. It was do or die. In February 1966, he was accepted into his first choice: the School of Engineering at UFRJ, popularly known as “Engenharia do Fundão” (Engineering of Fundão), which got its name because it was located on the Fundão campus (or Cidade Universitária), an archipelago in the Guanabara Bay that, through landfills carried out around 1950, formed a single island, named after one of its parts, Ilha do Fundão.
There, several schools from UFRJ (Federal University of Rio de Janeiro) were gathered. Until the Brazilian capital moved to Brasília, it was called the University of Brazil. As I remember, during our time, not only the engineering schools but also medicine and architecture were already based in Fundão. The other schools resisted moving there because professors thought it was too far, and almost all of them lived in the southern zone.
At the southeastern end of the island, there were (and probably still are) the ruins of an old Franciscan convent and the Church of Bom Jesus da Coluna, relatively well-preserved, from the early 1700s, in the area of the old Ilha de Bom Jesus. The area belonged to the army, with a small barracks, some residences for officers in transit, and a military asylum with homes for old wounded soldiers and their families (dating back to the Paraguayan War and the world wars). These people stayed there, forming a village (soldiers of the homeland).
Immediately before arriving at the army’s space, but still on the old Ilha de Bom Jesus, was the University Residence, or Student Housing, commonly called Aloja. It was a building with a ground floor and three more floors, with two wings, where, nowadays (2022), the College of Administration (COPEAD) is located. It was said that this building had been an old prison for political prisoners during the Getúlio Vargas dictatorship and that even the famous Luís Carlos Prestes (founder and leader of the Brazilian Communist Party) had been imprisoned there. Today, the new UFRJ Student Housing is located at the northwestern tip of Fundão Island, on the old Ilha do Catalão, in a building designed for that purpose, but I only know it from afar and do not know anyone who lived there.
Like other students from outside Rio, Gustavo sought to live in Aloja, which was free for students. However, only those who had no resources could live there, not only because of the isolation, the poor surroundings, and the mosquitoes but also because those who could, arranged alternative accommodations. Even so, there was a waiting list to get in, meaning more applicants than the 200 available spots. In the first months, Gustavo couldn’t get into Aloja and rented a spot in a room at a boarding house in the Bonsucesso neighborhood.
By the end of his first year, he realized that there were networks of fraternities that made things easier, and he managed to get into Aloja. The miseries of living with the leftist groups, which had already led to his departure from the countryside due to fear of threats from the "group of eleven" (https://anpuh.org.br/uploads/anais-simposios/pdf/2019-01/1548945016_8cdb2337b04cb0f1ead6b451d5f62331.pdf). But instead of submitting to them or being influenced, as many who chose the easier path did, he built resistance and remained a free man.
The rooms had about five beds each, with a wardrobe, a desk, and a bedside table for each resident, totaling about 40 rooms (eight per wing and floor). There was a large communal bathroom for each wing and floor, with six bathrooms, each with eight toilets, eight sinks, and eight showers. Which one was used by Prestes? The administration, run by the university, provided mattresses and a set of bedding and towels, but due to the low quality of the items bought at the lowest price, those who could, provided their own.
On the ground floor, one of the wings housed a primary school that served the families of the soldiers’ village. The other wing housed a laundry, a cafeteria operated by a concessionaire, and a library, which was actually a study room. Access was by a bus from the University Campus, which circulated between Praça das Nações in the Bonsucesso neighborhood and Aloja. It ran every half hour on weekdays and during class hours, and every hour at other times, as long as it wasn’t under maintenance. It was a hassle. But that was all many had back then.
In our group, in addition to Gustavo, there was Antonio Bom (from Maranhão), Renato Abreu (from São Fidélis – RJ), Luis De La Barra (from Cochabamba – Bolivia), Paulista, Dagoberto, and Roneí. I never lived in Aloja, so I recount this from what I’ve heard, but it shouldn’t be far from the truth, as what I know and what I’ve heard from different sources coincide, and it’s hard to believe it’s made up. Just to be sure, I submitted this text to three residents from that time, without any significant comments.
The administration of Aloja was shared by a UFRJ staff member designated for the task and a student committee "elected" by the others. The "elected" were, in fact, chosen by those who organized politically, and at that time, under a military government, guerrillas, the Cold War, etc., this meant leftist groups, from PCB (Brazilian Communist Party) or PCdoB (Communist Party of Brazil), which, although clear minorities, prevailed because they organized and appeared larger than they were. As, by the way, still happens today.
Gustavo was a good-looking guy, strong, with hands from milking cows and goats, average height, with some indigenous blood in his features, few words, almost monosyllabic. We shared the same classroom from the 3rd to the 5th year, as we both chose civil engineering and later hydraulics and sanitation in the last year, so we spent quite a bit of time together. We spoke little, Gustavo almost never spoke. He only paid attention with the eyes of a hunting bird. Sitting, arms crossed. His aura conveyed camaraderie. Even today, 53 years after our graduation, we keep in touch, he in João Pessoa, I in Rio. We’ve met a few times, the most remarkable being in 2005 when he came with his family for my daughter’s wedding, which was a great surprise to me. He stayed a week in Rio, and I asked where he wanted to go. We had to go to the Jockey Club to watch the Sunday races, in the honor tribune, and make a bet, something he never imagined he would do one day.
Back then, at school or in Aloja, a colleague nicknamed him "Sitting Bull." A sharp nickname that defined him, comparing him to the monosyllabic character from comic books, named after a Sioux Native American chief. Indeed, we learned that Gustavo had unknowingly become a kind of “sheriff,” a shadowy figure, perhaps a morubixaba (local ruler), in Aloja. In other words, he was the guy no one messed with, because, as the legend went, in Patos, people were killed for anything, and there were even professional killers around.
This all happened because, at one point (1967? 68?), at dusk, two boys, 18-19 years old, from the countryside, who met the criteria to apply for Aloja—students from UFRJ, with no resources, and families from outside—arrived at Aloja. But they were caught in the “overcapacity” issue. With no place to stay, desperate, they showed up there. The administration, both official and from the student "committee," was playing hardball, saying it was impossible to grant them a spot due to the house's rules, etc. This all took place in the entrance hall, in front of many people, including in front of Sitting Bull, who habitually stayed there, sitting and silent, as one must.
With nowhere to go and not knowing what to do, the eyes of the two boys filled with tears. Gustavo approached them without saying a word, made a gesture for them to follow him, went to one of the rooms, kicked the door open, and said: "You can stay here."
No one said a word, the two boys stayed, and no one ever questioned or complained. It was then revealed that there were three rooms, and this was one of them, kept empty by the student committee in collusion with the administration for special cases, such as favored activists or persecuted comrades. Human rights? For my own, Matthew.
Gustavo worked across Brazil for about five years, notably spending around three years at SAE in Volta Redonda, before returning to Paraíba, where he worked as an engineer for the Cia Águas da Paraíba for about 5 to 10 years. He then resigned to start his own construction and transportation businesses. Certainly, with the gratitude of the two boys he had accommodated, illuminating his path, he prospered in his work, becoming one of the largest businessmen in Paraíba, without being connected to the state. A similar but much larger rise was seen by Renato Abreu in Rio de Janeiro. Meanwhile, those who could not break free from the hierarchies of the student committees and fraternities mostly followed smaller paths.
This is the record.
Miguel Fernández, engineer, columnist, and writer, 2022/23
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