Famous landmarks make you stare, but backstreet stories have more to share.
Christ the Redeemer, Sugarloaf Mountain, Copacabana Beach, the Metropolitan Cathedral, the Selarón Steps—Rio de Janeiro is full of breathtaking sights. But what stayed with me the most wasn’t any of these. It was the favelas.
Favelas are Rio’s informal settlements. Some call them slums, shantytowns, or impoverished neighborhoods. If you look them up, you’ll find descriptions like:
“Just one glance at the pictures tells you everything—it’s hopeless. A cluster of rundown houses stacked on top of each other, with no real future in sight.”
“The safety situation? A complete mess. It’s practically lawless. Cartels, gangs, and even police militias run things, which means fists rule over laws. If you’re a traveler, you shouldn’t even think about stepping inside. Best-case scenario, you lose your belongings. Worst case? You might not make it out at all.”
It’s true that crime exists in the favelas. Drug deals happen. There are clashes with the police. In Rocinha, I saw men with sniper rifles. Bullet holes on a police station wall told stories of past shootouts.
Some of the rumors are real. But that’s not the full story.
There are over 600 favelas in Rio. Nearly a quarter of the city’s population—24%—lives in one. A handful of criminals do not define these communities. Walking through the alleys of Santa Marta and Rocinha with Pedro and Edmond, talking with the locals, I saw a different side of the favela. Every photo I took was with permission, because their story deserves to be told with respect.
In 1888, Brazil abolished slavery. About 15% of the population was finally free—but with nowhere to go. Owning a home in the city was out of reach, and returning to Africa was impossible. So they climbed the hills and built their own homes. That was the birth of the favela. As more people moved to the city looking for work, the favelas grew. Families built houses wherever they could, stacking floors on top of one another without any urban planning. That’s why the alleys are so narrow, and the population density is so high.
But living in close quarters brought people together. With little government support for sewage, electricity, waste management, or security, the favela residents built strong communities. Trust between neighbors runs deep, and in many areas, crime is surprisingly low.
They’ve created their own systems to make life work. Since not all homes have addresses, families set up boxes in alleyways where they collect their mail. In places where garbage trucks don’t come, they handle waste disposal themselves. Inside the favelas, you’ll find schools, hospitals, and shops. This isn’t a place of crime. It’s a home to millions.
The adults here work hard to create opportunities for their children. They run programs after school, teaching kids painting, music, martial arts, and soccer.
“We try to keep the kids busy,” one resident told me. “The less time they have to be exposed to crime, the better. We want to help them find the right path in life.”
A website described favelas as “places with no bright future.” I find that description deeply unfair. No one’s prejudice should block the potential of an entire community or undermine the progress they’re making.
The true face of the favela isn’t crime or poverty. It’s the everyday people working to uplift their children. It’s the warm, determined spirits striving to change how the world sees them. In their eyes, I saw hope. In their actions, I felt humanity. And in the favela, I witnessed a future that is, in every sense, bright.