This piece in the Christian Science Monitor about the collapse of three buildings in Rio de Janeiro was supposed to be about Brazil’s housing deficit and the shoddy workmanship that left residents of new houses with damp walls, cracked floor tiles and unpaved roads. All just months after they moved in to their new homes.

Earlier this month I went to Ribeirão Preto and Franca in rural São Paulo state to talk to residents who were justly aggrieved at the construction company’s refusal to make their houses more liveable.

To quote Raquel Rolnik, a well-known architect who studies the issue.

“In terms of construction and design, the logic is one of ‘do it as cheaply as possible’ so the quality is always questionable. They think it is for the poor so it doesn’t have to be decent. The consequences for the people who live there are terrible.”

In reporting this story, I had made a passing reference to poor practices in the construction industry, writing:

Even at the highest levels, Brazil’s infrastructure projects are routinely late, poorly built, or over budget, or all three.

Stadiums for the World Cup were slow to get started and public transport, particularly airports, are so behind schedule that even soccer stars turned politicians like Pele and Romario are predicting chaos.

New metro lines open only during off peak hours because they not prepared to take the strain, craters appear in new motorways within weeks of the ribbon being cut and cracks run down the walls of brand new, multi-million dollar buildings just days after they are inaugurated.

But now, the Rio de Janeiro disaster is the news and the Monitor used that to start off a broader piece about construction, infrastructure projects, and Brazil’s preparedness to host the 2014 World Cup and 2016 Olympics.

(Here is a link to pics of the disaster.)

My reporting from Franca and Ribeirão Preto got pushed further down the story.

That is unfortunate, as I wanted those stories to be heard loud and clear.

But there’s no holding back the news.

To be honest, I didn’t pay much attention to what it was. The editor was the son of a friend and I was happy to write stories for him.

The important thing was that the subject matter interested me, writing about people or products or anything else loosely related to the term Rise.

I took it as a way to write about worthy issues in Brazil that would be a hard sell elsewhere.

I’ve done three pieces for them so far. The third came out last week and is about Valdenor Freitas, a lovely little guy who has built up a nice business for himself on the outskirts of São Paulo.

Freitas (pictured, right) is a hard worker but without small loans he wouldn’t have been able to build up his café-bar business and then open a small supermarket.

I got an email this morning telling me that the Mahindra Rise just won the Best Blog of the year award at the Web Advertising and Technology Awards ceremony, which aims to “recognize and felicitate agencies and professionals who have achieved ground breaking work in the Indian digital space.”

So congratulations to them and all the RISE writers. Follow RISE on twitter at @ MahindraRise.

If you have any interesting suggestions for blog topics in Brazil, please drop me a line. Contact information is above.

That’s not something you’ll hear tourists saying about Brazil.

I don’t touch the stuff myself but connoisseurs (and lushes) tell me Brazilian beer is weak, fizzy and crap. Maybe that’s the reason so many people drink it on the beach in the morning.

But beer is one of the thorny issues that separate FIFA and the Brazilian government as they prepare for the 2014 World Cup.

Why, I hear you ask, would FIFA and Brazil be fighting over beer?It’s all explained here in my Financial Times blog.

Beer is no stranger to controversy in the World Cup. In 2010, South African police arrested 36 Dutch girls who wore orange dresses given to them by the Bavaria beer company and accused them of ambush marketing.

Another company had the rights to sell beer inside the stadium and they thought the girls were trying to get round that by drawing attention to themselves. (As if 36 stunning blondes in short dresses wouldn’t already be drawing attention to themselves.) The dresses didn’t even bear Bavaria’s logo.

But here’s a photo so you can see for yourselves (purely for journalistic reasons, of course)…

Two of the essays are from Foreign Policy, a magazine more used to publishing longer written works than photos. But hey, Haiti is so photogenic (as I posted here in my amateur slideshow in December) so it makes sense.

Here are a couple of links from the professionals.

The first is startling for its subject matter, the 1 per cent of richest Haitians. Startling not just because of their wealth, but because they are so unembarrassed about posing for pictures in a country where up to 80 % of the people live on less than $2 a day.

There’s something obscene about being so rich when so many around you are so poor. The subjects in these pictures might contribute in many ways (one of them is the new president) and they might not be responsible for the state Haiti is in.

But one of them bought the land around his house so poor people wouldn’t squat on it and sully his views and that tells its own story. It all makes me a bit uncomfortable. All credit to the photographer for making it happen.

The second essay compares Port-au-Prince today with the day after the earthquake and tries to show where progress has been made and where things haven’t changed (or worsened). Ben Depp, who took the pics for my Chronicle of Higher Education piece, took the new pics for this one: Ben’s website is here.

There are a couple of written pieces too. Foreign Policy has a piece urging the US to help Haiti recover by accepting more Haitian immigrants. (Brazil recently closed its door to the influx of Haitians but agreed to help out the several thousand already here.) The piece says:

“As we approach the second anniversary of the devastating Haiti earthquake, which killed around 150,000 people and destroyed much of Port-au-Prince, there has been mixed progress.  About half of the rubble has been cleared (if that sounds slow, consider it took five years to remove far less rubble in Aceh after the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami). About half a million people are still living in camps in Haiti — but that is down from closer to 1.5 million two years ago. Meanwhile cholera, introduced by U.N. peacekeeping troops, killed over 7,000 people in the aftermath of the crisis — the infection rate has abated but the disease remains endemic.

Progress after a disaster is always slower than hoped.  For all the benefits that the donor community has provided in reconstruction, one reason for the lack of progress is the often snail-like pace of heavily bureaucratized assistance efforts in the chaotic post-catastrophe conditions of weakly governed states.  For example, only about half of the cash promised by donors to Haiti for 2010-2011 had been disbursed by last month — and the figure for U.S.-given aid is only about 30 percent.  There is still a huge gap between donor disbursement and impact on the ground; a lot of the resources have been disbursed only as far as implementing agencies like NGOs and international agencies, many of whom have yet to spend the cash.”

And here’s an excellent piece in Rolling Stone from August based around Sean Penn’s role and the convoluted decisions taken by aid workers and authorities.

Penn didn’t like it one bit, and wrote this long response. But I think the story is detailed and well researched and well worth a read if you have the time.

The study suggests that 40 of the most dangerous cities in the world are in Latin America and five of the top 10 are in Mexico.

The most violent place anywhere is the Honduran city of San Pedro Sula, where the murder rate is 158.87 per 100,000. Three Brazilian cities are in the top 20.

I have my doubts about any study that has 14 Brazilian cities in the top 50 and yet doesn’t include Rio de Janeiro. According to this, there are four US cities with a higher murder rate than Rio. (New Orleans, Detroit, St Louis, and Baltimore.)

As if to underline the randomness (or half-assedness) of these studies, here’s another one that I picked up online that doesn’t include any Latin American cities at all in the world’s most violent places. According to this, the top 10 most hair-raising places are all in Africa, Pakistan or the Middle East.

The truth, of course, is probably hidden somewhere in the two studies.

But here’s the top 10 most violent cities with their homicide rates, according to Mexican group, Seguridad, Justica y Paz.

RANKING DE LAS 50 CIUDADES MÁS VIOLENTAS DEL MUNDO EN 2011

1  San Pedro Sula  Honduras   158.87

2  Juárez  México  147.77

3  Maceió  Brasil  135.26

4  Acapulco  México  127.92

5  Distrito Central   Honduras  99.69

6  Caracas  Venezuela  98.71

7  Torreón  México   87.75

8  Chihuahua  México  82.96

9  Durango  México 79.88

10  Belém  Brasil   78.04

Click here to see the front page.

Anyone who truly wants to know more about higher education in the world and is willing to invest in a subscription can learn more here.

For me, it’s now back to Brazil. The two stories of the moment are Mulheres Ricas, the sensational reality show on band.tv (see a great piece on it here in The Guardian) and the inexplicable success of Michael Teló’s song ‘Ai Se Eu Te Pego.’

The former offers an insight into the lives of Brazil’s shallow and clueless super rich madams and is (unintentionally) hilarious. The latter is just inexplicable, even though this guy does a valiant job of trying.

Decide for yourself in this youtube clip.

It is one of the most photogenic places on the planet, a riot of colour, noise and vibrancy.

I took pics everywhere I went over the last week, sometimes jumping out the car to snap a shot and often just lifting the camera to the car window as we sped by.

I particularly love the hand-painted signs that adorn doors and buildings.

Here are some of the best pics in a slideshow, with apologies for the quality.

Someone grabbed my camera as I was taking pictures on the road into Petionville. It was dark and a hand flew into the car and snatched the camera. It was over in a split second and the thief disappeared before I could see him. There aren’t many street lights in Port-au-Prince.

It was another reminder how things have changed here. Perversely, Haiti was much safer under the military governments of the early 1990s. The generals killed their countrymen at will and everyone knew to keep their heads down. Few people went out at night.

The return of democracy means that the average Haitian has much more freedom. They are still afraid. Policing is poor, street lighting minimal and security is a constant worry. But it’s a small step forward.

The downside is that Port-au-Prince has much more of a Wild West feel to it. There’s a dangerous edge I never encountered before.

Getting mugged won’t stop me doing what I was doing. I still believe getting out and about is the best way, and the most fun way, to get to know a place.

But it was a bit of a fright.

In my week here I’ve been veering between delight at being back and depression at how Haiti (and the international community) has done so little to rebuild the nation.

It can be done. This New York Times story shows how the Iron Market, one of Haiti’s oldest and best-known landmarks, can be rebuilt in double quick time with nominal amounts of investment, hard work and determination.

And yet the National Palace (right), Haiti’s tropical White House, still sits destroyed and desperate, no different from the night the quake struck two years ago.

As home of the government and symbol of the nation, the palace should have been the first thing they targeted, to give a highly visible example of how the government was working to get Haiti back on its feet again.

I’ll get into the reconstruction efforts, or the lack of them, when I sit down to write stories for the Chronicle of Higher Education.

But it’s clear to anyone and everyone that Haiti hasn’t done a fraction of what it needs to do. It’s desperately sad.

I grabbed the chance to take a walk by some of my old haunts, in front of the Holiday Inn where I spent nights on the balcony hunkered down recording the firefights outside; past the now destroyed Palace Hotel, where I spent my first nights in Haiti wondering why the lights wouldn’t work (the answer was there was no electricity); and along rue Capois, past the also demolished French Embassy, the Museum of Haitian Art and up towards the Oloffson, the legendary old gingerbread hotel featured in Graham Green’s novel The Comedians.

That mid afternoon stroll reminded me of a fascinating thing about Haiti; people look you in the eye. In most countries people are petrified to look at a stranger. Here they engage you, hold your gaze, almost willing you to say something.

Kids will often make a comment, or smile. I’m sure that’s because I am white. I obviously stand out in this overwhelmingly black nation. But it’s not just that I am white, it’s also that I am walking. In Haiti, to be white is to be rich and to be rich is to stay off the streets, away from the heat, the poverty, the dust and the danger.

Many of the foreigners who live here now don’t walk. Some are not even allowed to walk. Their NGO bosses forbid them because they think it’s too dangerous.

I think they’re missing out on a fundamental part of Haiti. OK, there are rarely any pavements and when there are they are covered in vendors or cars or smouldering garbage. It’s mercilessly hot. It’s painfully noisy. And there’s that lingering smell of dust, exhaust fumes and garbage.

But it’s eye-wateringly fascinating and getting in among it is vital if you want to properly understand the country and its people.

I love walking in Port-au-Prince and one of the reasons is that you never know what’s going to happen.

As I walked along rue Capois yesterday, a small kid came up to me and held out his hand looking for money. I smiled and slapped his hand in a high five (or low five in this case). I kept on walking but held out my palm behind me for him to give me a low five back. Instead, he grabbed my hand and started to walk along beside me.

I ruffled his hair and told him I didn’t have anything for him and we both smiled and he ran back to where he was standing. I can’t imagine that happening anywhere else.

A few blocks further on, there were two guys sitting alongside a truck parked on the pavement. They were wearing purple robes and shaking maracas. One had two razor blades in his mouth that he kept flicking out with his tongue. The other had a pile of broken glass in front of him. I had no idea what they were doing. I gestured if I could take their picture and they nodded yes (see the pic above).

Some of the things you come across on Haiti’s streets are pretty memorable. Yesterday’s walk reminded me of an old saying that I thought summed up the mystery of the country just perfectly.

“When in Haiti, believe none of what you hear and half of what you see.”

That changed when the UN Human Rights Mission came into town and scores of young and eager diplomats arrived.

But still, those numbers pale into insignificance compared to the thousands of foreigners, largely aid workers, who are living in Haiti today.

Whole industries and businesses have been built on ensuring their lives are less Haitian and more comfortable. There is a lot of resentment over what they are doing (or not doing) and how much they are getting paid for it.

Back in the 1990s, Port-au-Prince was in my mind divided into two parts. The downtown area was distinct from the rest. It was the political and commercial area, where the shops and businesses were, and where the embassies and parliament were, too. It was a manic cacophony of sound and fury by day and deadly silent by night.

Up the hill in the cooler air, away from the chaos, the slums and the garbage that washed down the mountainsides when it rained, was Petionville.

Petionville was where the rich stayed and it was much more sedate. There was one road up to the main plaza, with its Caribbean style hotel and old church, and another road down. Both of them were lined with restaurants and art galleries.

Today, the situation has been inverted. Petionville is unrecognizable from the quiet relation it once was. The downtown area was among the worst hit in the earthquake and so businesses and incoming NGOs have set up shop in Petionville. (Apparently the exodus began a few years earlier when crime and insecurity hit their peak, sending merchants fleeing.)

Now, Petionville is every bit as bustling and chaotic as the downtown was. The streets in and out are jammed with traffic. There are stores on every corner. Gyms, supermarkets, patisseries, and beauty salons proliferate. Much of the commerce has sprung up to meet the needs of the NGOs and their workforce.

Traffic was so bad today that I had to take a mototaxi to one interview. The driver said he was the first blan, or foreigner, he’d ever given a ride to. The sun was merciless and needless to say there were no helmets.

The ride took five minutes but it was hair raising and my Creole came flooding back to me. Or at least one word did. Dousman, Dousman, I shouted in the driver’s ear as he revved away from one stalled traffic jam after another. Slowly, slowly.

Not a word you’d associate with today’s Petionville.