Sweat slipped down Talita Ferreira Sanches’ face as she navigated her cart filled with beer and water through the intricate, cobbled paths of Rio de Janeiro last month, her voice calling out to party-goers adorned with glitter and fishnet tights. At just 22, Sanches, who hails from the outskirts of Rio, spent the night on a street in Santa Teresa, a bohemian area in the city, wrapped only in a sheet. Her reason was simple: to ensure she reached the early-morning Carnival event dubbed “Heaven on Earth” in time.
“Carnival represents immense happiness and all the earnings we make,” observed Ferreira Sanches, who has been in the street vending business for four years. During the Carnival, she earns about 1,500 reais daily, equivalent to Brazil’s minimum wage for a month. This income supports her family’s goals: last year, they bought a fridge and a television; this year, it’s a wardrobe and stove. As she pocketed cash in one hand, she served cold drinks with the other.
Vendors like Sanches are staples at Rio’s bustling street parties. Known locally as “ambulantes” or “camelos,” they scour social media for event times and locations, coordinate logistics through WhatsApp groups, and rush from downtown Rio to Copacabana beach, positioning themselves amid throngs of thirsty celebrations.
Not only do these peddlers offer essential refreshments and contribute to the festival’s vibrant atmosphere, but street vending during Carnival also acts as a critical financial lifeline, enabling them to settle debts and prepare for the year ahead. The opportunity has increased, drawing more vendors into the mix but also facing backlash. With approximately 500 registered parties and hundreds more unofficial ones this year, the demand for cold beverages is at an all-time high.
Rio’s City Hall authorized 15,000 vendors this year—a rise of 5,000 from the last—but observers note the number of vendors exceeds available permits. Operating without a permit leaves them susceptible to harassment and merchandise confiscation by municipal guards, as reported by the United Street Vendors’ Movement (MUCA).
The surge in vendors has frayed relationships with party organizers. Pericles Monteiro, director of Heaven on Earth since 2001, noted that hawkers’ positioning disrupts the flow of parades. Two years ago, the event was delayed as performers maneuvered around makeshift barbecue setups and parked vans blocking their path.
Aware of these issues, vendor groups, including union SindInformal, initiated a campaign focused on respect, organization, and safety during Carnival, advocating that attendees buy from vendors surrounding the festivities instead of those in the midst of them. Fearing repercussions, MUCA produced a manifesto to emphasize the need for harmony and to shield vendors from stigmatization.
“Vendors are often deemed disruptive, tarnishing the city’s reputation,” explained Flávia Magalhães, a researcher on street vendors from Paulista University. Yet, they uphold street culture vital for Rio’s tourism. They cope with challenging conditions: minimal access to restrooms, long hours without breaks, and difficulties securing legal storage due to long commutes from Rio’s poorer outskirts. A 2019 MUCA and Federal University of Rio de Janeiro study highlighted these struggles.
During Carnival, having a base in the city center is transformative, said Maria de Lourdes do Carmo, affectionately known as Maria of the Street Vendors. With three decades of vending under her belt, she often sells caipirinhas to tourists in Santa Teresa, where municipal enforcement is less stringent. Although unsuccessful, she ran for city council last year to advocate for fellow vendors’ rights.
Efforts led by Rio state’s public prosecutors are ongoing to prevent vendor-targeted violence and rectify municipal shortcomings in organizing the activity. This year, City Hall is addressing calls for childcare solutions by providing vendors with daycare facilities for their children, complete with meals and activities during street festivities.
For Débora Silva Pereira, 42, the sacrifice of tiring days apart from her family is justified by the financial uplift Carnival provides. On prosperous days, she can make up to 3,000 reais, equivalent to ten days’ earnings during the rest of the year selling women’s clothing. More than just the financial gain, she cherishes the camaraderie and memories made. “The money is a big part of it, but the experiences mean even more,” she shared.
