Atop a large metal freezer on four wheels sit two small plastic boxes: a red one for napkins and a green one labeled “tips.” Each box shares the same logo: “RASTA POPS,” in bold black lettering, and below it in smaller white lettering, “Brazilian Fusion Ice Pops.” A symbolic Black pride power fist holding a popsicle separates “Rasta” from “Pops”
“I grew up with that,” Iuri Santos said. “That's where my heart go for because my grandpa, grandma, they suffer because of slavery. His family came into slavery, he didn't have nothing.”
From April to the warmer parts of October in Bloomington, Iuri stands behind that metal box. Inside it, hundreds of individually wrapped ice pops rest in frozen stacks.
Rasta Pops’ popsicles are a mainstay at Bloomington’s Switchyard Park, which hosts events like Food Truck Friday along with various seasonal markets and fairs. Outside of Switchyard, Iuri parks his cart at events all around Bloomington and Indiana University’s campus, even finding himself selling in Indianapolis from time to time.
Even more memorable than the sweet taste of the strawberry lemonade popsicles is Iuri’s standard joyousness — he greets all his customers with a smile and asks them how their day is going, an attitude so infectious even children come up to hug him while he works. It stems from his passion to use his business to connect with people and to make a difference in the community.
When he arrives at a place like Switchyard, he locks his wheels in place and sets up a wooden A-frame sign. Green colored text spells out the flavors of the day to passersby. The freezer is stocked with fan favorites like Strawberry Lemonade and Mango Chili Lime. He sprinkles in new additions like Honey Ginger Lemonade or Spicy Chocolate throughout the summer.
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Growing up
A distinctive feature of Iuri’s is his hair, tucked into his shirt and falling down to his knees. He started growing it out 30 years ago to claim his African identity in Brazil, where he grew up.
He’s Rastafarian, which is a Judeo-Christian religious and political movement that originated out of Jamaica in the 1930s. He’s not from Jamaica but he is Rastafarian, which Iuri says puzzles people because of his Brazilian roots, though he doesn’t understand why.
“I don't think (it’s) required to be living in the Middle East to be a Muslim,” Iuri said. “Or to be Christian, to live in Europe or Italy. You can be Christian all over the world. So, I decide to be Rasta.”
He was born in Salvador, Brazil, the country’s fifth biggest city. He spent his entire life there until he was 24 years old, when he met Linda Lewis, a Brown County, Indiana kindergarten teacher on sabbatical in Brazil.
Within a year, Iuri and Linda got married. When she returned to Indiana, he returned with her. Today they have two children.
“I fell in love,” he said. “We love each other, I chose to get out, (I) didn't have a clue where I was going.”
Capoeira
Growing up in Brazil, Iuri become entrenched in Capoeira, an Afro-Brazilian martial art that includes music, dancing and acrobatics. When he moved to the States, he took Capoeira with him.
Iuri agrees with the traditional definition of Capoeira, but he practices a spiritual significance not traditionally found in the artform. He explains that Capoeira gives one a sense of the fight for freedom from enslaved Africans, it helps one understand the poor communities’ adversity in Brazil as well as prime aspects of African Brazilian history.
His devotion to Capoeira is obvious — connected to his own home is a studio he uses to teach. He loves his studio but he wishes it was bigger so his students can have more space.
As you walk into the studio, there’s an open space for the students to practice. Iuri’s old masters circle the room in photos on the surrounding walls. He speaks highly of them, calling them “legendary,” and insists that if you look them up on YouTube or Google, you’ll find them.
Towards the back, a guitar is slated upright against the wall. Iuri plays the guitar and writes songs, just like his father did. He remembers the songs they’d write together as a kid in Salvador. Today, he’s in a local reggae band called Reggae Union, playing a couple “gigs” a month.
Outside his home studio, he’s taught Capoeira for nearly two decades at IUPUI in Indianapolis and Indiana University’s Bloomington campus in the kinesiology department. He’d switch every other day from traveling from Brown County to teaching in Indianapolis and in Bloomington.
“I'm tired of it,” Iuri said. “They begged me to come back now. I don't want to grade students no more. I'm done with that.”
When he taught then, he’d have 30 students; today, his class is less than 10 students. The students vary from teenagers to 60-year-old doctors. The doctor’s been in the class for seven years now, Iuri says, laughing.
Rasta Pops
Before Rasta Pops, Iuri washed dishes working at Burger King and drove for Uber — a lot of Uber.
He volunteered at the Middle Way house which helped him learn English. He also took free English classes at the Tulip Tree Apartments.
Then came Rasta Pops. Growing up in Brazil, he remembers popsicles vendors working in Salvador parks, their necks weighed down by the straps of their treat-filled freezers — like the US baseball vendors navigating through the stadium stands.
Iuri wanted to create his own business, so he ditched the neck straps for a set of wheels.
He said he was the one who did the “heavy work;” mixing popsicle ingredients in the kitchen, selling on the streets. But he doesn’t forget to emphatically mention Linda's contribution. He puts his hands up to his brain and says Linda had “the vision.” She molded the business’ identity, designing the logo, hiring the staff and even filing the paperwork from the health department.
The ingredients of the popsicles are all organic and natural: the lemons are freshly squeezed and the simple syrup is diluted from organic sugar. Iuri and Linda create the recipes and make the popsicles themselves. In the kitchen, Iuri says it takes around six hours to make 500 popsicles. When making popsicles, the measurements have to be precise.
“I have in my mind already how the taste and how the texture and how should it be,” Iuri said.
The rest is based on experimentation, which Iuri and Linda research online and ask friends in the community about how much syrup to use for each batch. Today, the popsicle season is over for Iuri and Rasta Pops. When it is cold outside, everyone trades the ice pops for hot chocolate. Production completely stops in the winter.
Every year, Iuri has extra popsicles left over. They stay good throughout the winter, but he goes out into Bloomington, giving them away to family, friends and people experiencing homelessness.
Through the years, Iuri’s heard customers rave about popsicles. People have told him he should start selling them in Walmarts and in Krogers. Talking to Iuri, you get the sense this small business means more to him than popularity and profit.
“I don't want to be one of those guys,” Iuri said. “They're getting rich and keep everybody poor working for them. That's not my vision.”
He has only three employees on staff because he reasons that the smaller his staff is, the more money he can pay his employees. In return, those people can pour more of their money into the community, fueling the economy.
“A lot of homeless people are on the streets, and (others) think they want to be on the streets,” Iuri said.
This year in the offseason, Iuri and his family, for the first time all together, get to make their long-anticipated trip back to Brazil to see family.
“Our season went well,” Iuri said. “We're going to take everybody.”
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In the future, Iuri dreams of opening a storefront, adding Brazilian soup and other café items to the menu, but he fears his business might become one of the many forced to close every year in Bloomington’s small business landscape.
“If you have a business like that,” Iuri said. “You live inside your business.”
Storefront or not, when April arrives in Bloomington, Iuri and his friendliness will park behind his freezer on wheels, ready for another summer.
“Problems come.”
“Problems go.”
“Keep going.”
“Don't give up,” he said.
