An exposition at the Lesar Segall Museum in São Paulo in the fall of 2015 highlighted a famous trio of artists in the history of Brazilian Modernism. The central figure was Mario (Raul de Morais) Andrade (1893-45). He was a prominent poet, novelist, musicologist and photographer, but he also had a strong voice as an art critic and promoter of modernist tradition. He was especially intertwined with Segall and Portinari whom he called “his artists.”
This portrait of Mario de Andrade was done by Lasar Segall, one of two artists featured with Andrade in the exposition of Brazilian Modernism in the Lasar Segall Museum, São Paulo. The second portrait is by Portinari. Andrade said that Segall caught the “demonic” in him, while Portinari saw the “angelic.”
Portrait of Andrade by Cândido Portinari
Andrade was trained in music but was unable to pursue a musical career. He turned these skills to what later to ethnomusicology in his famous 1938 Mission to collect folk culture in Brazil. Americans familiar with the work of Alan Lomax in documenting blues and folk traditions in the United States will recognize the spirit of this Mission.
Lomax “discovered” and popularized iconic figures such as McKinley Morgenfield (Muddy Waters) and Huddy Ledbetter (Leadbelly), and Woody Guthrie. Andrade did not bring new talent to the public in the same way, but he created a basis for the understanding and honoring folk culture. His recordings from 1938 capture songs and music from the Brazilian interior and are available in a multiple-CD set. His book Danças Dramaticas (Dramatic Dances) did much the same for annotation and analysis of popular (“folk”) dance forms.
Lomax had various academic connections much of his career (though never a formal academic appointment). In addition to documenting and disseminating American folk music, he also developed theories of folk music and dance (e.g., “choreometrics”).
By contrast, Andrade was a protean figure in the arts generally. His book Macanaíma is a modernist classic in Brazil, as are his books of poetry and art criticism. He was not formally connected with a university, but was a prominent figure in various cultural agencies in São Paulo which supported his mission to the Northeast.
The 2015 São Paulo exhibit was held in the Lasar Segall Museum, once the artist’s home and studio.
Andrade’s artists were Lasar Segall and Cândido Portinari. Segall was a Lithuanian Jew transplanted from Europe to São Paulo. Portinari was born of a working class Italian family but was trained in the arts in Brazil and Europe. As different as they were in background, Portinari and Segall, with the support of Andrade, helped define modernism in Brazilian art.
Cândido Portinari (1903-1962) was born to Italian immigrants who worked on a coffee plantation in São Paulo. This background later brought him to the Brazilian Communist Party where he ran as a party candidate for senator in the 1940s. Along the way he had also become a prominent artist
He had won recognition at the National School of Fine Arts (ENBA) and went to Paris between 1928 and 1930. He absorbed elements of European tradition, but combined them with his Brazilian working class sensitivity. He shared with Segall a sympathy for the socially marginalized, especially the urban working class and rural workers. In another similarity, both artists had several works featuring prostitutes.
Lasar Segall (1891-1957) was Lithuanian Jew and world citizen who traveled between Europe and Brazil until the Nazis came to power. He studied and worked in Europe, was a Russian citizen, moved back and forth to Brazil, and eventually became a Brazilian citizen in the 1920. He was attracted to the “Red Light” districts of Rio de Janeiro, and later adopted themes of the Brazilian interior, slums, and suffering of the socially and economically marginal.
In Europe his work was lumped together with that of other “Degenerate Artists” attacked by the Nazis in their famous exhibition of the same name (1937). As a Jew, a modernist, and social critic he was safer and had more artistic freedom in Brazil.
Segall later married his student Jenny Klabin, the daughter of wealthy entrepreneurs in the wood and paper industry. The Klabins became a major economic force in Brazil, but various members of the family also became patrons of the arts and collectors. The first-generation Klabins were, like Segall, Lithuanian emigrés.
His style seems to have softened in his later years, but he never totally left the themes of immigration, rural peonage and slavery, and urban marginality.
Sometimes we are asked how it feels to be on a long “vacation” in Brazil doing research.
The comment usually comes from people whose knowledge of the field is from the official travel poster view of Brazil — Carnival, samba, beaches, soccer, and maybe capoeira. The reality on the ground feels different on most days.
On the national level Brazil is troubled with public health deficiencies (underfunded hospitals and medical services, control of mosquito-borne diseases), a declining economy (gross national product is down) and inflation, international devaluation of Brazil as a good investment, a catastrophic mud slide from a burst mining dam in Minas Gerais, and growing problems of deforestation of the Amazon and provisioning of the public water supply.
Brazil is putting on a brave face to the international community with the coming Olympics in 2016. But keeping Rio de Janeiro safe during the Olympics and turning the games into an occasion for city development are major concerns.
To top it off, the government is fractionated and dealing with the possible impeachment of he President, a bribery scandal involving the president of the legislature, the jailing of the president of the Senate for trying to arrange the international escape of a Petrobras executive from prosecution (and, worse, testimony against more politicians), and daily reports of jailings of politicians.
As an American comparison, it is as if he Speaker of the House were being investigated for corruption, the speaker of the Senate was put in jail, and the President was facing possible impeachment.
This is national Brazilian scene.
In Maranhão public health, public safety, transportation, and infrastructure are critical issues, but are mainly being dealt with by optimistic signs and public ads.
Brazil’s self-image seems to be a house of cards at the moment, so it is no wonder that it touts the Carnival and the Olympics to the outside world. Besides the Carnival it has little to brag about.
The Carnival is a massive economic enterprise that reminds me of the Super Bowl. There is popular participation, there is a widespread audience, and there are huge economic issues at stake. The larger cities continue to promote Carnival as an economic and cultural engine, but many smaller cities cancelled or limited the celebration for reasons of cost or public safety.
Rio is not the rest of Brazil, and we are not researching there, or in the other famous sites like Recifé/Olinda, or Paratins. We are working in the federal state of Maranhão with its capital city of São Luís and the rural/small town “interior” of the state.
European friends understand that this is “Provinz,” and Americans know that this is “in the sticks.” But it is important to note that the million-inhabitant region of greater São Luís is already “province” — far behind the better known cities of São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro. Leaving São Luís for the interior is going far deeper into the past.
This area is an ideal site for heritage celebration culture because it is economically backward compared to the rest Brazil, has greater infrastructure problems, and higher illiteracy. Its celebration culture has survived precisely because it is in in a “forgotten land” that is light years away from Rio and São Paulo. That is the reason to be here, but it is — to say the least — a different kind of field work.
Much of the field work is outside the city of São Luís where based. We have traveled some 3000 kilometers doing field work. Much of it has been by bus.
This post is a brief view of one typical trip — to Santa Inez, a city of 90,000 inhabitants, they say. This particular day we were in a neighborhood of the city to film an initiation ceremony in a spiritual house. Proud of its urbanity, its mayor was in jail for rape.
It happened that on this day there was some political action on the streets — the mayor was indisposed, having been hauled off to the Pedreiras Prison. Pedreiras is one of the last stops on the road back to São Luís, for us and for him, apparently. The newspaper printed pretty intimate details about the sexual encounter, including much information from the report of the medical examiner. The local papers and TV stations here have different standards than some countries, and routinely show line-ups of arrested kids, and homicide victims in the street. Increasingly, they also show politicians in detention, though corruption is more common than sex crimes, I think.
Across from the first bus stop is an example of the ubiquitous caixias da agua, water tanks that are used all over Brazil to hold and stabilize the water supply. There are many variations. Some are connected to household plumbing, others are free–standing. In some villages and settlements a tank may serve the community and feed into a common set of faucets, or even be locked in a cabin like this to control access. You have to keep the lids on and drain the surrounding area, though, or they become breeding grounds for mosquitoes. Often, the need for water competes with the need for mosquito control. (A later post talks more about water supply problems.)
The tire shop below is apparently oblivious to the fact that this day was “Zika Zero” day of awareness — a publicity campaign of the government to remind people to eliminate sources of standing water (like old tires) that breed mosquitoes. The donkeys grazing behind are oblivious to all this and are simply part of the scenery
The Market in Sana Inez, Sunday
Nostalgia. In Santa Inez you can still find relics of the pre-cellphone era. Here the telephone ear” is inscribed with the numbers of mototaxis, the motorcycle taxis that get you around the rougher streets. They are a very efficient ride, but you need to hang on to the grab bars, and hold you gear, your hat, and your sense of humor.
Wildcat cabs are are also available, but you almost have to know a driver to find one. We have one who is almost a friend now. He gets us about in the 90’s heat or at night when we have photo gear to carry (or it is raining). He even got out of bed at 2:00 am on Saturday after we finished filming a ceremony at a spiritual house. Although the atmosphere inside the terreiro is one of devotion and celebration, the streets outside are definitely less spiritual, especially at 2:00 in the morning.
In this park across from the bus station a Brazilian politician (the one on the left) seems to have an automotive camshaft hung around his neck.
This particular politician (José Sarney) was president of Brazil just after the dictatorship in the mid-1980’s. He succeeded to the office after the legally-elected President shot himself in his Rio de Janeiro government office.
The Sarney family dynasty has been in some office or other in Maranhão for a couple of generations. His daughter Roseanna was a recently Governor of the state.
Sarney was featured in a recent book called “Honorable Bandits.” The book was popular in the larger airports and cities, but I haven’t managed to find it anywhere in Maranhão.
Hammocks (redes) are produced all over the region. The ones in the photo below are on sale in Santa Inez on a Sunday, though we will buy ours in Rosário where we like the craftsmanship and designs better (see the previous post on local artisans in Rosário.).
Nearby there are redes slung between trees on the traffic median, occupied by sleep testers on this dripping hot day.
An earlier post compares the Carnival in Rio with that in the smaller cities and the interior. This post shows some elements of the Carnival period in São Luís, the capital of Maranhão. It is not even remotely complete since much of the period was spent in the interior.
However, Maranhão has a wide range of cultural activity — carroças (floats), samba groups, blocos with African and indigenous identity, and a myriad of ad hoc groups that celebrate in the streets.
The celebration begins in the streets on weekends almost directly after the last celebrations of Christmas. Actually, they overlap so that the ritual of queima da palinha (see earlier posts) and many celebrations in the Afro-Brazilian spiritual houses overlap both seasons.
An earlier post on “Carnival in Rio de Janeiro and the Interior” describes some of the differences in celebration in Brazil. It can be read as a reflection on the celebration that is a preview of sorts for this photo description of a trip to two towns in the interior of Maranhão — Mirinzal and Central do Maranhão.
An interesting element that we had not expected was the importance of these massive speaker systems. Really huge ones are mounted on trailers. Smaller ones are mounted in the back of pick-up trucks or even in the hatchback of small cars.
They are portable street parties and can mobilized crowd for a demonstration or street parade through town. They are not hampered by any noticeable noise pollution ordinances and may play all night.
This one was across the street from our hotel — which was open to the street side. The sound was inescapable. The bass speakers shook the bed, and the mid-range speakers and tweeters rattled the glass. These are very sophisticated sonic devices and have become important to celebration in the interior.
They were first seen in parades in large cities, but are now a commercial venture in their own right.
This is the first in a series of several posts on the Carnaval season in Brazil. A second post shows some aspects of Carnaval in two areas in the interior — Mirinzal and Central do Maranhão, and in Rosário. A third shows some elements of the celebration in the capital city of São Luís. The final post shows the parade or Carroća, in the town of Rosário.
The photo-based posts will appear above this one, but will refer to this as a source of reflection on how the smaller cities and the towns of the interior differ from the well-known Carnival in Rio de Janiero.
Carnival in Rio and elsewhere
Often when we describe our work in Maranhão people ask if that includes the Carnival (Carnaval) of Rio de Janeiro. Others have sometimes heard of the Bmba-meu-boi festival in Parintins in the state of Amazonas and ask if that , too, is in our research program.
The answer is “no,” because neither is in our specific research focus. But in another sense it is, of course, “yes” because of the interconnectedness of Brazilian celebration culture. Each of these immensely popular celebrations figures in our work, but mostly as a cultural reference that helps us understand the differences in the way celebration takes place in the smaller capital of São Luís and, most of all, how different is the celebration in the interior of Maranhão.
The first point of reference is that the Carnaval of Rio de Janeiro is a huge entertainment and economic enterprise in its current form. The Sambadromo in Rio holds tens of thousands of spectators. They sit in high grandstands on both sides of a long “passarella” along which the schools of samba parade. To am American’s eyes it looks like an auto drag strip with a long, unobstructed pavement. Seen in the off-season there is, well, virtually nothing to be seen other than the physical facility and its well-known arches that (unlike McDonald’s) resemble the buttocks of a very leggy woman with generous buttocks. It is not a model of subtlety, an all its monumentality.
During the night(s) of the parade/passarela, groups (schools of samba, as they are called) parade along the runway for 1 ½ hours each. Usually six groups are chosen for the final parade. Taken one after the other the parade of spectacular groups take a minimum of nine hours. It is broadcast on television and goes on all night. There are other groups in lower categories that parade at other times. Most important is that the entire process is competitive and extremely expensive and, for the winner, lucrative.
At one time the schools of samba were supported by the neighborhoods that were their homes. That is still at least partly the case, but the logistics, costumes, and business elements are now staggering. Even tourists can pay the equivalent of a few hundred dollars for the experience of participating in the group. They also have to attend rehearsals, be talented and fit enough for the show, and provide their own costumes. Participants like this have become a source of income to help feed the entertainment machine.
The street parades are different. Here everyday Brazilian citizens wear costumes and party in the streets. This element has some resemble to street parties associated with the Mardi Gras in New Orleans or Fasching in some German cities. These are real people, for the most part, partying in public.
Foreigners may have a picture in mind of Black Orpheus (Orfeu Negro), the famous 1960s film of the Rio Carnaval blended with the myth of Orpheus in the underground. There is a kind of romance of the favela where the groups originate, and a love story from classical mythology. The luscious atmosphere of the film is filled with darkness and color, anonymous romance, personified death, and the darkness of voodoo or macumba.
What you see on Brazilian television from Rio now is a daylight party with a lot of drinking, colored hair, cross-dressing, and ordinary people in imaginative costumes. There is no sign of darkness, mythical figures, death, or even anonymous sex with strangers. That is later.
So, the romantic Carnaval may be in the darkness. But what is common with street parties in the interior is the presence of everyday citizens and some sponsored groups, celebrating in public. The floats in the interior have little in common with those of Rio – many of which resemble space stations, alternate universes, Macy’s parade on steroids, jumbled together with huge amounts of bare human flesh that has to stay covered in colder climates.
What we discovered here is that many Brazilians in the interior experience the Carnaval in Rio de Janeiro just as people in the northern hemisphere do – on television. Their own celebration is smaller, grittier, and close to home. Like the street parties in Rio, the ordinary citizens are remarkable and often unconstrained in their costumes – in fact they may be all the more interesting because they are done more with imagination than with money.
There is one more theme that is common in commentaries on the Carnaval. Anthropologists called on Bakhtin and DaMatta point out that these may be “Rabelaisian” inversions of authority and a satire on conventional power and authority. Politicians and religion are mocked, sexual mores and conventional customs are scorned, and there is for a time a “popular” ownership of the streets. This element certainly exists in the celebrations in the interior.
The most common element of mockery is not the Church or the profane power structure, however. It is in the mockery of stereotyped heternormative gender roles. Cross-dressing seems to be the most common “transgression,” even in the interior. There are many variations. Some are “macho drag” with men in cheesy costumes. Others are more serious in their costumes, and some are elaborate and genuinely imaginative and sexy in their presentation. Somewhere in between are young men who seem to by trying out cross-dressing and gender variation in a safe way. Some simply use the occasion to advertise that “Homophobia is prohibited. A crime.” This popular t-shirt slogan is stating the anti-discrimination law of Brazil that prohibits homophobic discrimination along with gender, sexual orientation, handicap or race.
It may be exaggerated to say that the Carnaval is a Rabelaisian protest against “normal” society and norms, but it is indeed true that it provides a temporary space for alternative expressions – especially of gender definition and sexual orientation.
Queima da Palhinha (Burning of the crèche), Casa de Iemanjá (São Luís, Maranhão)
One of the celebrations reported in an earlier post is the ceremony of Queima da Palhinha – the symbolic removal of the crèche/nativity scene and honoring of the Christ child.
The “straw” of the manger is burned – in this case an the herb murta which gives off a dense smoke and incense smell.
An earlier post showed the ceremony in a private home and in the Casa das Minas. The one in these photos took place in the House of Iemanjá, a spiritual house dedicated to the orixá of the sea.
It was a mixed ceremony with Christian songs and prayers in Portuguese. Later, there was another ceremony devoted to other entities of the house that are in the African-Brazilian tradition.
An unusual feature of religious life in São Luís, and in Maranhão generally, is the blending or juxtaposition of different spiritual traditions.
The photos below are from the queimada ceremony, except for the final photo which shows the pae de santo leading the ceremony that followed.
In the interior of Maranhão, about 1 1/2 hours from São Luís by car, the town of Rosário rests on the Itapecuru River which provides much of the areas economy. The thick clay on the banks turns to choking dust in the dry season, but it is heavy and ideal for artesanal pottery.
The area has several pottery workshops (olarias) that rely on this clay. There are modern brick factories using this material. bit we visited smaller artisans with older, “traditional” methods.
Having spent many summers with my grandparents on a simple farm in central Illinois, seeing this old equipment reminded of childhood memories of rooting around in my grandfather’s barn.
The first shop, in the city
The second shop, closer to river and the source of clay
Rosário also has a native industry making hammocks. Our apartment, and most hotels have hook for hanging a rede, or hammock.
I use them for hanging my hat, but the older buildings have hooks in every room and many houses use the hammock as the chief place for resting/sleeping.
They are comfortable, though it takes some practice to get out of them in even a remotely skillful fashion. In older places with dirt floors, the rede is safely off the ground.
“Popular Catholicism” is a term used in Maranhão for practices that are not sanctioned or conducted within the official church. They are carried in the culture of faith and devotion of members of the community who continue the practices on their own
Sometimes the practices are mixed with celebrations in terreiros, spiritual houses of Afro-Brazilian practice.
Queima da Palinha
Queima da Palinha, Private home in São Luís
The burning of the murta herb is symbolic of the end of the Christmas season and the dismantling of he créche. It is also a celebration of the Christ child from whom blessings are sought.
The family and friends celebrate with a litany from a text that includes several devotional stages.
The actual queimada, the burning, is done in an urn in the home, but there is a tremendous amount of smoke that is like incense.
Some readers may have experienced a 12th Night ceremony in the U.S. during which Christmas trees and wreaths are symbolically burned.
Nossa Senhora de Belém, Iguaraú
The photo below is of an umbandaterreiro in the community of Iguaraú. It was not our destination, but worth a look because it is representative of a number of hybrid practices that contain some Christian elements mixed with other entities and practices. That is a cross in front, with the dove of the Espirito Santo just below the crest of the roof.
Aside from Saint Enofre, celebrated in both the Catholic and Orthodox traditions, the figures on the wall represent various entities from other practices.
There are extensive connections in Maranhão between practices in Catholicism and in other spiritual practices. The house of Saint Enofre honors Christian and non-Christian figures. The church below has some features of an “official” Catholic church, but does not have a permanent priest or staff. The practice of honoring Our Lady of Bethelem is accompanied here by a churchman, but is also a part of what is here called “popular Catholicism” — practices originating in the Church (perhaps as far back as the Middle Ages), but now carried by groups of devotees in homes and informal “churches.”
Photos below are from such a community church in the community of Iguaraú, not far from São Luís.
The festival of “Our Lady of Bethlehem” celebrates the life of Mary in that city. It is closely related to the nativity story and is at the close of the Christmas season (like the Queima da Palinha above).
Children are a central part of the ceremony — here throwing flowers to a girl dressed as Our Lady of Bethlehem.
An unusual part of the ceremony is in fact a second ceremony of drumming and singing/dancing that is part of a tradition called tereco. This part of the celebration lasted about an hour, but in heritage practice would go on all night, overshadowing the Christian ceremony before.
Here it was part of the joint celebration, followed by the universal religious sacrament of a table covered with cakes.
Queima da Palinha, Casa das Minas
The end of the queimada (burning) and close of the season of Christmas celebration.
Though Christians associate this sort of ceremony with an organized church, it is here celebrated in the Casa das Minas, a house in the jejé tradition that traces its roots to 18th and 19th century Dahomey.
Celebration of São Sebastião
Saint Sebastian is a complex figure in Maranhão celebration. Historically the Catholic saint is revered as the 9th century Christian martyr. He is usually depicted pierced with arrows.
In the Casa das Minas he is associated with an entity known as Averequete In other traditions he may be associated with Oxóssi (the hunter). In yet others he is fluidly connected to Rei Sebastião, the 16th century Portuguese who was lost in Morocco during the Crusades.
In one legend King Sebastion is reincarnated in the Dunes of Lencoìs in north Maranhão. His enchanted figure appears on the dunes as a black bull with a red star on his head. This legend links many elements of the boi/ox in the lore of Maranhão and is one of the connections of the heritage Bumba-meu-boi celebration. This complicated set of links also involves São João (Saint John) is often celebrated with a boi/ox.
Because of the diversity of practices and traditions, these various links are not codified, but fluid in the multiple oral traditions of Maranhão.
The altar in the Casa das Minas, with its mix of religious symbols and traditions.
A celebration of São Sebastião (and maybe other entities) at the Casa de Iemanjá, São Luís.
The celebrations above all show the resilience and depth of devotion in São Luís and Maranhão in general. All of these celebrations are in the Christmas season or shortly thereafter, but none is held in an official church. A private home, an informal country church without a priest, and two different terreiros that have a mix of practices.
The official Church has, in the view of some, “abandoned” these heritage practices but seems to have a general attitude of tolerance toward them. Evangelicals are increasing in number and are generally more aggressive toward the non-Christian practices since they honor a variety of non-Christian entities. These houses were once persecuted by the church and the police, but they are now protected under Brazilian law as legitimate religious practices..
The beauty of this place, such as the sunset on the Bay of San Marcos above, clashes with ecological compromises and infrastructure problems that are a constant source of ambivalence for us as we visit the beach nearly everyday.
The above photo and the black and white photos below are all shot with a small camera that became more important after the theft of some of our main equipment. (More on that in an earlier post.)
Because of the equipment losses, I have been experimenting with a small Canon that was formerly just my walk-around camera. It fits in my pocket when on the beach and is a good companion when I am in town and don’t want to carry heavier equipment.
These photographs are all from the beach in Sáo Luís and in one of the central city’s shopping streets. It was once an elegant area but has been abandoned by the middle class which has moved to the outer rings of the city.
I have been working without my basic camera for a while and have used this little Canon S-100 in situations that I might have reserved for a larger-format camera. Its small sensor has about 18 MP squeezed into a body the size of most point-and-shoot cameras. It has adjustments for aperture and shutter speed, and zooms from 24mm to 120 mm. It shoots in RAW format which gives a lot of latitude for subsequent computer processing.
There are newer small cameras with larger sensors, but this in the one in my pocket most of the time.
This small camera is handy if you don’t need large format prints or are photographing simple compositions. Because it is easy and inconspicuous to carry in a pocket, it fits the old rule that “the best camera is the one you have with you.”
Every time I see this place I think of Rick’s Place in Casablanca — “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in the world, she has to walk into mine” — but Kallamazoo? Most beachfront places have names like Rising Sun, or Ocean Bar, or Adventurer, but some have named like this and “Mallibu,” invariably spelled with Brazilian indifference. I have not stopped to ask if they specialize in central Michigan cuisine, hesitating to visit in case they have burgers and the University of Michigan football game on television. A better guess is that they have the same fried fish and french-fried manioc strips (macaxeira) that everyone else does.
American romantics should be warned that no place on the beach plays bossa nova, jazz or anything remotely like classical (not even Astor Piazzola or Brazilian classical guitar). It is Brazilian pop and dance music, leavened from time to time with an folk singer crooning “Sweet Caroline” or “Eleanor Rigby.” One night we had Bobby Darin’s “Splish Splash” — an old favorite in Brazil, translated into Portuguese. Beach music is made for drinking, not subtlety.
Some days you get the bear, some days it gets you… Field work
January, 2016 Maranhao (Sao Luis, Santa Inez, Pindaré)
Alert: The first section on my “photo series” is a bit grumpy and personal. The second section on the real purpose of this trip, and our research in general, is a bit more interesting.
My photo series on Brazilian (Maranhão) bus stops
On this set of trips, the bear got us.
Ever since our extended bus trips to Minas Gerais in 2008 to visit the home of the baroque artist Aleijardinho, we have often found ourselves on Brazilian buses. That is, European-built buses run by various Brazilian bus enterprises. The most comfortable are the MarcoPolo buses by Mercedes. The least comfortable are the modest, shorter-haul buses that sometimes reach the capital, but often do not because of leaky radiators and bald tires.
These are the buses you get when you arrive too late for the MarcoPolo. I know… I’ve tested this over and over.
Some of the Maranhão roads are unforgiving, in spite of the state signs bragging about “more asphalt for you.” The “you” seems to be the transit interchanges and roads in main arteries of the city. This often does not include neighborhoods where roads, water and security are already problematic.
The federal highway to the south from the capital (there is only one) is wide and fast, until you run out of decent road and bobble back and forth in the bus, avoiding potholes and other vehicles. Much of the time you skirt the Valé train from Carajás which carries up to 300 freight cars full of iron ore to be shipped out of São Luis harbor (Bay of San Marcos).
São Luis is basically an island, and there is only one highway in and out of the city to the south. The first major landmarks leaving the city are the major bus station, the airport, and then Pedreiras, the notorious state penitentiary.
Returning the same way you are again on the island of São Luis and welcomed by the sign that says Isla do Amor — “Island of Love.” It looked a bit seedy a few days before when you left, and now looks like home after a few days in the interior.
More inviting to some are the signs for “Motel,” which here means a high security, discreet drive-in hourly motel. These also have names like “Island of Love,” and one even has a billboard with two young people embracing, with the message “Why not now?” They are so walled-in and guarded that spouses can be there with different people and never see each other.
The city signs are interesting because they offer a Hallmark Cards view of urban improvement — cheerful signs that tout love, more asphalt, and a better life for all. Like the bumps and holes in the road, it is easier to put up a “Danger” sign than to fix the road.
The most recent billboard advertises 61 new school buses in rural areas. I don’t know if anyone has seen these buses, but the sign comes after a three-week campaign in the local newspaper about the miseries of public transportation — including that only half of the promised buses were purchased this year.
But we have seen the signs.
There is an election coming up.
The first time along this route to the interior I was enchanted by the bus stops with their barbeque (churrasco) stands, vendors of street food, and men who peel the tough Brazilian oranges for you. There are also peddlers, panhandlers, dogs, and station agents who occasionally interrupt their conversations with other station agents to sell tickets to passengers.
One day, standing at Itapecaru-Mirim station and bracing myself to brave the restroom, I thought that I should do a photo essay.
My progress was a bit mixed.
In thinking about a photo essay on bus stations, I was wrong about two things:
The first was thinking that I wouldn’t see Itapecaru-Mirim again.
The second was a vague assumption that I would have my cameras with me.
The second assumption evaporated on the last trip when we arrived near the station. I felt for the cameras and found that the bag under my legs was strangely light.
During the night when everyone slept, someone slipped into my bag and lifted all the gear. It seems premeditated because we later reconstructed that someone got on the bus outside the São Luis station (out of range of the security cameras and without having to show proper identification), and got off a hundred yards before our stop (slipping away in the dark while all the passengers were asleep).
I marveled at the skill of someone who could lift the equipment from beneath my legs and then disappear.
What followed was a mild version of what in the U.S. is often called “secondary victimization.” In cases of robbery and assault, and especially crimes against women and gays, the actual assault is often followed by abuse at the hands of unsympathetic authorities.
In this case — by no means as serious as any of those crimes against persons — we were left with hours of cops and depositions and fatigue and sadness at missing our research trip.
While we sat in this little bus stop community with inefficient and unhelpful bureaucrats, the thief was off having a camera sale. Perhaps the thief was also planning a photo essay on bus stations, in which case I forgive him. I hope he has a good career in photography — next time perhaps I’ll carry along some of the software he will need to process the photos.
The police were solicitous, admonishing us to be more careful next time. Brazilian police are helpful like that.
We stayed in the little community (Miranda do Norte) in a bus station pousada, after waiting for the manager to sweep dozens of black beetles out of the room. It seemed to be their mating season, but we insisted that they get their own room.
The next morning we visited a police station whose waiting room/main office had two chairs, no telephone, and not a trace of paper — not even a calendar.
There was, however, an officer who was busy sweeping black beetles out of the station. The police station made the mythical Mayberry of American television a generation ago seem, well, urbane.
The local police in Miranda do Norte were also solicitous, admonishing us that travel in risky at night and to be more careful next time. The police could save themselves the time of a visit if they would simply print this on a card and pass it out routinely. To amuse us while we waited, they eventually regaled us with stories of other thefts on this bus route, which we now understand is well-known for this pattern of thievery.
So, our conclusion was that we were marked by a thief in São Luis who boarded after us and waited for everyone to sleep. Then he got off at Miranda do Norte just before the bus station (again, out of range of security camera).
The police seemed to think this was clever too.
The bus management (it is the Guanabara line, for those of you planning a trip) denied they had ever heard of such a thing. “These things happen,” as if thefts on their line were inexplicable random events like rain … and I suppose black beetles in your room.
In spite of the bus company’s serenity about the loss, Simone has been having a dialogue with the management of the bus company. The dialogue is, in turns, solicitous and legalistic (their side), and full of moral outrage and suggestions for proper responsibility for clients (our side).
As in other crimes of secondary victimization, blaming the victim (e.g., dressed too provocatively, in the wrong place, etc.) is routine police and bus company behavior. Our loss was a bagatelle compared to serious assaults against persons, but it was reminiscent of what that feeling must be.
So … the bus station photo project has slowed down a bit. I am still charmed by the bus stop culture. There is a mixture of resignation and vague desperation in the passengers who know the bus will be late, and that “such things happen.” I think hey got the message from the police and bus company.
Readers of Samuel Becket’s Waiting for Godot will understand what this is like.
There is an Eastern wisdom that tells us the obstacle is the path, and that the journey is more important than the goal The Brazilian passengers seem to have an understanding of these vagaries of the universe and impermanence of the world and its objects (especially its transportation).
Hotels and pousadas
On this trip we spent our first night in a perfectly decent hotel — it had air conditioning and running water. The next two nights that was not the case – room temperatures were somewhere in the 80s when the night cooled off. The rooms had open ceilings so that the heat (and sound) could rise and circulate.
There were even a toilet and shower not so terribly far away, down a dark hall filled with cats and unfamiliar objects. Here, the goal was more important than the journey … when there was water. As it happened, the water was inexplicably absent for our first day there — a normal fact of life that again invoked a sense of stoicism and impermanence. It reminded me of visiting my grandfather’s farm in central Illinois during a drought. I hadn’t expected Pindaré to evoke childhood memories of the “interior” of the U.S. a long time ago.
This pousada was actually my favorite place, based on the theory that there is no reason to do field work if it is going to feel like you are staying in a Motel 6. This one didn’t — and, on the positive side, it is definitely not part of a look-alike chain of hotels. You could duplicate the decor, but would need some cats and a bucket to shower with.
The charm of the place was compounded by the fact that what was called “taxi” would be an unmarked car, often old with a cracked windshield. The system makes New York Gypsy cabs look positively organized and reliable. It turns out that the most reliable transportation, and safest in the rutty roads were the mototaxis — young men with small motorcycles who would drive you about. They were more courageous than the taxi drivers, who would sometimes balk at the neighborhoods or the roads we needed to travel.
I don’t have any photos of mototaxis because I was too busy holding on to the motorcycle, my hat, my camera gear, and my composure.
Crossing the river was a somewhat more leisurely affair, though it also required some faith, and a grip on the boat.
We didn’t often have to cross the river, but doing so was a matter of catching one of the drivers of flat-bottomed boats that scurry back and forth across the Mirim. They were more numerous and reliable than the taxis.
On the way back to São Luís we missed the “good” bus and had a choice of a not-so-good bus that drove through the night, or waiting another day. We remembered that the bear had recently gotten us (and our cameras) on our last night trip — and that we had to salvage our last bits of functioning camera/video gear – – we opted to stay at a hotel called the “Palace.”
It wasn’t a palace, actually, but it was a hundred feet from the good bus the next day.
“Good” here sometimes means the bus with decent tires and a functioning toilet in the back.
No photos here either, though the bus stop was indeed colorful. I suppose it is just as well – I suspect the bus company and the State of Maranhão won’t want to use my photos and stories for their tourist brochures.
But we got there and had a very productive and fulfilling research trip.
Below is a photo of images of Santa Inez (Saint Agnes), the patron saint of the city of the same name. We stayed in this now-familiar city because we wanted to visit a spiritual leader (mae de santo) in Santa Inez. As an extra bonus we found a ceramic workshop (olaria).
We wanted to meet and interview the leader of this house as part of our study of women leaders in Maranhão’s cultura popular. These images are from her spiritual house in Santa Inez.
The final destination of the field trip was a celebration of several days involving diverse groups in the Umbanda tradition. The photos below are from that celebration in a modest neighborhood of the city of Pindaré.
The instruments in this celebration were a variety of drums that were sometimes accompanied by other rhythmic percussion. Common is the hollow gourd that is held in a net with beads or shells that rattle against the gourd when shaken. It is shaken rhythmically with the drum beat. This is a familiar instrument from African traditions and widespread in Brazil.
Another interrelated practice in the interior is the promessa, which is most commonly a celebration in honor of some blessing received. Often dedicated to a saint, it is paid for by family and friends who put on a party where the public is welcome. It is a religious act turned into a block party and community event.
The drummers and dancer in the photos below below are fulfilling a promessa to honor a dead boieiro — a member of a Bumba-meu-boi group that is performing and attending in his memory.
Some Tambor da Crioula groups exist as independent dance groups, but many are associated with a particular Bumba-meu-boi group. In the days of rural patriarchy, only men participated in the boi. In previous generations women accompanied the groups in supporting roles, or stayed home to tend the work and the family while the men were celebrating.
The Tambor da Crioula was an alternative performance/celebration practice for women — one of he few available to them apart from religious celebrations. It is an important historical dance form, strongly evocative of African forms and now listed as a national cultural patrimony in Maranhão.
The role of women has been changing significantly. Women are now increasingly playing performing and leadership roles in the Bumba-meu-boi, although the Tambor da Crioula is still danced almost exclusively by women with men providing the percussion. The familiar three-drum accompaniment shown here is also that used in many Afro-Brazilian ritual events and spiritual practices. Musicians are often active in many of these diverse practices and celebrations, crossing the imaginary boundaries among various traditions.
The middle drummer of the three pictured here is also a master embroiderer of costumes for the Bumba-meu-boi. Like many people in the interior, he practices in various Catholic, Afro-Brazilian, and community traditions like this one. This experience leads many culture intellectuals in Maranhão to speak of a total cultural network, a life-filling web of practice and community.
The Real Point of the Trip
Why would we be doing this? We are not anthropologists of the old school who relish the excitement of research on remote peoples. We are a retired political scientist and a dancer/professor.
However, after some 8 or 9 years of visiting Maranhão, we find ourselves in the midst of what we think will be two books. We also have a huge number of videos and photo images that may find themselves into a a series of photo sets and edited videos.
The first of these still-imaginary books is on women in “popular” (traditional) culture in Maranhão.
The second was originally to be based on the Bumba-meu-boi festival as it is practiced in the capital. As we have learned more, but the idea has broadened to include connections of that celebration with other religious and cultural practices in Maranhão.
The Bumba-meu-boi in our research is in the center of a network practices and social relations that still exist in Maranhão. Much of this network has been changed in the capital city where the festival has been trimmed and monetized into performances for visitors ad tourists. Finding out more of the roots of the Bumba-meu-boi in popular culture has meant going back to the interior where the festival maintains much of its heritage of cultural density and richness.
That is why we keep going to the interior of Maranhão.
In this trip the key events were the several-day-long celebration of African-Brazilian practice. This includes elements of traditions such as Candomblé, Tereco, Tambor de Minas, and Umbanda. Many of these groups gathered in Pindaré and we were there to film and photograph them, to interview some of the leaders, and to better understand this intricate cultural matrix.
It has many elements of Catholicism, but is in fact an alternative symbolic universe of entities and practices that incorporate many diverse elements.
This event was at the conceptual the nexus of our two (still) imaginary books. Women are powerful in these religious practices which are often matriarchal in their organization. Many of the practitioners are also involved in the Bumba-meu-boi and other cultural traditions in the interior. In our years of contact with the celebration, we began to feel that the Bumba-meu-boi in the capital city is sometimes dissociated from this web. We went to the interior to see more of the heritage of related practices.
One of our most important interviews was with the mae de santos (mother of saints) who is spiritual head of an Umbanda house. She is a leading religious figure in the area. In her biography, she traversed a youth in an evangelical church, but was ejected for having visions (the wrong ones). She drifted toward alternative practices and eventually founded her own house of syncretic/hybrid practices. She personifies the importance of women and the interconnected web of heritage culture.
We were privileged over and over to experience the remarkable charisma, spiritual authority, and community commitment of women such as this.
She was a dominant figure in the spiritual celebration in Pindare, but shared the authority and guidance with others (including her own mae pequena – “little mother” — who is the second in command of her spiritual house. A sign that the little mother was still on the path was that she conducted liturgies and chants in Portuguese, rather than Yoruba, one of the African languages often used in Afro-Brazilian practice.
It often takes years in these traditions to achieve full initiation and the liturgy is very complex. They are far from the preconceptions and sensationalization of “voodoo” as it is know in New Orleans. Actually, as we understand it, New Orleans voudou is related to the same African matrix of spiritual practice, but it arrived in the U.S. with Haitian immigrant in the 19th century. It took a complicated path to the southern U.S., migrating and evolving from Africa to Haiti. The practices in Brazil were carried by slaves from various parts of Africa, though some early African slaves were brought from the Azores where slavery had an earlier history. In different parts of the New World, Africa-based practices maintained elements of continuity the their African matrix, but also evolved differently in the new culture.
One of the challenges to our understanding is that each of these practices has its own combination of symbols and forms for worship and celebration. The practices and entities do not decode directly into more familiar Western (or Eastern) religions. There are similarities, but these religions are not based on a set of written rules, nor on a normative priesthood and catechism, nor on tradition of normative texts. They are transmitted through apprenticeship and practice, through dance and songs, and through oral transmission. This gives them continuity as well as flexibility (see for example, Yvonne Daniel in her book on Candomblé, Dancing Wisdom).
In Maranhão there are strong traditions, but no “orthodoxy” that is easily codified. In fact, researchers in Afro-Brazilian practice have often reported their research analysis provided a useful codification for practitioners – the anthropologists became active participants in codifying their practice.
So, our purpose in going deeper into the Afro-Brazilian practices is to understand the broader cultural matrix of religion and celebration in Maranhão. Viewing the celebrations of the Bumba-meu-boi in the city of São Luis gives a disconnected view of the celebration, showing only the cleansed and marketed version for visitors and urban celebrants. The deeper cultural matrix is in popular Catholicism, Afro-Brazilian spiritual practice, and a variety of celebrations that formed the culture heritage of the interior.
The Festival of Kings (Festa dos Reis) is the celebration at the conclusion of what are called the festas natalinas, the many celebrations held during the period of Christmas on the Catholic calendar.
In Maranhão these celebrations may once have been promoted and organized by the institutional Church — now they are spread throughout the region in many forms. The community celebrations are part of what is known as “popular Catholicism,” practices that may originally have originated in he Church but now carried on by communities themselves. These two festas in the photos below are community celebrations organized by community groups. There were no clergy present at either of the festas shown here.
This church below is simple community building but not the center for a parish or official Church sanction.
Like many such “churches” throughout Maranhão, they have evolved their own forms of celebration that are now part of popular — rather than official — culture. A feature of popular Catholicism is that the culture producers are the “people,” and not any formal institution.
An earlier post describes festivals of São Gonçalo and the Festa do Divino in two communities in the interior of Maranhão. In both cases the celebration, ritual, and liturgy were conducted by the community and held in a “church” that is an informal community building.
This celebration is based on the nativity story of the visit of the three kings to the new-born Jesus. A centerpiece is the nativity scene which, in Maranhao lis likely to contain animals and entities that reflect the communities’ spiritual practices (Catholic or other).
There is a somewhat similar observance of “Three Kings’ Day” in New Orleans, and many communities celebrate the 12th night of Christmas with a ceremony and burning of trees.
This is, more of less, the last celebration of Christmas. There is one more event called the “quemada palinha” in which the straw of the manger (the créche, presépio) is burned. Many celebrations use an herb or shrub called murto, which when burned gives off a sweet, pungent odor like a powerful incense.
Popular culture in Maranhão, as elsewhere, is a mix of heritage culture — such as that celebrated here — and mass media entertainment. This was only one activity gong on at this commercial bar/entertainment center.
Tourist and ethnographic accounts sometimes give the impression that everyone is there; however, in the hybrid world of contemporary Maranhao culture, many are next door drinking and dancing.
As researchers we were at the Festa dos Reis. We have seen people drink and dance before, and didn’t need to document that.
The Tomei Ohtake Foundation houses a major exposition of Japanese-Brazilian artist Ohtake’s work, but it is much more. The building itself it worth a trip, but it also houses traveling exhibits such as this one on Mexican Women Surrealist Artists (running December – January, 2015/16).
The metro is one of the wonders of Sao Paulo. It is the third largest in Latin America, after Mexico City and Santiago, Chile. It is not as large as Beijing or Tokyo or Cairo, but it is about the 12th largest in the world. Currently moving something less than 900 million riders a year, it is has a major expansion in progress that will bring even more of the faro-flung city into the network.
This is a bit daunting when you realize that metropolitan Sao Paulo already has some 20 million inhabitants and is one of the fastest-growing cities in the world.
The first of five lines, each named by color, was inaugurated in the 1970s. Line 1 — the Blue Line — connects the center of the city with outlying stations with indigenous names — Jabaquara and Turucuvi. The four other lines cross-cross the city, and a fifth is being built to add more of the city’s sprawl to the network.
It is fast, clean, modern and well-managed. Stepping from the train to the street is often a bit of a surprise, since the areas around some of the stops seem a bit sketchy, particularly at night. But at peak times it moves hundreds of thousands of passengers. Its stations are fitting for a large industrial city — busy and pretty efficient.
It does not have the vast commercial network that the Japanese subway does. The metro in Tokyo has stops that are named for the department store there, and there is a feeling of being in an underground city at times. No so in Sao Paulo. This is a huge mover of people through the city, a no frills transit machine to carry people through its capillaries as quickly as possible.
For an older rider (over 60) the metro is free. This means that showing some form of identification with your face and birthday will get you through a special access gate where an attendant will swipe a special magnetic card that will open a gate for you. If you are unsure how to do this, you can usually identify the access point by the short line of older folks, or a large swinging gate marked for handicapped access.
This was a ride up and down the Blue Line, spending time in Santa Cruz, Praca da Se, Liberdade, and various stops along the way.
The first of these images depicts the European colonizers and the bandeirantes who opened the interior of Brazil and challenged the Spanish for its possession. Enslavement and displacement of the indigenous population following them, as did the slavery of Africans and African descendants.
This mural overlooks one of the busiest metro stations along the Blue Line, which runs some 20 kilometers between Jabaquara and Turucuvi, both stops ironically honoring indigenous names for parts of present-day Sao Paulo. The colonizers and adventurers kept the land, but they gave back the names.
This subway mural is another example of the ambivalence in portrayals of Brazilian history. An earlier post describes this ambivalence in other public art: In Sao Paulo’s Ibirapuera Park there is the Afro-Brazilian Museum which honors the Africans and their descendants. At one of the entrances of the park is the Bandeirantes Memorial which honors the adventurers who defied the 15th Century Treaty of Tordesillas in which the Pope tried to divide South America between the Spanish and the Portuguese. The bandeirantes crossed that imaginary line to create the modern outline of Brazil, displacing and enslaving indigenous people along the way. The Pope didn’t know where they were, and perhaps neither did they.
The indigenous people proved not to be good slaves. They died in captivity or escaped into the forests they knew better than the invaders. By the 16th Cenury Brazil turned increasingly to the Azores, then to Africa, to provide slaves to power its agricultural economy.
The Luz metro station is a Victorian train station that carries the trademark style of the British engineers who designed and built it. The British guaranteed Portugal’s dominance and Brazil’s existence against various European powers, but it extracted a high commercial price. The early rail lines were a British contribution and Luz Station is a symbol.
It houses the Museum of the Portuguese language. One of the most interesting museums in Sao Paulo, it burned on December 21, 2015.
This is only a tiny selection of a rich display of modern Argentinian art that was remarkable discovery for a first-time visitor in that country.
These works by Berni are part of an exposition on Argentinian Modernism from 1940 to 1970. The dates are important because modernism came to an end in the 1970’s with the military dictatorship and the “dirty war.”
Argentina, like other dictatorships, had an uneasy relationship with artists — especially leftists. Virtually all the modern art by Spaniards was done abroad during the Franco regime (e.g., Picasso). Brazilian art and music were often exiled along with the political opposition, though they were less likely to be tortured and “disappeared” than political opponents and opposition journalists. In the same way, Argentina’s “dirty war” inflicted thousands of casualties and disappearances on its own citizens.
This makes the modernist exhibit in Buenos Aires all the more poignant. It was a period of artistic and political ferment. There are many artists in the display, not all of whom are “political,” even though their styles may not have been popular with the dictatorship. Antonio Berni is one whose themes seemed to jump off the wall.
Berni and many of his fellow artists were aware of developments in European art, but had a strong critical identity of their own. Berni was a committed leftist before the left came under the dictatorship, ending opposition and opposition art.
This is just a personal opinion, but Berni’s work evokes elements of the satirical/critical work of Georg Grosz, the German artist of the Weimar era (though he continued his career in the United States later). It is deeply graphic and emotional, and sometimes borders on propaganda/poster graphics. Berni does not have the satirical edge of Grosz, however, and is more literally outraged at injustice of the authoritarian regime and its oppression of opposition. Grosz often expressed his opposition to German militarism and Nazism in satire and expressionist humor. Berni’s work has some similarity to German expressionist work of the time, but whatever satire is present takes the form of religious imagery and political outrage.
The Argentinian commentary says he was associated with “informalism” and “New Figuration.” These schools of art were fermenting in Argentina, but were aware of graphic movements elsewhere in the world.
The Afro-Brazilian Museum (Museo Afro-Brasiliero), Ibipuera Park (Sao Paulo)
Sao Paulo has many treasures among its museums. One of the most unusual — unique, perhaps — is the Afro-Brazilian Museum. There are other museum in Brazil with this emphasis, but even the one in Salvador does not have the resources or scope of this one of this massive and insightful collection.
The museum reputedly houses more than 6,000 items, some 70% of which are said to be permanent with the remainder being temporary exhibits (the last photo below shows a traveling exhibit from the Smithsonian Anacostia on Lorenzo Dow Turner and the gullah language in the North American sea island.
The mural below draws simultaneously on Sao Paulo’s tradition of bold wall are, on youth culture, and on the museum’s goal of honoring the contribution of black Brazilians to the nation.
The interior of the museum is a vast and sensitive display of the African heritage of Brazil. Many — perhaps the most interesting parts — are still closed to photography, so I cannot show some of the displays and special exhibits. There are rich descriptions of slavery and there is a model of a slave ship, photos and art work on (and sometimes by) Bahian mulatas — sometimes mistresses of slavers and sometimes entrepreneurs in their own right. There are also: a display of African-Brazilian spiritual practice with a guide to orixas in Candomble, including photos of famous spiritual leaders; art work by Brazilians of African heritage; crafts and artisan work of all sorts; and photographic displays of famous Afro-Brazilians (see the photos below by of Madalena Schwartz).
The Museum, established in 2004, is in the Manoel Nobrega Pavillion designed by Oscar Niemeyer and built in 1959. Signs in the entryway emphasize that its opening was attended by representatives of the African nation of Benin attending. the symbolism is important because Benin is the nation whose current territory include many areas of West African slave exportation. The area around the Bight of Benin was a major port for exportation of slaves, but it was also an area rich in natural minerals. The Portuguese gave their word — minas (for mines) — to the area because of its rich mineral deposits. The term “minas” became a shorthand Portuguese name for the diverse African people imported from that region. There were often referred to in bills of lading and slave sales simply as “Minas,” further obscuring their original African origins and identities. This is one of the practices that makes it difficult to trace the origins of African descendants (another of which was the systematic destruction in the 19th Century of bills of lading and sales lists of Africans sold at auction).
Photography of Madalena Schwartz
Many of the museum’s thousands of items,and most of its displays are not available for photographers, but the images below give some of the flavor of the museum.
Photography of the Bumba-meu-boi of Northeast Brazil
Our own research in the Northeast of Brazil includes the Bumba-meu-boi celebration, which is featured in the museum as a significant cultural form of African-Brazilians. These photos below are from that celebration in Sao Luis. The first photo in the image is of Mestre Apolonio Melonio, an iconic figure who founded Bumba-meu-boi da Floresta. We have met him many times, and were saddened by his death in June of 2015.
The second photo is a Cazumba, an evocative forest creature in the Baixada tradition of celebration (see earlier posts for more on the various rhythmic forms of the celebration). The mask is not identified, but we believe it is early work of Abel Texeira of Maranhao, whom we have gotten to know over the years. An earlier post in the series shows Abel, who is now retired. His wife continues his masking style.
A major surprise was the North American exhibit from the Anacostia community museum of the Smithsonian. It features black cultures in the South Carolina sea islands where Lorenzo Dow Turner found strong linguistic connections between “gullah” and West African languages (especially, we understand, Mende which is a language from Sierra Leon). Turner is honored as the founder of African linguistics in the United States.
In one video segment, words from the language as spoken in the U.S. are compared to nearly identical words in various African languages. Turner showed that gullah was not a corruption of English as a dialect with strong African origins.
The Bandeirantes Memorial (just outside Ibipuera Park, Sao Paulo)
The Afro-Brazilian Museum honors the contributions of African descendants to the culture of Brazil. In doing so it evokes ambivalent feelings because of the slavery system that brought those African cultures to Brazil. The memorial to the Bandeirantes also evokes ambivalent reactions — it honors the early explorers who fought their way into the interior of Brazil, but who also enslaved or eliminated the much of the indigenous population they found in their way.
The Bandeirantes were explorers and adventurers of the 17th century. They were often Portuguese born in Brazil, but there were also Spanish and Italian and other nationalities. Many in the entourage were of mixed birth, having European fathers and indigenous mothers.
This part of the memorial emphasizes the leadership of a mass of men by powerful Europeans.
What is was all about: The 1494 Treaty of Tordesillas
After Columbus’ landing in the Americas in 1492, he apparently returned to Spain by way of Portugal to announce his discovery. This is ofen described by historians as a triggering event in the competition between the two Iberian nations in a race to colonize the New World. However, whatever the incidents promoting the rivalry for colonies, the Spanish and Portuguese contest the interior of Latin American.
The Pope attempted to settle the competition by negotiating the Tordesilla treaty which divided Latin America — even though Latin American geography, and particularly its interior, were largely unknown and unmapped.
In the 17th Century various explorers carried the Portuguese flag (bandeira, hence their name “bandeirantes“) and extended the claim of Portugal far into the western part of Brazil that the papal treaty had granted to the Spanish.
The treaty was silent on the French and Dutch, both of whom made attempts at colonizing Brazil in the 17th century. The northeastern city of Sao Luis (Maranhao), for example, has the distinction of being the only Brazilian city to be founded by the French. The French colonization of Sao Luis (beginning in 1612) was disputed by the indigenous population, the Dutch and the Portuguese for the next four decades before Sao Luis and Maranhao becoming more or less securely Portuguese.
Another engraved stone on the monument seems to praise the Bandeirantes for having made Brazil as large as it is today. There is an ambiguity in the story, and in the monument, between the aspirations of the adventurers and the largely indigenous populations they found in their way.
Note: For the start of this trip in Brazil and Buenos Aires, see the preceding post (“From Maranhao to Buenos Aires…”)
Barriloche is the ski resort of Argentina. It is so populated by snow-hungry foreigners that locals sometimes jokingly refer to it as “Braziloche.” It is a diverse city overlooking a beautiful lake, but it is also a busy place with hordes of visitors, young people and a mix of tourists and a somewhat normal economy for residents. This was the beginning of the trip that later led to mountain lakes and glaciers, and a Disney-like fantasy forest of eucalyptus trees.
Barriloche has some odd sights along the tourist streets, like this tree with a bright crocheted cover. It may be an ad for local crafts, but it is nevertheless striking for visitors who may not have thought of dressing up a city tree this way.
Barriloche can be a destination for skiers and other outdoor sports, but the hardier travelers can take a bus that takes you south along endless miles of Patagonia. We went with Chalten Travel, the only compay we found that organizes a bus trip down Route 40
This waterfall is not far from one of the towns where we stayed.
This region has remarkably the elegant lupins that rival the fields of lupins in the southwest England meadowlands. They are everywhere — in pinks, blues, and creamy whites.
Getting to them is not hard — they are all over — but driving deeper into Patagonia from Barriloche opens up endless skies, hundreds of miles, and lupin fields beneath mountain ranges.
One appealing trip from Barriloche is a boat trip to Isla Victoria and the Arrayanes eucalyptus forest on Lake Nahuel Huapi. The island itself was an experiment in forestry and the cultivation of begun in 1902 (my guess is that the island was named in honor of Queen Victoria who died that year).
California redwoods, midwestern U.S. pines, and dozens of species of trees and plants were cultivated there, apparently to create an economically active horticulture. The fruit trees didn’t survive, but many species of trees did. There are huge pine forests — non-native trees that are slowly being cut down and replaced with indigenous trees. There are California redwoods, apparently planted as a wood crop. The early cultivators seemed unaware that once a giant sequoia is planted you must wait a couple of hundred years to harvest it. At the time of our visit the redwoods were only a little over 100 years old and still a bit scrawny.
Isla Victoria is also the site of a forestry training camp and horticultural station where there is an active program of reforesting the island with native species. Foreigners can volunteer to spend a summer there.
From Barriloche you can also reach the Lake Viedma glacier by bus. It was our first glacier, and our first condor.
This isn’t very a very convincing picture, but I forgot to take my condor lens. We had seen a magnificent Andean condor in the Buenos Aires zoo, but we saw this one in flight above the Lake Viedma glacier. For a closer view, the photo below is the captive bird in Buenos Aires. It is hard to describe the size of these birds, but you might imagine a really large turkey — plump it up in your imagination to about 30 pounds and add nine or ten feet of wing span (there is also a Californian condor that is a bit bigger).
This is an Andean condor in captivity in the Buenos Aires zoo. I prefer the free-range condor above, but this will give an idea of the size and beauty of the bird
The Arrayanes forest is a rare and exotic eucalyptus grove that allegedly served as inspiration for a Walt Disney movie. That perhaps apocryphal story is memorialized in the name of the “Bambi” tea house at the edge of the forest.
Cerro Tronador and the glacier
On the way to Cerro Tronador: This photo is simply to show that we were some 41 degrees south — about as far south of the equator as Chicago is north of the equator. This was a long way from home, but not quite at the end of South America.
Much of the time you are in national parks like the one in the sign below.
Cerro Tronador, the volcano and the glacier
By local accounts, the glacier has receded tremendously in recent decades. From the promontory we can see the dark edge of the “black” glacier front. Further up the mountain is the white ice of the glacier. It is early in the season and there has not been new snow yet. Guides in the region say that the place where we were standing was under glacial ice in the 1960s. What we see here, as impressive as it may be, is only a remnant of the old glacial field.
Not too encouragingly, the ascent to El Tronador, the volcano at the top of the glacier, is called “Garganta del Diablo,” “throat of the devil.”
We didn’t make it all the way into the devil’s mouth, but there was a beautiful mountain stream and view of the mountain range above.
Deeper into Patagonia
It is a long bus ride — actually several 12-hour rides, interrupted by stops in Perito Mereno, Chalten, and El Calafate. The view of vast open spaces is broken up by occasional bad roads, warning signs, scatterings of wild horses, occasional sheep and cattle ranches, and — most beautiful of all — wild guanacos on the range.
Guanacos are larger than deer and seem more powerful in the haunches. We would see them in small herds of 5-10 grazing and running on the endless ranges. The skies, too, seem to go on forever.
The guanacos we saw from the bus were either far away, moving quickly, or not patient enough to wait for me to find my camera, so these images are from online photos.
The animals they show are just like the lone animals and small groups we saw all across Patagonia.
We know that they were a source of food and leather for the early nomadic peoples who decorated the “Cave of the Hands” milenia ago. Guanacos continue to survive on the steppes of Patagonia, sharing the vast spaces with wild horses, and with sheep and cattle in the scattered places where there is enough water and grazing. They have some resemblance to llamas and alpacas, but are a different species.
The buses would stop about every four hours for a driver change. It was a long four hours sometimes, since the on-board toilets generally had out-of-order signs on them. The stops are unpretentious but welcome.
In this region the towns are small and widely separated, and not quite ready for a bus full of hungry, sleepy travelers. This is one of the rare daylight stops. Most stops were actually dark, surreal interludes in a long ride through rain, mixed roads, and vast spaces of land and horizon. (The actual rest stop is “pizza” place behind me, but the Codfileria here seemed more inviting.)
Puerto Moreno and the Cave of the Hands
The goal of the tranquilita path down the mountain was the Cave of the Hands (Cueva de los Manos). It is named for the “stencils” or negative images made on the walls by nomadic peoples who used this rock face for shelter. The prints are made with mineral matter and have resisted fading or deterioration over what (the guides, and presumably the archaeologists say) has been 9000 and more years. Artifacts in the caves indicate that they lived in part from guanacos and various smaller animals in the valley. Because of the vagaries of rainfall in this region, they are believed to have been nomadic.
To Chalten and on to El Calafate
This road sign for bemused travelers is a reminder that we are a long way from home. New York is more than 11,000 kilometers away.
That is probably about the same as the distance to Oshkosh or Kalamazoo or Petaluma, though they don’t mention it on the sign.
Our third glacier (Perito Moreno, near El Calafate)
“Travel writing” is a tiresome genre that is at the bottom of the creative literary ladder. One reason is that travel writing blends travelogue and personal reflection, neither of which is as useful as a good Michelin guide to restaurants and monuments. This part of my blog adheres strictly to this model of general irrelevancy, combined with personal reflection. These are a few impressions of the trip — the sort of selective view that travelers have when they have a few days and a lot of kilometers to travel. It is not a good guide to anything (except the answer to one trivia question, see below), but it has some thoughts that are specific to my own experience of Buenos (particular the architecture and culture of power). It is the first of two parts on Argentina, the second being a many-kilometer trip through Patagonia (buses, vast spaces, and glaciers).
The first 5-airport day
For people who sometimes speak of “Latinos” as a single concept, our trip from Maranhao to Argentina couldn’t have offered more insight into the poverty of this generalization. Sao Luis is on the equator and is strongly influenced by its slave history and current economic backwardness. Buenos Aires feels like a modern “European” city whose ethnic diversity is more displayed in the faces of people who are descended from the original peoples of the region (and Colombia, Peru, Chile, and Bolivia).
This was a trip from the equator to roughly the 42nd parallel south of the equator — about the same roughly distance to the south as from the equator to Chicago in the north. In other words, from the tropical center of the world to the southern regions of glaciers, snowy mountains. It is only a bit further to Tierra del Fuego where penguins look out to the water where the next stop is Antarctica.
The trip to Buenos Aires and Patagonia was a brief 10-day journey. I had to reset my Brazilian visa because I had reached the end of the number of days I could stay in one visit. As a kind of holiday present to ourselves, we spent several days in Buenos Aires, then to Barriloche (the Argentinian ski capital), and flinally by bus to Patagonia. The trip ended in El Calafate which has an airport from which we flew back through Buenos Aires to Sao Paulo, Brazil for the holidays.
We followed the famous Route 40 which links Patagonia with the rest of Argentina. It is thousands of kilometers over diverse roads — paved, unpaved, and somewhere in between.
The first day/night was a five-airport journey from Sao Luis to Brasilia to Sao Paulo (Congonhas Airport), Sao Paulo Garulhos Airport, to Buenos Aires.
The 1:30 am flight to Brasilia got us there just before dawn (photo below).
Buenos Aires and the Change of Government
The long administration of Peronist government ended with the retirement of Christina Kirchner and the defeat of her designated successor, former Vice President Daniel Scioli, by Mauricio Macri. It was the end, at least for now, of the Peronist tradition that had been carried in recent years by Nestor, and then Christina, Kirchner. The transition was tense as Kirchner refused to attend the inauguration and gave a militant midnight speech to her supporters as she left the Casa Rosada.
Feelings were high and the streets around the Plaza de Mayo and the Casa Rosada (the Argentinian “White House”) were a mix of excitement and tension, ratified by the presence of riot-prepared police and armored vehicles.
Outgoing President Christina Kirchner was said to be so angry at her party’s having lost the election that there were stories (true or not) that she turned off the hot water, gave the staff a holiday, and bugged the telephones.
Maurico Macri won the presidential election in the urban areas of Buenos Aires where he attracted professionals, investors and businessmen, and younger voters. He won by only a couple of percentage points, having lost in the outlying rural regions and working class districts of Argentina (see photo above of the Macri mural in Perito Mereno)
The Plaza do Mayo is a place for demonstrations. The photo below is one of a long-standing encampment of veterans. As nearly as we could tell, their service was mainly in the Falklands War with Britain (for the islands off the Argentinian coast known as the Malvinas). This is a critical incident for the self-examination of Argentinians — they lost the war to the British, precipitating the fall of the military government. The defeat helped produce a fledgling democracy, but the veterans were lost in the dishonor of defeat.
Plaza de Mayo is also a place where the mothers and relatives of the desaparecidos — the “disappeared” — demonstrated for justice (and even just information) about those they lost during the “dirty war” of the military dictatorship (1976 to 1983). There may have been as many 30,000 lost in the government’s war against its own population, until it was forced from power following Argentina’s defeat in the Falklands War. This veterans’ camp in the plaza in front of the Casa Rosada is another sign of the unresolved recent history of Argentina’s politics.
Recoleta Cemetery: Architecture of Death and Power
Recoleta Cemetery is a testament to the architecture of power — buildings and avenues designed to impress, show power and wealth, and remind most people that this is beyond their reach.
Parts of street life give a similar feel, but not just the beautiful Casa Rosada, the Teatro Colon, and other government, commercial and religious buildings. The very design of the city seems designed to show power.
There is a classic trivia question: “What is the widest street in the world.” Answer: In the background of the photo below — the Avenida 9 de Mayo. It is some 300 feet wide, has multiple traffic lights in crossing, and has more lanes of traffic than you count as you wend your way across.
It is a modern adaptation of an imperial road, designed to parade huge armies and horse cavalry, then soldiers, and police. If this were Russia or China it would occasionally be filled with missiles and tanks. the closest things to tanks we saw were the paramilitary vehicles at the inauguration designed to be used against its own population. A street to inhabit with power.
Buenos Aires also has scores of theaters and the legendary Teatro Colon, more or less across the Avenida 9 de Mayo where we were having coffee (photo below).
It is a marvel to cross, though that takes a while and is not without its dangers. We found our way to the other side to get to the Teatro Colon, the most famous of Buenos Aires’ hundreds of theaters. There is no street that feels like this in the world, though the streets leading to the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin has a similar feel of armies and historical power.
Imagine a street the width of two football (or soccer) fields filled with armies, tanks, politicians, rockets, and gaudy marshals on horseback. It is not so long ago this power in Argentina has a military dictatorship “disappeared” thousands of citizens, still without a trace.
This man with a cart of boxes (photo below) is incongruously pulling it across the widest street in the world.
Puerto Madera
The old area of working docks has been refurbished as a tourist district with office and commercial buildings, and a wealth of restaurants.
The ship below was once used to supply Antarctic explorers. Photographs nearby show its sister ship sinking in the Antarctic ice. It was a reminder of how close the tip of Argentina is to the end of Latin America. I think Sidney, Australia is closer to this dock than Chicago.
A rare opportunity: One of Simone’s former artistic directors and choreographers
Buenos Aires is full of tango clubs, tango lessons, tango shows, and touts on the street who can take you to one or another. The shows are famous, but we found something much better. Oscar Araiz was the artistic director of the Geneva Grand Theatre when Simone danced there. He is now semi-retired in Buenos Aires. When we visited him he was recreating one of his classic works, “Tango,” in which Simone danced some years ago in Geneva. He was still exceptionally creative and developing a new work with several young professional male dances and an unusual vocal score by Mahler.
We spent an evening with Oscar and sat in on his rehearsal the following day. It was held at the University of San Martin on the outskirts of Buenos Aires.
Two Nights of Celebration at the House of Iemanja in Codo, Maranhao
We offer our deep gratitude to Bita Barao, the spiritual leader (pai de santo) of the group that appears here, and to his daughter, Janaina (mai pequena of the group) who is shown as Iemanja in the photos below.
Their spiritual house (terreiro) in Codo, Maranhao is a huge complex with a courtyard, statues, and residence for the leaders and at least some of the devotees during the celebration. We are deeply grateful for their giving us access to this complex and allowing us to observe and photograph/video their celebrations. They were even so kind as to invite us from the sidelines (outside an observation wall) to a place inside the ceremonial area that is reserved for devotees and celebrants. More than that, some of the devotees would occasionally motion to me to take up a particular position in the space to better see some of the more dramatic moments (they knew when Iansa do Fogo — photos above and below — would appear and wanted me not to miss anything). Also, the devotees are accustomed to assisting any members who succumb to the experience. They extended that generosity to us as well and at various times helped me navigate the dusty river bank in the dark, probably avoiding an accidental baptism of my own with all my camera gear.
The context: We attended two nights of celebration — the first dedicated to Saint Barbara and Iansa (Yansa), the entity in Afro-Brazilian practice associated (syncretized) with Santa Barbara. The terreiro itself bears the name and image of Iemanja (photo left). Its full name is Tenda Espirita de Umbanda Rainha Iemanja, which translates roughly to Spiritual House of Umbanda Queen Iemanja. The word “tenda” literally means tent, but has come to mean a place of spiritual worship. Umbanda is the form or tradition of worship and has many diverse forms throughout Brazil. Iemanja is their chosen entity of identification and worship. Her figure, in blue in the photo to the left, is repeated in various photos below. The second night of the celebration was devoted to her. The first night was dedicated to the Catholic Saint (Santa) Barbara, who is also identified with the orixa Iansa. In this celebration Iansa’s attribute is that of Iansa de Fogo, Yansa of Fire.
The second night of celebration was to Iemanja (Yemanja), the goddess or orixa of water. She is often associated with some attribute of the Virgin Mary, particularly as Our Lady of Conception (Iemanja is mother of all the orixas), and the patron of sailors and fishermen (often called Nossa Senhora dos Navigantes).
These related identities are not fixed in Afro-Brazilian practice, but vary with the customs and understandings of each individual group (perhaps a bit like the way small towns and churches in Brazil have different patron saints). This particular group has is a practice known as Umbanda which combines a wide variety of entities from Christianity, African practice, indigenous figures, and a pantheon of others that are distinct to Brazil. Their statues and altar figures include the Virgin Mary, Iansa, Saint Sebastian, Jesus Christ, Iemanja, and many other figures that are part of their pantheon of spiritual entities. This includes various lineages of caboclos who are often identified with indigenous figures.
The photo below shows other common entities in Afro-Brazilian practice — Preto Velhos, or Old Blacks, who represent the spirits of blacks who died in slavery. They are ubiquitous in Afro-Brazilian practice in many different traditions. In some traditions the male Preto Velho may have some identification with Saint Benedict, the black saint.
Percussion and dancing are an essential part of the celebration. The devotees walk/dance in a counterclockwise circle at the beginning. Gradually some of the devotees dance more vividly and move to the center of the space.
The Second Night of Celebration, dedicated to Iemanja (Yemanja)
The celebration lasted for what was probably around two hours. There were many offerings to the orixa, and many dedications of devotees in the water (resembling baptism). This is a well-organized group and they provided for security, had a sound truck for singers who led the chanting and singing, chairs for some of the older devotees, and even a clean-up crew. Shortly after this long and deeply emotional ceremony there was no sign that that we had been there other than footprints and candle wax in the dusty river bank.
The Festo Divino and Festa do Sao Gonçalo were held in the small city in the Baixade lowlands Pindaré (Maranhao). In the course of the three-day celebration the caixeiras (women drummers) of “Maria Caixeira” acompanied and played a key role in the celebration. Both festas are a hybrid of Portuguese and African-Brazilian spiritual practice. They exist as “popular Catholicism” outside the institutional sanction of the official Church. Worshipers are likely to have roots in other practices of African-Brazilian origin, a hybrid that makes it difficult to directly translate the festas into practices known elsewhere.
Maria Caxeira is not only the leader of the group of women drummers/singers — she is also a charismatic community and spiritual leader. Her name is not her birth name, of course, but carries her deep identity with her practice and community role.
When looking for the place of celebration, we only had to ask anyone in the neighborhood for the house of Maria Caxeira. Even taxi drivers (or young men on mototaxis) would know, more or less, where to find her. We have found many times in Maranhão’s popular culture that leading figures are known by names and nicknames that signify their cultural role and identity. Often it takes some digging to find their legal names, but everyone known where to find them by their “cultural names.”
This part of the trip involved a stay in Pindaré, a small city in the interior of Maranhão on the river of the same name.
As the photo below shows, fishing and cattle are the foundation of the economy.
The caixeiras are a distinctive tradition in Maranhão. Those who, like most of us, have little familiarity with these women drummers can get a flavor of their devotion and art in this video.
There are three main segments — in the first the group is rehearsing the complicated courtly dance the Festa do São Gonçalo. A male expert in the liturgy and movement is assisting.
In the second segment the caixeiras are in the early stages of preparation for the Festo do Divino ceremony. In the background are children sitting on a row of special chairs. Their roles as emperor/empress and biblical figures is in photos below.
In the third segment the group led by Maria Caixeira is joined by caixeiras from a quilombo community
(Note: a quilombos are based historically on communities of escaped or freed slaves, often with indigenous members also. There are hundreds of these communities in Maranhão, many of which have official status under Brazilian law.)
This video gives a sample of their technique and singing. The caixeiras drum and sing almost constantly for three days, surrounding by the formal events of São Gonçalo and Festa do Divino and the less formal group preparation of food. The more dramatic moments are shown in the still photos below.
Below is a view of the typical extension of the food preparation from the kitchen to the outside. It is typical of older homes in the interior of Maranhão, moving the messier work outside the living space.
Festival of São Gonçalo
According to the conventional interpretation, this festival is dedicated to Saint Gonsalo of Almirante who died in the 13th century. His legends include playing the violin for children, and playing prostitutes to divert them from their profession.
Some scholars point out that the festival was celebrated in traditional Catholic churches with a procession and dance. It was often dedicated to young women seeking husbands, and to others seeking blessings for infirmities and other troubles.
In the mid-19th century a Brazilian bishop condemned the dance as the work of the devil and it disappeared from institutional Catholic churches. It continued as a celebration of “Popular Catholicism” as devotees carried on the festas in smaller, informal churches and various spaces not sanctified by formal Catholicism.
There was allegedly another period of repression beginning in the 1930’s white (and Catholic) authorities tried to suppress the festa, which had become linked with the worship of poor backs and was linked with Afro-Brazilian spiritual life.
Like many aspects of Brazilian cultural life in the interior, the official culture and religion resisted repression by spilling into informal spaces not controlled by the authorities. At the same time, they continued to modify and hybridize practices to include a variety of religious and cultural practices.
The period of official repression is ended, but many prejudices and preconceptions exist. The most recent antagonist is the evangelical movement. This is the fastest growing religious form in contemporary Brazil and small towns and rural areas have a multitude of small evangelical churches. Many of the groups we interviewed and documented tell us that they have local disputes with organized evangelicals who oppose the African-Brazilian elements of their practice. This often created friction within the groups by creating a fissure between religious sentiments. The difficulties are sometimes profound since many evangelicals consider the Afro-Brazilian practices to worship false entities or, worse, satanic figures.
In this celebration in Pindare the celebration practice continues for three days with its hybrid of colonial, Catholic, and Afro-Brazilian elements.
One of the strongest hybrid links are the women’s drumming/dancing/singing groups called the caixeiras. These women are devoted to the Espirito Santo and celebrate that day (or days), but they may also participate in other practices that are a bit further from Catholicism and a long way from evangelical worship traditions.
The celebration we observed was a blend of courtly dress and dance, with a lengthy liturgy that sought blessings of the saint.
The Pindaré celebration was organized and sustained by the caixeiras (drummers, singers) under the leadership of “Maria Caixeira.” All were mature women, as the photos below show, and not the young, unmarried women (seeking husbands) of the heritage Portuguese celebration.
In the Maranhão ceremony dedicated to him the celebrants dress in courtly/formal clothing. It is danced by women, led by a man who is the expert and repository of the liturgy and dance. It is so stylized and complex that rehearsals are necessary to practice the performative elements of the ceremony.