It was early evening when my friends and I made the hike up to the small Brazilian village on the hill. I could already hear the faint sound of drumming as we reached the top, the steady rhythm blending with the beating of my heart as I puffed to the top of the hill, my newborn baby in a sling on my hip.
We followed the sound over quaint cobbled streets and through the village square to a small ramshackle hall; peeling whitewash and broken terracotta roof-tiles shone starkly in the moonlight.
Rapid, pulsing drumbeats and the distinctive twang of a berimbau; an instrument that derives from Africa and looks somewhat like a large archer's bow with a gourd attached for resonance, echoed loudly from within.
I was beckoned inside by a grinning boy of about nine or ten, who appeared at the doorway, his white teeth flashing in the dark, contrasted with dark skin, shiny with sweat.
Inside, as my eyes adjusted to the light, I was surprised to see the small building was much bigger than it appeared from the outside, and the room was crammed with white-clad people in a circle, clapping and chanting loudly.
In the centre of the circle were two figures in white pants, kicking and spinning and jumping in a blur of fluid grace. Not quite a violent martial art, not quite a dance, the pair circled one another, leaping and flipping around in seemingly impossible acrobatics, their sweaty, muscular bodies moving with a slinky sinuousness.
Hypnotised by the captivating display and the rhythmic music, I watched for more than an hour, as each of the white-clad 'capoeiristas' took their turn in the centre of the circle. I found myself singing the chants along with the crowd,
Joga de dentro, jogo de fora, Jogo bonito este jogo de angola
Inside Game, Outside Game, Beautiful game, this Angola game.
My body was swaying in time with the drum beat, yet amazingly, my baby slept deeply in the incredible din.
When the 'mestre,' or leader, finally called for the drummers to stop, everyone poured out into the night, and I was left, feeling dazed, to stumble back down the hill. The sounds, the rhythms, the movement filled my soul. I knew I had to learn to play capoeira.
The next day, I sought a friend to teach me, and down on the beach, I learned the first basic moves. 'Ginga,' the basic step, which traces out a triangle shape on the sand, alternated with a defensive squatting move called 'esquiva.' The mestre had me do one hundred gingas and esquivas; my unexercised legs were soon wobbling from the strain, and I could barely move for several days after that first session.
As soon as I could walk again, I came back, and we started daily sessions, playing on a grassy patch by the beach. I had thought capoeira would be a good way to lose some of the post-pregnancy weight, and I ended up playing a lot with my baby tucked in one arm, as she was an attached babe who didn't like to be put down.
Of course, it seemed strange to be practicing a martial art, albeit a non-contact one, with a two-month-old in one's hand, but the mestre wasn't worried about it, and I managed to modify many of the moves to be one-handed. Indeed, it seemed that many of the moves were already designed to be one handed; when I asked the mestre, taught me a lot about the history of the sport.
The History Of Capoeira
Capoeira was developed by African slaves who were brought to Brazil by the Portuguese from the 16th to 19th century and were then forced to work in sugar and tobacco plantations. In the early 17th century, groups of slaves in the north managed to escape and form settlements hidden in the jungle, the biggest one being Palmares, which quickly became a city of some 20,000 inhabitants.
Though there were many expeditions by the Portuguese, and later by the invading Dutch, to reach these settlements, the Africans had developed a system of fighting called "jungle war" - capoeira. The fast and powerful moves of capoeira became a key element in their attacks; it became their weapon, their symbol of freedom.
Occasionally Africans were re-captured and brought back to work as slaves in the plantations. There they taught capoeira to the other slaves, in order to strengthen the rebellion. Of course, the Portuguese forbade any fighting, or practicing, so the slaves adapted capoeira to resemble a dance; with many moves designed to accommodate being shackled or handcuffed. So it was quite easy to flow from that to playing with a baby in one hand!
Capoeira remained illegal until 1920, surviving disguised as a "folk dance," and practiced in hidden places. Much of the traditions that are used today are remnants of its subversive history. The songs that are sung for capoeira tend to reflect its history and African roots, with themes such as slavery, spirituality and mythology.
It is common for new capoeiristas to be "baptised" with a capoeira nickname, which is a continuation of the tradition of capoeiristas of old times having several nicknames in order to avoid being found by the police.
After legalisation, new forms of capoeira were developed; most notably Regional and Angola. Regional was brought about as a way to re-introduce the more traditional fighting side of capoeira, and incorporated aspects from other contact martial arts such as karate. Angola is a form that seeks to preserve capoeira as a non-contact art-form. The moves are very fluid and controlled; much slower than in regional.
I was learning moves from both styles, and I enjoyed being able to express myself as a dancer, using a mixture of the two. Keeping time with the distinctive twanging of the berimbau, I learned many more of the songs, which still flow through my body as I dance.
Tá no sangue da raça Brasilera It is in the blood of the Brazilian race
Capoeira Capoeira
É da nossa cor! Is of our colour!
Berimbau Berimbau
É da nossa cor! Is of our colour!
Atabaque Atabaque
É da nossa cor! Is of our colour!
E Pandeiro And Pandeiro
É da nossa cor! Is of our colour