Despite this turmoil I've been doing a lot of work over the past month and wanted to write a synthesis of my current thoughts and findings. I have been influenced by local scholars and have benefited from several meetings and events. Keep in mind these claims are all preliminary. Citations are available upon request.
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Candomblé is an umbrella term, used to describe generally a
field of religions practiced in Brazil with African origins. Anybody who has
critically thought about Africa and its history knows that “Africa” as a
continental denomination obscures much of the complexity and internal
differences within such an extensive and diverse region of the world. These
differences are manifest in Brazil through different “nations” of Candomblé,
which correspond to a historically delineated ethnic group. These ethnic groups
were particularly relevant during the long era of the slave trade, when traders
and colonial officials recorded the known origins of enslaved peoples from
Africa, who were transported and arrived in Brazil. Such documents of their
lives and journey still exist, and have been used by generations of historians
to better understand the differences among the slave population, and their
possible origins. These documents include ship logs, bills of sale, baptismal
records, marriage records, wills, and funeral records, among others.
However, trusting colonial officials, slave traders, owners
and their documentation is risky business for historians. How are we to verify
the recorder’s knowledge of an enslaved person’s background? Most of the time
the two parties didn’t speak the same language, or were able to communicate
little, and the power differential was so stark in favor of the slave trader or
slave owner, that an interest in getting a slave’s story straight and verifying
background information was questionable at best. Notoriously slave traders, who
were not exclusively European, fudged numbers and information in their favor, to
boast their own status and success. Despite these fallbacks, much documentation
remains to verify the numerous origins and ethnic groups of Africans brought to
Brazil, as well as other places in the Americas (most notably the Caribbean,
Colombia, and the United States).
The African ethnic groups present in Brazil were often
broken down into meta-groups based on huge regions of Africa, also obscuring
much important difference. At times, more specific names were used to identify
a more precise tribal or linguistic affiliation. Among the meta-groups used to
represent African populations in Brazil were “Mina”, “Nago” and “Ijexá”,
referring to those from the Mina Coast and Yoruba territories, “Jeje” from Dahomey
and the Bight of Benin, “Angola” and “Congo” from large areas of Central-West
Africa, including the ports of Luanda and Benguela, which were the biggest and
most lucrative for the Portuguese Empire. Often these names were given to
slaves who were sold and transported from a particular port, which only
represents the final stage in their journey of enslavement on the African
continent. Many enslaved people were captured in the interior of the continent
by slave raiders or as victims of war, sold several times along the way and
sometimes transported between various ports on the coast of West Africa before
shipping to the Americas. Such histories and life backgrounds are often
obscured or unknown in the remaining documentation.
The Nagô, Jeje, Angola and Ijexá are also examples of the
various “nations” that established candomblé traditions, principally in Bahia,
as a form of preserving their religious practice, ethnic language and cultural
rites. The term “nation” is used as a way of delineating ethnic heritage in the
African diaspora, sometimes associated with a particular territory established
in Brazil, such as a terreiro (religious site). These particular national
delineations often gained more importance in the American context,
reconfiguring previous ethnic divisions based on a shared history of struggle
in a new context. These nations were especially relevant in the formation of
creolized languages, facilitating a shared cultural practice and organization,
at times as a subversion of the dominating slave order. The importance of
religion as a space of social organization and preservation of traditions is
notable historically, and continues to the present. Over the past month I’ve
been investigating the importance of national divisions within current
Candomblé houses in Salvador.
Much information is known about the Yoruba and the “Nago”,
or “Ketu” nations of Candomblé in Bahia. Several historical leaders and
founders of these candomblés in the 19th century were born in
present-day Nigeria and Benin, and travelled between Africa and Brazil during
the periods in which they founded terreiros in Bahia. Because of this proximity
and contact with the homeland, these houses often claim to know their African
origins specifically and use it as a form of cultural capital and prestige.
Many of the leaders were free Africans, and some owned slaves as a way of
aggregating community members and family, a common practice familiar in the
African context preceding the American form of racialized slavery. Much
detailed historical work has been done on these houses and their connections to
West Africa, and they have received great attention by the state, activists,
both national and international, and through the media as cultural symbols of
resistance and perseverance in the face of slavery and racism.
Such Ketu houses are precisely those that have attracted
international scholars, artists and other intellectuals since the early 20th
century. They are the most well known and historical information about them is
most accessible. They have been recognized legally by the Brazilian state as
“cultural heritage sites”, preserved as National Patrimony and protected like a
park, monument or historic Catholic Church. This gain was the result of protest
and struggle only since the 1980s, when religious members and intellectual
allies campaigned the federal government to formally recognize the African
heritage of Brazil and preserve its cultural value against land encroachments,
invasions, hate crimes, etc. Since then, other houses, mostly in the Ketu
nation, but a few from others as well, have gained similar recognition at the
city, state and federal levels.
The scholarship on Candomblé has often overlooked or
downgraded the importance and contribution of the “Angolan” nation of
Candomblé, despite its prevalence within Salvador, Bahia and many connections
to houses in Rio de Janeiro. Ruth Landes and Edison Carneiro, the two scholars
I know best, wrote slanderous claims in the 1940s about the Angolan priests and
their houses as corrupted forms of Candomblé practice, often perpetuating
attitudes from Ketu members and leaders. Such claims are often based on the
Angolan houses’ use of Brazilian native spirits called “caboclos”, seen by
Yoruba-centrists as a form of mixing African and Amerindian religious
practices. Other comments also concerned the general comportment of Angolan
leaders and the form of “dancing” (spirit possession) during their ceremonies.
These sorts of internal prejudices divided the Candomblé community and created
conflicts about proper ritual practice and cultural tradition, and continue in
certain ways today.
I’ve participated in seminars, religious events, read on the
topic and interviewed two Angolan leaders to get a better sense of the Angolan
nation and its current status within Bahian Candomblés today. Much of my
interest came from the fact that much less is written about this ethnic
heritage of Candomblé, and those scholars I have studied and wish to build upon
presented what appear to be unbalanced views of the Angolan nation, years ago.
Another important consideration is the volume of people enslaved in the Angolan
region of Africa and transported directly to Brazil for centuries as a trade
policy of the Portuguese Empire. I have heard on several occasions from Angolan
leaders and members that their nation arrived first in Brazil, and that their
nation laid the base for African religiosity and cultural influence in
Brazilian culture. I want to know if it’s possible to do a similar historical
reconstruction for this nation and its central houses. There are several
reasons why this may not be true, being that the early history of Candomblé has
few sources and the Angolan peoples had less familiarity with written languages
than the 19th Century Yoruba. I am just initiating this phase of my
research, so the following are general ideas and impressions based on a limited
data set and interactions in the field thus far.
From my observation of public ceremonies as an outsider with
no internal ritual knowledge, I have distinguished little difference between
the “festas” and the divinities worshipped of the Ketu and Angolan houses.
Although the gods are called “nkisis” (sometimes spelled “inquices”) instead of
orixás, they seem to exhibit similar qualities, act similarly during
ceremonies, and use similar symbols and dress. For example, “Kavungo” in the
Angolan nation is the spirit associated with sickness; its food is popcorn, it
wears a long straw headdress that obscures the face, it is celebrated in
August. I went to a ceremony for Kavungo in an Angolan house, and also
witnessed several other ceremonies for the orixá Omolú, also celebrated in
August, in various Ketu houses and traditions. They similarly use popcorn in
their rituals, including popcorn baths as a form of ritual purification, and
the visual presentation of Omolú looked nearly identical to what I saw in an
Angolan house.
The main difference between the nations is the use of ritual
language. Rather than Yoruba, Angolan houses use a mix of languages with Bantu
origins (Bantu peoples being a major linguistic group in Central-West Africa,
also a broad and obscuring term). Their chants and ritual activities are in an
entirely different language, invoking different spirits and a historical past
linked to a different land. I take this difference very seriously, as
preserving African language, however creolized, resonates with the history of
struggle I previously mentioned, and is a feat only attained within the
specific ritual context of Candomblé (as far as I know or have encountered in
the literature and my experience in Brazil). One Angolan house I went to until
recently offered Quimbundo classes as a further means of preserving the
language in Brazil, to counter the accessibility and promotion of the Yoruba
language in various Brazilian settings (for example, as a public course
offering sponsored by a center at the local University).
Language is particularly important in the ritual context of
Candomblé, because the secrets and traditions of the nation are learned only
through the oral transmission of rites in that language, which are revealed
during initiation. Among other things, this means that I cannot identify the
many specific differences between the practices of candomblé nations without
initiating myself, and I do not intend to do so. It’s also near impossible, or
at least disrespectful and disingenuous, to initiate in more than one nation of
Candomblé. My research goals are different, and as of now I’m focused on oral
histories and tracing the trajectories of key leaders, especially two women,
from the Angolan nation. According to their oral tradition, a few houses
descend back at least to a man who was supposedly from Luanda in the mid-19th
Century. Although enslaved Africans had been arriving in Brazil from Luanda and
other regions of Angola since the late 16th century, it is
improbable that I will be able to find any sources, either oral or written,
that can link such figures to current practices of Candomblé.
I am currently fixated on the influence of one Brazilian-born
female leader, who in the late 19th through the early 20th
century initiated many members of the Angolan nation. Her “children” established
influential houses that continue today. Through this work I can create what I
have been calling “spiritual genealogies” or family trees based on initiation.
This analogy works particularly well in Candomblé, as people relate to each
other based on familial metaphors (something similar to the “Father” figure of the
Catholic Church). Studying this woman is particularly interesting as a
re-evaluation of Ruth Landes’ work, because she claimed that the Angolan nation
was run by mostly by men—a majority of whom were homosexual. Her theory of
matriarchy in Candomblé was largely limited to the few Ketu houses she studied.
Expanding the frame of Afro-Brazilian religions and gendered leadership seems
promising, to question previous theories and conclusions as well as produce new
data and information previously overlooked, at least by academics. I have
located some people to begin an oral history project, focused on this women and
other related figures in the history of the Angolan nation of Candomblé, which
has many links to houses in Rio de Janeiro as well.
With these intentions I am going to work in a few prominent
Angolan houses in Bahia over the next few months. At least in one house I have
found that the leader, a long time public advocate for Angolan Candomblé and a
scholar in the history of Bantu language and culture, has a personal archive
with materials of his activities and research throughout his life. He informed
me that it’s completely unorganized and deteriorating, so I hope to help
organize and preserve some of the essential documents as a way of permitting
access to my research and giving back to them as well. I’ve been part of
several conversations among Candomblé leaders about the preservation of memory
and the construction of archives, memorials and museums within terreiros.
Historically, knowledge within Candomblé is passed orally and through ritual
transmission. However, the role of scholars in helping document prominent
leaders and houses in the history of Bahian Candomblé is unquestionable and
highly valuable. Often scholars provide legitimacy and prestige to houses
wishing to affirm their particular tradition and practice. I suppose I can
offer a similar service for the Angolan nation, with the hope of not meddling
too much in the politics of national divisions. I already feel pulled on
certain sides, which are sometimes racialized. The Angolan nation observably
has more white members and leaders, which presents a threat to the Afro-centric
discourse of Candomblé as an anti-racist project and form of resistance to a
dominant white order. I think the question of white cooptation and leadership of black religion
is worth asking, but I also think it's important to challenge the boundary between
black and white as distinct and isolated racial groups. Especially in Brazil, racial
mixture often presents itself in various ways besides skin color. For example,
one leader of the Angolan nation pointed to his skin color but denied his
whiteness, citing his last name as a Catholic name given to black Brazilians as
a form of assimilation. Other physical characteristics, such as hair color and
texture, nose shape and size, family affiliations, etc. reaffirm black identity in the
absence of black pigment. (Not to mention that many historical accounts
confirm that Europeans and white Brazilians have been attending Candomblé
ceremonies and using ritual healers since the early phases of colonization, not
to mention in Africa). What I've observed in Angolan houses is that many Brazilians of European descent recognize their African heritage and grapple with history of slavery as an important part of their identity.
In general, the discourse of the Angolan nation appears more
inclusive, recognizing connections to native populations and embracing those
with spiritual, rather than familial (or blood), ties to the Angolan nation. Angolan leaders claim clearly and loudly that their religion is Brazilian, not African (another big difference from the Ketu nation). The white members of the houses worship and recognize and celebrate an African past to
Brazil that is often denied by the certain politicians, public education and other religious
institutions. I see terreiros as centers of history learning and making, valuing
the preservation of knowledge, continuing the practice of a certain people and
recognizing the bright side to a dark past, which is explicitly and politically linked to the
history of slavery. Whether or not this history is accurate or empirical is a
question only relevant for skeptics and certain positivist academics. I hope to articulate
in the future the value and particularities of this Angolan history-making (something
scholars have already done in great detail for the Ketu-Yoruba lineages, which
tend to have a more Afro-centric view).
I often hear people in Candomblé say, “you do not choose the
religion, the religion choses you”. In this way, it is open for everyone, and
although this is true in the Ketu nation as well, the Angolan nation appears to present a
particularly white-slanted leadership.
These are my initial observations, however, and I look
forward to evolving these ideas with new experiences and research.
