June Parties

June is a delightful month in Bahia, there are many saint holidays, popular parties and celebrations (including São João and Brazilian Valentine's Day). The weather is cooler with intermittent rain storms, which is a relief after months and months of heat, sun and humidity. In the candomblé community, June is the month of public parties, as terreiros host open events in celebration of specific gods (orixás), which sometimes align with Christain saint's holidays. In service of my research, I have been attending these "parties", and opening up a new phase in my research experience.

In the past three weeks I've been to 3 parties at different terreiros -- Gantois, Casa Branca and Casa Oxumarê in Salvador. The parties have similar structures, depending on the orixá being honored and the general layout of the house. All parties include possession in the form of a "dance" facilitated by participants with several different roles, some of which appear to be divided by gender (but only through ethnographic interviews will I be able to better understand this potential division). In general, men (ogãs) play the percussion which "call" the gods in yoruba chants to be incorporated by the possessed "dancers" (I use quotations as rough translations of concepts difficult to express). I was interested in the role of the ekedis, who are the women that accompany the possessed and take care of them as they scream, cry, twitch, sweat, or run towards the door. They pat their sweaty foreheads, pick up pieces of clothing as they fall on the ground, give them hugs (carinhos), and generally guide them as they are driven by the spiritual force. This role appears particularly motherly, and necessary to maintain order of the ritual.

The decorations and adornments for the parties are striking. There are so many details, I could observe for years and not see (let alone understand) every intentional color, placement, object, accessory and article of clothing. Photographs are understandably prohibited, so I can only describe from a long-exposed mental picture. The color scheme and general theme are determined by the orixá being honored. The party for oxóssi, for example, focused on hunting, greenery and forestry. There were animal skins on the walls, bows-and-arrows, flowers and plants that created a fresh, green aroma. In one of the houses there was a large altar for oxóssi in the middle of the room, where the possessed would dance around in a circle. There was a painting of him-- a strong, dark warrior man with flowers all around him. The altar was encircled by old, regal wooden chairs where the possessed would take turns resting in a sort of musical chairs.

A general image of the orixá, oxóssi

I want to call the clothing "costumes" without undermining their spiritual and ritual purpose, but they certainly create a spectacle. As far as I could tell (and these assumptions are subject to change), the first round of dancing/possession is not for the honored god, but rather his/her "friends" to sort of warm up the party. The clothing is simple "baiana" dress, including long white dresses, skirts, as well as wraps/scarves, necklaces, head turbans coordinated with their god's color. In general, the possessed are women, with only a few male participants. The second round, however, is quite different. All at once a line of elaborately adorned men and women enter the room in honor of the orixá for that particular party. They use accessories associated with each orixá (for example, bows and arrows, masks, head pieces, staffs) and each is dressed specifically within the particular theme for the god. As this limited description shows, it is quite an affair.

My experience in these spaces have left me with many new research questions and directions, including, what is the value of studying gender in these rituals? My real interest lies in the social life of candomblé practitioners, begging the question, do the gender roles in candomblé have an effect on greater bahian society? The structure of the religion is different with every house, tradition, "nation", so it is dangerous to make any overarching conclusions. However, any way you look at it, these introductions into the world of candomblé have been incredibly interesting and useful in diving further into the field of my research, and exposing me to an entirely different world of spirituality.

Candomblé on Facebook

Last week I met with a local pai-de-santo ("Father of the Saint", or male leader of a candomblé terreiro) and discussed various aspects of the religion, his personal history, opinions on Ruth Landes and on gender roles in the religious hierarchy/leadership. It was a very interesting conversation, which I think lasted for about 2 hours and went in various directions to deepen my understanding (or at least my questions) on the subject.

As is very common today in Brazil (and throughout the world), I got in touch with him through facebook (after meeting through a mutual friend). There's an interesting phenomenon in Brazil in that access to internet has expanded incredibly throughout the country, but cell phone services are still very expensive. In general people use pre-paid phone plans and most of the time have little to no credit to make calls. In addition, calls between different operators are about 5x more expensive than between the same operator, so if two people don't use the same one, it's almost impractical to make a phone call. This, amongst various entertaining and time-sucking factors, encourage people to stay online and chat on Facebook to make plans, chit chat, keep in touch, etc.

Throughout our conversation, the pai-de-santo (I am keeping him anonymous for the purposes of this blog entry) kept mentioning other "houses" of candomblé, main religious figures and other references I was unaware of. Most of the names and symbols are in the West African language, Yoruba, which made it even more difficult for me to take notes and keep up (I am actually starting a Yoruba class later today so I can understand more of these conversations and the symbolism used in the religious chants and nominations). In order to explain and demonstrate the references, he turned to Facebook, which was already open on his computer during the entire conversation.

I was (perhaps wrongfully) surprised to see that beyond his personal Facebook "friends" he browsed through various pages of big, well-known terreiros in Salvador that have come up numerous times in my research. They had pictures of the house itself (a sacred space), mães and pais-de-santos, historical photos of the terreiro, and various political campaigns against religious intolerance and especially in response to a recent move by a city councilman in Salvador to prohibit the sacrifice of animals in the candomblé religion in the name of animal rights (a big scandal and honestly, a ridiculous request for anybody know understands the practice of this religion that has been threatened and persisted for centuries in Brazil).

https://www.facebook.com/casadeoxumare

When I saw this, and other houses/associations of candomblé on Facebook, I at first sort of laughed at myself, thinking "wow, even candomblé is on facebook". Then I thought to myself how incredibly useful this would be in my research, as a wealth of information and even contact to the houses I hope to further collaborate with. Sure, it's selected information and images for public display, but the fact they are accessible to this extent is exciting and encouraging in its own way.

The more I thought about my initial surprise and critique of their presence on Facebook, the more I began to deconstruct my own ideas and expectations about the religion, which on the surface level are very much grounded in a primitivist mindset, or a desire to freeze candomblé in a time of Slavery and 19th Century Africa. As somebody with friends who practice candomblé, who has lived in Salvador for almost two years now and has seen the reality of technology, modernity, capitalist development and lifestyle, why would this be surprising? Do I expect people of a certain religion to live in a certain historical time, peripheral to global developments and innovations? Where do these expectations come from and why, after so many studies and conversations on this subject, do I still have a shameful gut reaction?

My attempts to root out deeply engrained notions of a primitive or exotic "other" is a constant project for me as a developing anthropologist, as popular notions reinforced by the media or pure ignorance on a subject (and how could one really be adequately informed on all the "other" cultures foreign to our own in the world?) inform my conceptions rather than a more logical practice of recognizing a global "we" and shared experiences in a constantly changing world.

Inauguration of the Fonte Nova World Cup Stadium

The inauguration of the awaited Fonte Nova (which literally translated means "New Source") stadium in Salvador welcomed big singers and artists from Salvador including Ivete Sangalo, Claudia Leite, and Margareth Menezes. It also hosted the first game between the two rival teams of Salvador -- Bahia and Victória (Victória won with a landslide 5-1 victory, pleasing many fans and certainly causing brawls amongst rivals).

Source: esportes.terra.com.br 

Despite the presence of these famous singers, soccer stars, and president Dilma herself, the inauguration on the morning of Friday 4/5 attracted another significant sector of the people of Salvador, the bahianas of acarajé. In a protest against FIFA's prohibition of the sale of their traditional afro-brazilian food, alternative news sources noted that about 50 bahianas protested at the gates of the newly completed Fonte Nova stadium. They marched with signs demanding their rights and freedom to sell their food and take advantage of the influx of foreign visitors and investments for the Confederation and World Cups.

Source: Paulo Cesar Reis, ABAM

The bahianas have created a petition and their association, ABAM (Associação de Bahianas de Acarajé e Mingau), is fighting against FIFA to secure their spot as benefactors of the World Cup. I have visited the ABAM office in Pelourinho, Salvador and am scheduled to have an interview in the coming weeks regarding their struggle and their opinions on this World Cup development in Brazil. I find this story to be fascinating and highly relevant, so I am pursuing it as a sort of side interest to my main research. Stay tuned for updates!

News Sources:

(note mainstream sources such as Globo Esportes and A Tarde did not cover the bahiana's protest, but rather the presence of famous singers to inaugurate the stadium)

http://www.portal2014.org.br/noticias/11548/NO+DIA+DA+INAUGURACAO+DA+FONTE+NOVA+BAIANOS+PROTESTAM+PELO+ACARAJE.html

http://www.acordacidade.com.br/noticias/105455/baianas-do-acaraje-fazem-manifestacao-em-frente-a-arena-fonte-nova.html

https://www.facebook.com/pages/ABAM-Associação-das-Baianas-de-Acarajé/181638245253165?fref=ts

International Women's Day

"Women: Poetry, beauty, tenderness, intelligence, dedication, intensity and love. To you, every day." from Antônio Neto, Finance Secretary

I wanted to give a little update from Brazil on the passing of the International Women's Day. It is a highly discussed holiday in Brazil, though it lacks the expected partying and leisure associated with most holidays. Like Black Awareness Day, International Women's Day is a normal workday and more of a consciousness raising campaign than anything else. I was a bit underwhelmed by the amount of activities available in Bahia. There were a few book readings and film series offered by libraries in Salvador but in general I've just seen billboards, facebook posts and banners around celebrating women. They use overarching, bland phrase like "we love you, women warriors" or "respect women today, and every day" with a backdrop of pink and flowers. Overall I find it to be a lot of empty rhetoric and very little action.

That being said, I am more aware of this international holiday since living in Brazil. In the United States it appears to be celebrated only amongst progressives or feminists. Growing up I didn't even know March 8 had significance for women's movements, maybe because in practice it actually doesn't. The "One Billion Rising" mobilization initiated by Eve Ensler on V-Day seemed to exemplify real social intervention with the potential for results. I did see a bit of sympathetic participation in One Billion Rising on Valentine's Day in Brazil, though the momentum didn't quite match since Feb. 14 is not Valentine's Day, which is actually called "Boyfriend/Girlfriend's Day" (Dia dos Namorados) celebrated in June.

There is a fairly impressive scholarship on women's issues and feminist theory in Bahia, and I did have the pleasure of getting passed a reading list (in the spirit of International Women's Day) which could help me push my ideas of gender roles and women's movements in Bahia further. More to come...

Acarajé, Coca-Cola and FIFA

Before about 2012, these three things didn't have much in common. However, planning for the World Cup 2014 in Brazil is in full swing, and competitions are springing up everywhere. From increased emphasis on English and tourism, new jobs, infrastructure, traffic and international attention--Brazil is a hot spot, and everybody wants a piece. To me, one of the most interesting cases in this process concerns a forming alliance between Coca-Cola and the Bahianas of acarjé, while Fifa alienates the Bahianas from reaping the benefits of the major tourist influx and foreign investment in preparation for the World Cup.

First, I will comment on the alliance between Coca-Cola and Acarajé. The Brazilian sector of the Coca-Cola Company has a huge presence in Brazil (as I assume many other countries in the world outside of the U.S.). They have strategically started forming relationships with the women who make the iconic cultural food of Bahia -- acarajé. Acarajé is considered the most unique food of Bahia - the ingredients and recipe come from an African ancestry-- some even associate the food with the Yoruban goddess Iansã. The women, "Bahianas of acarajé", sit on almost every main plaza or street corner in Bahia, selling their home-made acarajé for a very reasonable R$5. These women generally come from candomblé terreiros in peripheral communities, or learned how to make the food from family members associated with the religion. A recent study showed that "vender of acarajé" is the most common occupation amongst candomblé women in Salvador (Mapeamento dos Terreiros de Salvador, 2009).

I have quite a commute to arrive at my classes at the Center of Afro-Oriental Studies, UFBA in downtown Salvador. Along the way I see a broad array of billboards for products and happenings in the city. I also pass right by the new Nova Fonte Arena Stadium, which has been in construction for about 2 years. It is set to be completed by the end of March, to host the Confederation Cup 2013 before the main event, the 2014 World Cup. A few weeks ago on my commute I saw the following billboard and was very taken aback.

I was particularly struck by this image because a big part of my research has to do with the representation of Bahianas in the media and how they are employed in the "patrimonialization" of Afro-Brazilian Culture. This advertisement says it all. The ad calls acarajé the "imaterial patrimony of Bahian culture" and at the bottom in smaller print it says "preserve this culture".

I almost laugh at the implications of this last statement. It makes you wonder, do we need Coca-Cola to "preserve" a culture? Does slapping the Coca-Cola stamp on a cultural item like acarajé give it more importance, because of a certain visibility and capitalist privilege? Or, does this appropriation of Bahianas of acarajé change the very face of this cultural expression; does it alter it's value and purpose entirely? These questions intrigue me, and I find the whole situation very indicative of the use of Afro-Brazilian culture for tourism and international interests (a critique that is even attributed to Landes' international representation of candomblé women in 1938 as matriarchal fetish priestesses).

While Coca-Cola is happily holding hands with the "National Association of Bahianas of Acarajé", the partnership between McDonalds and FIFA is crushing the Bahiana venders and prohibiting them from selling their traditional food within 2 kilometers of the World Cup stadium (Bahia Notícias, 10/4/2012). As the official sponsor of the 2014 FIFA World Cup, McDonalds must secure a monopoly on food sales in and around the stadium to profit sufficiently from their contributions.

Also an official sponsor of the World Cup, Coca-Cola can happily support Bahianas, because Bahianas don't make their own sodas or refreshments to complement the food they sell. And trust me, in the hot muggy climate of Bahia, a cool refreshing beverage is essential while eating a hot acarajé rice cake. A Coke fits in perfectly to the mix. I even saw an official "Coca Cola Acarajé" stand at Carnaval in Salvador. They had a special price for an acarajé and a coke together-- it's a perfect combination!

Composition: David Mendes, Bahia Notícias

The National Association of Bahianas of Acarajé and their president, Rita Maria Ventura dos Santos, are continuing to fight for their space in the World Cup. Questions of sanitation, tourists preferences and safety codes are prohibiting Bahianas from competing with the behemoth of FIFA and McDonalds. Everybody wants a piece of the foreign investment and a rare opportunity to make extra bucks during this heightened season for Brazil. As a tourist, I sure as hell wouldn't travel all the way to Bahia to eat McDonalds in a stadium and watch a soccer game within a structure that could be replicated anywhere in the world. Why did FIFA choose Brazil in the first place? Isn't it the samba, the parties, and the colorful vibrance of the national culture? (Their slogan for Brazil after all is "all in one rhythm"). Well it doesn't take much to recognize that those elements are fundamentally related to the immense Afro-Brazilian presence throughout the history of Brazil. Erasing the Bahianas presence within 2 kilometers of the stadium just reinforces a socio-economic divide so characteristic of race relations and foreign relations in Brazil. It's disgusting. Almost as disgusting as paying 7 dollars (R$14) for an imported Big Mac. 

Sources:

http://www.bahiacomunicacao.com.br/news/veiculacao-coca-cola-e-abam-em-homenagem-as-baianas-de-acaraje.html

http://www.bahiacomunicacao.com.br/news/veiculacao-coca-cola-e-abam-em-homenagem-as-baianas-de-acaraje.html

Jocélio Teles dos Santos, Mapeamento dos Terreiros de Salvador. UFBA Editora, 2009. 

A Lavagem do Bonfim

Yesterday was the annual Lavagem do Bonfim, where Baianas of candomblé wash the steps of the famous Bonfim Church as a ritual for the spiritual cleansing of the New Year. Thousands of people do a 8 kilometer march (caminhada) through the lower city (cidade baixa) of Salvador, with bands, capoeira groups, samba circles and everything in between. The morning is a spiritual and family affair, but after the official "lavagem" or washing has ended, everything unravels into an aggressive, sexual carnaval-style party.

My photos are mostly from the beginning of the event, which was full of peace and positivity. It was very religious, and very crowded. The event is held in honor of Jesus, but for centuries members of candomblé have attributed it to Oxalá, the orixá deity that is syncretized with Jesus. But on this day, the Baianas rule the show. I saw no sign of Catholic priests or members of the church, but instead many Baianas performing cleansing "baths" of leaves and popcorn, of course for a small fee.

Participants fight their way to the gates of the church to tie on the ribbons of Bonfim, one of the iconic objects of cultural life in Bahia. Everybody makes wishes, or resolutions for the New Year.  It was quite a struggle to get to the front, but as Ruth Landes explained in her 1939 account of the event, it is a "bathing in the multitude" (a phrase by Baudelaire). The crowd kept growing and morphing as the day went along, as it continually became rowdier and drunker.

Much of Landes' account of the 1939 celebration has very little relation to the current one. Once you squeezed your way to the front and were pressed against the gate, the you could gaze over to see the baianas doing the washing. It was confusing, however, because maybe I got there too late, but there was little cleaning happening and the steps of the church really looked quite dirty. The church wasn't open, for obvious protective reasons, there were no speeches, but rather a huge speaker playing evangelic songs and repeating the anthem of the Bonfim Church. There were newscasters from the biggest national stations throughout Brazil, some foreigners, and many, many locals.

Up to this point I thoroughly enjoyed myself and felt connected to the event. But very quickly, everything turned. Instead of peace and love for Jesus, people were drinking, the crowd was swelling, libidos growing, and respect for others dwindling. Around 3 pm, the majority of the people there were Afro-Brazilian community members of the Lower City. In my life in Bahia, I spend most of my time in  in the downtown area or the "upper city" area of Salvador. These two designations of the city say just as much about the geographic space as the socio-economic division. It had been a while since I had seen the extent of the poverty of this city, and it was incredibly troubling. I wish I had a chance to take photos of this darker reality, but unfortunately those situations are also the most dangerous for me.

Children ages 4 and older, shoeless, with dirty ragged clothes, without parents, were picking up discarded beer cans and water bottles that the partiers throw on the ground because there are not nearly sufficient garbage cans (or bathrooms) to host the event. Disabled people in beat-up wheel chairs were begging for money. Men high on crack, were making advancements on young girls wearing barely any clothes.

I haven't been to carnaval in Salvador for 2 years, and I forgot the carnaval culture of Salvador. It is sexual beyond belief. The men value foreigners and white women, especially women with blue eyes, above all else. The ultimate prize is to win over a "gringa", and at this event, I felt like the only unaccompanied white woman, hunted by the masses. I usually go out in a group with men, which unfortunately in this culture is necessary protection. None of my male friends could go with me yesterday, my boyfriend was working, so I went with just another girlfriend. We were two single women, and we caught the attention of nearly every horny man in the crowd.

For some reason, these men at public parties assume the right to touch women's bodies without any permission. As I struggled to leave the crowd (about a mile long stretch to leave the Church site), men were constantly grabbing my arm, calling to me in horrible English, staring into my eyes and yelling things like "I want to steal your eyes" or "come here doll and kiss me". I tried to ignore them, but it was impossible. The lust for a white woman was a force so much greater than my own, and I was completely vulnerable and helpless in the situation. Beyond that, I was with a backpack, and my new camera, trying to desperately to protect them from pickpockets or thieves. There was absolutely nowhere for me to hide.

Luckily I got out of the crowd after about an hour of struggling and violation, and a lot of help from my friend. She is Bahian and black and understands these dynamics in a way I probably never will. It was one of the more difficult and traumatic experiences I've had in Salvador since arriving 2 years ago, and I learned many important lessons.

I will never go to a party without male accompaniment or my boyfriend again. No matter how much I resent that reality, it is simply not safe here. It was an intense reminder of the extent of my foreignness, and the fact that I absolutely do not belong in some situations here in Bahia. My body is an object of desire, descended from a historic social construction that no matter how hard I try, I still am subject to and must understand. Women don't have the rights in Bahia that I have the luxury of having in California, and that's the reality.

All in all I am thankful for the Lavagem, am happy I went, and that I got out without too much physical or emotional harm. Bahia is the land of parties, happiness, poverty and a culture I could try and study for my whole life and still be left with thousands of questions and contradictions.

Violent act of Homophobia

Last Sunday, my friend Bruno was robbed and beaten while walking home from a pagode party in Camaçari, Bahia. He's 20 years old, an actor, and was also titled the highest honor of "Queen" in a the LGBT Pride Parade in Rio Grande do Sul last year.

Bruno confirmed that the attacks were clearly because of his sexual orientation. The assaulters screamed offensive comments as they brutally beat his face, stole his cell phone, and left him on the street loosing 3 liters of blood. The police passed by several times, and didn't even stop to take him to the hospital. They called an ambulance, and left as passerby's tried to stop the bleeding.

I talked to Bruno today and luckily, he said he is recovering and is getting more news coverage every day. Groups are mobilizing to speak against this violent homophobia which is all too common in Brazil. In the county of Camaçari alone, there have been 4 violent attacks this year. Salvador has had many more, and most aren't even filed or counted by police departments. 

The movement for LGBT rights is certainly growing in Brazil, but it seems that popular consciousness is not growing with it. In such a violent society, where problems cannot be trusted in the hands of authorities (like the police), they are usually expressed violently in street confrontations, exasperated by alcohol and drugs.