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Water and Brazil, Some Reflections and a Few Photos

Water and Brazil

This is a preliminary reflection on water in Brazil, a country that, in principle, has enough for its needs and then some. The problem is in the distribution and management of water, and in the infrastructure that should carry it to the Brazilian population. Later versions of this post will have more research and photos, but this preliminary reflection is a rough overview of Brazil’s water situation as we have seen it over the last few months. Some of these photos have appeared in earlier posts about life in the interior.

What I show here is what I have experienced and photographed in Brazil — mostly in the northeast state of Maranhão, which is among the poorest and least developed in Brazil. My own subjective experience is augmented by reportage from São Paulo and Maranhão newspapers and weekly journals.

IMG_3604_DxO — In a *povoada* (unincorporated settlement) near Rosário a woman carries water from a common water tank. The road and the scene could be from many countries in Africa, but this is less than three hours south from the Maranháo capital city of Sáo Luís. In this photo the season that brings rain is still weeks away and it has been dry for months.

Not far from the city of Mirinzal, on the road near a *povoada* in the region known as the Baixada Occidental. This driver is carrying a water tank to used where there is no municipal water supply or plumbing.

Some Larger Issues: Water in the Amazon and the Interior

The world is familiar with issues of conservation of the forests and aquifers in the Amazon region of Brazil. The area is being deforested at an astonishing rate by miners, lumber companies, farming businesses, and others. Farming of the lucrative cattle and grain products (e.g., soy beans) is creating more food and less water.

Directly or indirectly, forest and water in this region is especially threatened by the world’s demand for meat — either as cattle raised here or the grain used (and massively exported) to feed cattle elsewhere. Some sources say that soy would be nine times more efficient as a source of protein if used directly, rather than being used as cattle feed to produce meat. Much of the cattle ranching in Brazil is based on free range and thus needs space — this is perhaps the biggest threat to Brazil’s forests and water.

Water in São Paulo, and the Missing 20,000 Water Tanks

São Paulo’s reservoirs are threatened by a long, dry season. Their replenishment is a matter of nature providing enough rain in the wet season. But these problems are to some extent predictable and the infrastructure to manage a shortage has not yet been built.

Again, a major problem is in the distribution system. In São Paulo there are eight major systems. They are only partly connected and metro-wide “integration” of the water infrastructure is an engineer’s dream and a very problematic political task.

Brazil is currently plagued with a declining economy and is hobbled at the national level by corruption and feuding over ethics investigations, the jailing of leading political figures, and the possible impeachment of others. In São Paulo the political situation is seems less contentious, but the water infrastructure demands a huge investment that is not readily accomplished in times of economic stress.

As an example, the northern zone of greater São Paulo is somewhat distant from the central commercial district and it houses a millions of people with modest incomes and standard of living. This region is fed by the Cantareira water reserve, which has fallen to as low as 15% of capacity and has only recovered a few percent since the rains of the summer (i.e., the months that are winter in the Northern hemisphere).

Cantareira dropped to a “dead volume” — the level at which water does not freely flow out of the reservoir but must be pumped. This depletes the volume further until, in theory, they reach the mud at the bottom and the system fails entirely. This has not been happened, but the measures to improve the situation have been difficult.

At full efficiency the Cantareira reservoir supplies 31 thousand liters of water a second to 9 million people. By September (24th) the newspaper Fohla de São Paulo reported that the system had fallen to about half that performance — to 14 thousand liters/second and 9 million to 5 million people. The slack in providing water to the northern region of the city has been taken up by shifting some load to other systems.

Load sharing is more effective if there is a metropolitan-wide system of integration, but that is not yet in place.

Another second tactic is rationing. This modifies the behavior of end-users by simply shrinking the supply or, alternately, the hours of access. According to some newspaper accounts, certain areas of the affected zone are often without water for several days. Sometimes the rationing is by time of day, reportedly as low in some places as 20 of 24 hours with dry faucets and toilets. This is a working district so people may not be in their homes when there is water. They need water tanks (caixas d’agua) that could be filled and would bridge the off-times of the municipal water.

The São Paulo mayor Geraldo Alckmin promised 20,000 new water tanks to be installed in troubled areas. Thar was during an election campaign. Only a fraction have been installed. The city claims that they have not been able to deliver the tanks to many (or even most) households because nobody is home when the trucks come by (during the working hours of the city employees, of course). This troubled half-solution is proceeding slowly, and only (it appears) under great pressure from the press.

Yet, the water tank is a basic feature of the Brazilian countryside and of most towns and cities in the interior. Even in better-supplied areas, homes, businesses and factories use the tanks to stabilize their water supply. This is true all over Brazil, in cities and in rural areas.

The problem, again, is one of distribution. In this case it is the far-flung neighborhoods of São Paulo working people that are at the short end of the distribution chain.

But load sharing and infrastructure provide one approach to redistributing the water supply. Another is modifying consumer behavior. For those that are more generously supplied there are a number of incentives to reduce consumption. São Paulo initiated a system of fees (equivalent to fines) for usage above normal, and included a bonus for reductions in use. Modifying consumer behavior in the better-supplied systems theoretically freed water to be distributed to the troubled districts such as those served by the Cantareira Reservoir.

By March, 2016 the São Paulo situation had improved considerably due to heavy rains. As a sign of improvement the system of fees and bonuses was scheduled to be suspended.

Recycling and Waste Management

There is an interconnected set of issues where water supply is limited and waste management is troubled. In this small city of Mirinzal trash is routinely dumped (see large appliances at photo right) and used tires are unceremoniously left about. Both catch water during the wet season and become possible breeding grounds for mosquitoes. In days of the Aedes Aegipti mosquito, such diseases as Zika, Chikunkunya and Dengue are major public issues (as is the spread of microencephalitis for which the mosquite may be a vector).

Managing water in the rainy season is important in its own way, as is distributing water in scarcity. Trash and waste disposal are deeply interconnected with the water supply in both rural and urban areas.

Mirinzal, Maranhão. The discarded appliances at the right are problematic, as are the tires. Both hold stagnant, standing water where mosquitoes breed. In this case, it appears that the tires have been filled with dirt and are being turned into a garden of sorts. This is the rare case, though.

Some Views from the Interior

Water tanks are ubiquitous in the smaller cities of Brazil. The tanks are vital in the interior regions with no municipal water supply (photo above of ox cart, and the section below on caixas d’agua). Settlements and towns in the country are often spread along rivers and water sources, but those sources are heavily used, vulnerable and the water often dries up or is unsafe. The woman in the photo above is carrying household water from a common water source to her home. This is not an unusual scene in povoadas. The most common source is be a well or a jointly-used water tank. Rarely does a natural source meet local needs during the dry season.

Since much of our research is based in the provincial capital of São Luís and in the interior of the state of Maranhão, most of the photographs below are of that region. Not shown are the indigenous regions of the interior where in September of 2015 there was a major water emergency, exacerbated by fires, in the forests of the interior. Several cities declared water emergencies and much forested land was threatened. There was insufficient water to fight a major fire.

These issues compound problems created by both nature by human and political behavior.

By comparison, São Paulo officials said that the water situation was only “really serious” when we begin to see trucks of water roaming the streets of the city.

In São Luís we see the water trucks almost daily.

Water in the federal state of Maranhão

Maranhão is a long way from the metropolitan centers of Rio de Janeiro and São Paulo. Like those centers, it is on or near the Atlantic Ocean, but is dependent on its fresh water sources in the interior. These systems are underdeveloped in general, and subject to shortages in dry seasons.

Readers of Brazilian popular fiction and many films are aware that the region of the sertão (often translated as “backlands”) has been depopulated for decades because of drought.

This region is has similarities to America’s “dust bowl” which emptied out much of the western region of the American Midwest during the dust storms of several decades ago. In the United States this gave rise to a national rural recovery administration. This period was memorialized in such books/films as John Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath, and in the photography of Dorothea Lange and others working for the Farm Services Administration.

The sertao is Brazil’s rough analogue to the American dust bowl. It is not geographically part of the federal state of Maranhão, but some of the dry-season problems of Maranhão are reminiscent of these famous dust bowl regions. The beautiful green of the countryside and its forests become dry and dusty waiting for the rains. Even the palm trees and ground foliage get dusty. In many years the rains are not enough to replenish the water systems. This threatens rice and cotton crops, cattle production, and the lives of the inhabitants.

Like the dust bowl, the Northeast of Brazil, of which Maranhão is a part, is a major source of out-migration. People in the interior migrate to Maranhão, and many others make the longer trip to major cities like São Paulo.

In São Paulo, however, they may live in a district like that served by Cantareira where water is in very short supply. In some sense, moving the population contributes to moving the “water problem” from place to place in Brazil.

Even where there may be water, the distribution systems may be only rudimentary — for example, as in the village market described below.

The first photo from the interior is from the small city of Pindaré where the market is a major outlet for freshly-caught fish. This is a major source of sustenance and economic life in the region.

The market in Pindaré has a common water source — the faucet below provides water for cleaning fish and other market needs.

DM4A0078_DxO — This faucet seems to be the only source of water for the score of vendors, many of them cleaning and selling fish

In villages and povoadas in the interior, food preparation is a matter of careful planning and complicated hygiene. The scene below brings back childhood memories of my grandparents’ farm where animals were butchered in the open and shared by many families. There was little refrigeration and the best way to preserve meat was to keep it on the hoof.

In the scenes below animals come to the party alive and become dinner in the course of the celebration. This is not “animal sacrifice” in the religious sense, but rather a practical way of feeding a large group. The practice gains a spiritual/community sense in that there are often rituals or moments of praise for the gifts of food that they share.

Food Preparation

DM4A7486 — This outdoor food preparation is at a religious celebration in *Santa Rosa dos Pretos* also called *Santa Rosa do Barão*), a settlement along the federal highway south of São Luís

DM4A7492 — At the same festival in *Santa Rosa dos Pretos* — food preparation is continued “outside,” but there is no running water. This woman must prepare food for dozens of people without the benefit of a kitchen with cooling and running water. Some water is provided by a water tank, or reservoir, but there is no stable connection to a municipal water source.

IMG_4147_DxO — Washing dishes for a large group of celebrants. These women do a remarkable job of maintaining basic hygiene and cleanliness in spite of having to hold their water supply in pans like this.

Some Household Systems

Grocery stores sell 6-liter bottles of household water. These are helpful, but also enter the refuse stream of un-recycled plastic in the waste system. More efficient are the delivery services that will bring you a 20-liter bottle within an hour or so if you live in a major service area.

A commonly-used word is “Diskagua,” which means you simply call and the water is delivered, usually by motorcycle (the disk portion of the word refers to the old-style telephones with a “disk” of numbers on a rotary dialer).

If you live in the interior away from an incorporated city or town, getting the bottles is much more difficult. In some areas delivery is by truck, in others by motorcycle or by bicycle.

We have seen unlucky motorcycle diskagua drivers in heavy traffic with damaged and leaking 20-liter bottles lashed to the back. In larger areas there are trucks carrying the bottles, but the “capillary” distribution to individual households is usually by small vehicle (or even by donkey cart in some places).

Apartments in the city of São Luís use this system since there is no potable water in the municipal pipes. Many have a boutique dispenser that also cools the water.

DM4A7733_DxO — Household drinking water. This system is repeated endless times in Brazilian homes, even in the city. The water is delivered in 20-liter bottles that are placed in a dispenser. Usually the delivery is by an underpaid and under-appreciated motorcycle delivery person. When we gave a tip to our deliverer, he said “You’re not from around here, are you?”

The older water system below is from the kitchen of a pousada, or bed-and-breakfast where we sometimes stay in Pindaré. We don’t think of this as a 5-star experience, and on our last visit there was no water at all until sundown.

DM4A9935_DxO — An older household system. Water can be from from a reservoir on the roof that helps balance out times of shortage and rationing. The sink is often dry, and water for cooking is stored in the red vase-like container. In principle the water could also be from sanitary 20-liter plastic bottles, but you never know.

IMG_5265_DxO — This is such a venerable tradition that the urns are decorative and sometimes elaborated with lace covers. The original source of the water is often unclear. Depending on the householder, the water may be used just for cooking.

Plastic bottles are part of the solution, and part of the problem.

In the household systems above and below you can see that plastic bottles are an important part of the system.

Dependence on water, and dependence on plastic, go together in Brazil, creating a huge problem of recycling and plastic waste. Plastic waste adds to other waste/rubbish removal problems to create standing water where mosquitoes breed in season. This chain of interconnected water-refuse-public health issues begins with problematic hygiene in sewage and water systems, water shortages, generation of plastic alternatives for water, and the absence of recycling in many areas.

Solving any of these problems is like doing paper work with the Brazilian bureaucracy (where “Catch 22” is a basic situation) — you often can’t do just one thing at one office, you need to solve several other problems at different offices (which may be closed or across town). The public health analogue is in the interconnectedness of water, sewage, waste removal, and recycling (all of which are, in turn, related in some way to other infrastructure issues in roads and the underlying water/sewer systems).

It is difficult to encourage recycling of plastic or reduce people’s dependence on plastic when getting water is so critical. You might ask whether Brazilian could not simply get a reusable water bottle (like campers use). Many recycling-conscious people in other countries use camping bottles and refil them from a water tap. This works where the municipal water supply is safe. Many people do indeed reuse plastic water water bottles to reduce cost and waste. When we are traveling in the interior we try to reuse commercial plastic bottles filled from our 20-liter tank at home — that is how we learned that they are thin and fragile, often cracking and losing the water (in your luggage or camera bag).

IMG_3724_DxO — A modest system with water of unknown origin. The plastic bottles are a plague in Brazil, but virtually the only safe water you can find in some areas. This is in a kitchen. The house has no running water.

The home below is a modest one, but has the rare good fortune to have its own well water. There is otherwise no municipal system of water or sanitation in this neighborhood in the interior of Maranhão (near the city of Rosário).

IMG_3749_DxO — It is rare that a household has its own well.

DM4A7980_DxO — This is not a home now (though it once was). It is an informal community space used for celebration. The indoor-outdoor kitchen is to the right. A long hose bring water from the neighborhood water tap in the street in front. It is shared by many residents whose occupants generally have to carry the water to their homes.

DM4A8763_DxO — A closer view of the kitchen shows the common practice of moving some food preparation outside where waste is better controlled. The thin hose in the photo is about 75 feet long and runs from a shared neighborhood water faucet on the road. The duck will transmigrate to the celebration dinner here, without the benefit of running water.

DM4A7908_DxO — Utensils and water basin in the semi-outdoor kitchen.

In several of these photos (including the one below) you can see that individual households do try to recycle plastic bottles to cut cost and waste. The bottle are not made to last, however.

Americans will be familiar with similar situations in the United States. Residents in Flint Michigan suffered a serious pollution of their water, apparently due to decisions made at the state level. As their water became unpotable, they were forced to buy bottled water (in plastic bottles, usually). The irony is compounded by the fact that some of the bottled water supply was originally from the Great Lakes — rebottled and sold to them commercially.

DM4A7925_DxO — An old tank in side the building — with the usual plague of plastic bottles. This, and another cistern in the yard, are filled from the neighborhood water tap. This takes the place of the raised water tank (*caixa da agua*) that would offer better sanitation and, when elevated, provide gravity-fed water.

IMG_4680_DxO — The outside cistern of the house. It is filled from the same community faucet but acts as a reservoir for non-potable water.

Calhau Beach Restaurants, São Luís

The beaches in São Luís are lined with restaurant and bars. They vary in quality and hygiene, but some are quite popular regardless of what lies behind. On the beach side of these businesses you can see the motley infrastructure that supports the kitchen and bathrooms. It is hard to tell how much the bathrooms and kitchens are supported by city water or sewer system. On rainy days effluent from the city purges into the bay.

The restaurant may be doing alright, but the runoff is part of the pollution in the the San Marcos Bay.

IMG_1365_DxO — Water tanks at ground level behind a beach bar/restaurant. One of the tank tops is broken — a potential problem in the mosquito season where uncovered tanks provide a breeding ground.

IMG_1371_DxO — More water tanks. They are filled from the city water system and provide stability in times of shortage. They are typical of infrastructure arrangements along the beach. The apartment buildings behind have running water and their own reservoirs, but each individual apartment will have a commercial water bottle on a stand to provide potable water (see earlier photos)

The Ubiquitous Water Tank (caixa da agua)

The various household and commercial systems are often depending on water tanks for stabilizing the water supply. They show up in the photos above. Below are more such systems showing how common and essential they are outside areas of reliable municipal systems.

Along the Brazilian federal highway BR135. This shows one plumbing arrangement that leads to the house. Blockhouses like this are often used to protect the water supply, sometimes even with gates ad locks. This is next to a bus stop along the route south from the capital.

IMG_3539_DxO — A home in the countryside of Rosário. The water tank in the back is typical, as is the television antenna. Brazilian national policy has prioritized electricity and television access over water. Rural areas are more likely to have television then running water. This community is also served by a common well where women without a tank carry water in buckets down a dusty road (as in the first photo above)

IMG_3701_DxO — This is how plumbing get distributed — a commercial service in the city of *Presidente Juscelino* is delivering a large tank. The truck seems to have other equipment to mount and create the plumbing for the tank. This service is a huge commercial activity in the interior and in the cities as well.

This system is in a settlement away with no municipal plumbing. The tank is elevated and has two faucets — one that provides water in the basin below and another, with a thin hose, that takes water to the house behind. The house also served as a restaurant and bar, so the water needs are significant. (This system is in a community called Rio Seco “dry river.”)

Behind the house/restaurant/bar water is held in open containers, many of which are made from old tires

A view from behind the house. The water tank is in the background in this photos. Hoses bring water to the washing machine an to various tanks and truck-tire containers. Here again the priority of water often collides with mosquito control. In the rainy season mosquito borne illness are a major health problem in Maranhão. Plastic bottles are both critical and a plague.

An inventive water system with old tires. They catch water in the rainy season and can be filled from the tank using this hose. There is no cover on the open water containers.

Sanitation

A shower at a facility used for religious celebrations. Water is fed by a tank

Santa Rosa 1 — A typical outdoor bathroom. The pit toilet is surrounded by a woven palm structure. This signifies that it is a more or less “permanent” structure.

This is a more temporary toilet made from plastic sheeting. You find them put up all over rural Brazil in spaces that are being used for celebrations and crowds. They are quickly put up, requiring only a few sticks, a plastic sheet, and a shallow hole in the ground. As the celebration wears on, guest wait for the dark so they can use the more sanitary trees beyond.

Brazilian Modernists: Andrade, Portinari and Segall

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 Mario de Andrade by Lasar Segall

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’s paintings of rural workers and peasants were unlike the romantic peasant paintings that preceded him

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.

Another Portinari peasant, in a style that has an obvious kinship with European styles as well as his own Brazilian sympathy for those who were marginalized and oppressed

Some see a racial metaphor in this Portinari painting, though others just see a couple of Modernist chickens

Portinari’s “Group of Girls Playing.” Of the artist’s many stylistic approaches, this one is softer and a bit more abstract (compare to the angularity and harshness of the rural peasant above).

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.

Segall, like Portinari, returned often to themes of prostitutes

This work from the 1920’s is one of Segall’s most famous. It depicting Jewish dead left by a Russian *pogrom*. His later mural-sized painting Ship of Immigrants from 1939 has much of the same tonality and is one of his best known paintings.

Segall’s Ship of Immigrants

One of Segall’s most obviously “European” works, *Eternal Wanders* from 1919. This work was generally seen by the Nazis as part of the “Degenerate Art” works in the German exhibit of 1937. The original Nazi exposition”Entartete Kunst” attracted millions and traveled widely in Germany and Austria. Most of the works had been confiscated originally and many were later destroyed or sold. One of the Nazi curators joked that they were “sold by the kilo,” but other reports say that much of the modernist art work was sold in highly profitable international art markets.

So, how’s your vacation?

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.

Road food in Miranda do Norte, about 2 hours south of São Luís. They were just heating up the charcoal burner and grilling the first meal.

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.)

Water tank (*caixa da agua*). This is the most common way to store water. There are thousands of them all over Maranhão.

The front of the Palace Hotel as you approach from the Santa Inez bus station. The sign above the sleeper says: “The door that God opens, nobody can close.” I don’t think it refers to the Palace Hotel.

The parking area of the Palace Hotel in Santa Inez. They apparently do their own laundry and hang it to dry among the parked cars.

The slightly cartoonish stairs at the Palace. Twisted and a little surreal, they are steep and, when wet, difficult to navigate. There are also some support wires not shown here.

Looking out from the veranda of the Palace to the bus station. There are also food shops in these huts where you can eat if you don’t feel like navigating around the grazing donkeys to get to the barbeque nearby (photo below).

Walking from the bus station to a nearby restaurant

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

*Capoeira* demonstration at the Santa Inez Market

The lingerie department. The changing room is on the other side of the blanket, I think.

This common variety of Brazilian oranges is luscious, but the skins are tough and have to be peeled with a knife. Vendors on the street (and at the bus station, of course) do that for you.

The indoor stalls at the market have boxes or open cubicles — here,cleaning fish.

Fresh chicken at the market. One of the chicken vendors asked why I was taking pictures. When I said I was an American tourist/photographer he seemed puzzled, but relieved that I was not from the health department.

This is a tough town for vegetarians (and chickens and ducks).

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.

Classic telephone “ear” that might have worked at sometime in the past.

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.

Politician (the one on the left) in a park across from the bus station.

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.

Getting home — another picture of the quiet desperation at the bus stop. The bus stops for 20 minutes, you get out, the door is locked, you wait until the driver has lunch. Maybe you can sit, or you can risk your health at the barbeque (see photo above), or have someone peel you an orange. The bathrooms are also a challenge, though sometimes for a change you get offers of between-bus romance.

Carnival in São Luís, Maranhão, February 2016

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.

Flag of the group Fuzileiros da Fuzirca. This is one of the *blocos* that take to the streets during the pre-Carnival season. They are marching groups with heavy percussion, accompanied by singing and sometimes dancing.

The street popcorn vendor, a *bloco* and the street crowd in downtown (centro) São Luis are in the background

The day after the parade. These are floats and detritus left over the morning after the passarella/parade, which, like Rio, is held on a paved runway between two grandstands. Performance is competitive and heavily supported with sound systems and timing lights so the groups can keep to their time limit (which, in Maranhão, is an aspiration that is far from reality).

Float, or carroça. These are nothing like the floats in the Rio de Janeiro Carnival, but are nevertheless expensive in a small city in a bad economy.

A darker *carroça* theme, perhaps from watching the film “Orfeo Negro” (*Black Orpheus* in English). This voodoo/macumba evocation is unusual in Maranhão because such related practices are protected as religions and practiced widely.

The remains of the *passarela* have their own sad beauty

Parade of the “Indio blocos” — parade/performance groups that invoke indigenous themes. The costumes are actually more evocative of the dancers in the Rio de Janeiro *Carnaval*

The “Afro blocos” have a much longer history in São Luís and generally provide a more elaborate performance. They perform both on the streets and in this organized parade/*passarella.* Here they are on the long runway between two set of stands for crowds (mimicking the practice in Rio). In Rio the groups parade for at least nine hours, filling the night and broadcast live throughout Brazil. Not so here.

Carnaval/Carroça in Rosário, February 2016

An earlier post describes some differences between the Carnival in Rio and its smaller counterparts in the pre-Lent celebrations elsewhere in Brazil.

This post describes the event called “Carroça” in Rosário, named after a cart and sometimes used for what in U.S. English is called a parade “float.”

Here the carroça can also have its original meaning — as a donkey cart. This you won’t see in the Rio parade of floats.

One way Rosário is different from Rio — you may need to decorate your donkey

The mermaid — *sereia* — is a spiritual figure, but here is one of the many androgynous figures in the parade

Surprisingly for outsiders is the fact that in Rosário (and in other smaller communities, we find) the carnival is a place for various sexual identities and expression

Another old style *carroça* –here, even the donkey driver is not immune from flying colors and flour (the donkey was spared)

An enormously popular telenovela is “The Ten Commandments, ” running every day on television

Not quite sure what the theme is here, but this is Rosário — with donkey cart, viking, and a sultry figure

Flour and colors are thrown about the crowd, giving a surreal look to the crowd as the as the day goes on

This doesn’t seem to be a serious boi/ox from one of the Bumba-meu-boi groups, but it evokes that tradition. Here, though, the message is “I have horns…”

“I have horns” — which may refer to the ancient term for “cuckold”

Another vampire in drag (a popular theme, it turns out), in a coffin comforted by *cachaça*

Carrying out the undead … “Rest in peace, Rosário” the coffin seems to say

The most political statement — “Sergio Moro, Hunter of the Corrupt.” Moro is the judge whose investigations have put many political and business leaders in jail for massive corruption involving Petrobras. Dozens of politicians who thought they were immune from prosecution are ratting each other out in a host of plea bargains and immunity deals. Others are watching from inside this or that federal prison.

A plague of Charlie Chaplin’s — and one shepherd left over from the Ten Commandments, I think

Modern sound technology can turn a perfectly normal truck into a sonic weapon, capable of shaking the earth and deafening you (and any of your children you left on top of the speakers). This is a small system, but notice the sophistication of the array of woofers, mid-range speakers and high-range tweeters. The result is not just loud noise, but discernible melody and a full range of damaging sound waves.

IMG_1077-2 — The boy center left is holding a box of flour. The rest are simply wearing the flour. There are also spray cans of something white, but that cannot compete with the old custom of mixing colors and smearing each other.

More colors and interesting celebrants. They did some other interesting poses for me, but this is a family-oriented blog.

The Carnival *carroça* is a time to experiment in relative safety with alternative identities

Double-cross — each member of this couple is adopting the sexual identity of the other

The shirt says “Homophobia is prohibited, is a crime”

Carnival in the Interior, February 2016

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.

The fastest route is a ferry across a bay from the island of São Luís (the “Island of Love” they like to say on the signs entering the city). The ferry is close to, or part of, the Port of Itaqui which serves as the shipping point for vast amounts of mineral ore by mining giant Valé.

This is “Carnival” — but in this settlement near Central do Maranhão a community group dances the Tambor da Crioula much of the night. His shirt reads “Son of Saint Benedict,” the black saint revered in Tambor da Crioula, most black churches in Brazil, and often in the U. S. as “Saint Ben’s.”

Tambor da Crioula in the heritage way — men playing percussion while (only) women in wide, flowered skirts dance. The concession to popular entertainment is the wall of speakers behind the drummers. This guarantees that the rest of the village knows of the celebration. There are no known noise ordinances in rural Brazil.

The drummers for the “Boi do Carnaval.” This is an unusual celebration in Central do Maranhão that blends the ox/boi from the Bumba-meu-boi tradition with other celebrations. The sound truck amplifies the singer who came especially from another village to sing with the procession. From the Bumba-meu-boi group in Guimarães, this cantador shares the special status of “the voice” of the celebration.

As in the heritage Bumba-meu-boi celebration, the ox/boi dances in the streets and is “teased” by young boys.

No one actually seems to get hurt, but the horns are usually from a real bull

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.

In the town of Mirinzal a “bloco” marches along with a *paredão*, a wall of speakers that create a devastating sonic weapon

The paradão, or large wall, or speakers. This celebration had three of them, creating zones of totally chaotic sound waves that only young people full of beer seemed able to survive

Last night this bus station was filled with huge walls of speakers (*paredãos*). Today all that is left of the Carnival is the televised version of the Carnival in Rio de Janeiro. From Mirinzil it seems as far away as all the other fantasy television that is beamed to them in the telenovellas day after day

The Carnival (Carnaval) in Rio de Janeiro and the Interior

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

This abandoned float (carroça) may be giving a nod to the death and voodoo ethos of the film *Black Orpheu*s (*Orfeo Negro*)

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.

Something you don’t see in Rio de Janeiro — donkey rides for children in the parade. the driver’s face is covered in flour, one of the more benign substances thrown around during the celebration.

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.

In the bus station in Mirinzal passengers watch the Carnival in Rio just like you and I — on television.

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.

The shirt reads “Homophobia is prohibited, a crime”

Queima da Palhinha, Casa de Iemanjá

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.

Candles at the altar. The embroidered cloth is to receive the image of the Christ child

Christ child in the cradle. *Murta*, the herb symbolic of the closing of the nativity season, is distributed to celebrants.

The herb *murta* burning in a crucible at the altar

Celebrants feed the fire near the close of the ceremony. There are till some songs and prayers to come after all the celebrants who wish have the opportunity to toss herbs on the fire.

The space fills with smoke from the burning *murta*, a powerful incense

The spiritual leader (*pae de santo*) leads the close of the ceremony. The image of the baby Jesus will be carried out in a procession of followers with candles.

In a second celebration, the *pae de santo* appears in clothes honoring *Iemanjá*. Other entities are honored later in the ceremony.

Artisans, Rosário (Maranhão), January 2016

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

Freshly-made clay pots. they only need to be soaked in water to be ready to use.

The second shop, closer to river and the source of clay

A workshop that seems to specialize in large pots and small pigs (and middle-sized Virgin Maries). They seem to prepare raw figures for local artisans who paint them for sale. This kiln is ancient and still functioning daily.

Rows of larger utility and decorative pots

An ancient wheel, with racks of pots and figurines in the background

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.

Rosârio craftsman making a *rede*, hammock

An old machine of treadles, blocks, spools and the other devices of weaving looms.

Another machine for making a hammock — it is the length of the *rede* and is strung along its length to make the fabric. The craftsman puts it together by walking back and forth stringing each layer.

Popular Catholicism: Faith and celebration outside the Church

“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.

IMG_1186_DxO — There is a traditional liturgy (in the woman’s hand) around the family créche that includes prayers and songs

The family and friends celebrate with a litany from a text that includes several devotional stages.

IMG_1244_DxO — This is an observance in a private space, with shared blessings shared in the group

IMG_1208_DxO — The branches (*murta*) are burned to end the season of the créche and events of Christmas

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.

IMG_1259_DxO — In this ceremony an image of the Christ child is swaddled in a blanket and taken to each participant for a symbolic blessing

Nossa Senhora de Belém, Iguaraú

The photo below is of an umbanda terreiro 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.

On the way to Iguaraù, an *Umbanda tenda* or *terreiro* (spiritual house) devoted to Saint Enofre. the cities and countryside of Maranhão are dotted with hundreds of Afro-Brazilian spiritual houses. In Catholic hagiography, Saint Enofre is a 4th century hermit who lived some six decades in the desert, protected only by his hair and a leaves around his midsection. He is known as a patron of alcoholics and at least one Catholic site gives a prayer to Saint Enofre to free one from alcoholism.

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 small church in the community of Iguaraú is a center for a feisty enclave of people who have successfully fought a multinational aluminum processing plant to keep their homes. Here they largley organize this celebration by themselves but have a churchman leading the ritual.

The altar with familiar entities — the Virgin Mary, the black saint Benedict (*São Bento*) and others. Our Lady of Bethlehem (*Nossa Senhora de Belém*) is on the table to the right of the photo. This is a community building without a regular priest, but there was a churchman who told us that he comes to support the community and act as occasional clergy.

One of the children — with wings on her back — brings flowers for Our Lady of Bethlehem

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 of the community have an important part in the celebration, here dancing in front of the table with the image — behind which is a girl dressed as *Nossa Senhora de Belém*. An angel brings the flowers.

Children are a central part of the ceremony — here throwing flowers to a girl dressed as Our Lady of Bethlehem.

The community gathers in a circle for a prayer and blessing

One of the girls is dressed up for the ceremony. Most of the other children wear special t-shirts honoring the event

*Nossa Senhora de Belém.* In the faces of the children you can see the complex ethnic mix of Maranhão’s mixture of indigenous, African and European heritages.

A final tableau at the altar. This seems especially for parents with cameras and cell phones

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.

A second celebration is derived from the Afro-Brazilian spiritual practices of *Tereco*. Three women drummers sing and drum while children parade and dance. We are told that in the past, the *tereco* practice would go on all night.

One of the main organizers of the event. It is for the whole community, but especially carried by the older generation with central parts for the children. Men raise the ceremonial mast (*mastro*) in the courtyard with gifts and offerings.

Queima da Palinha, Casa das Minas

A special altar/*créche* in the *Casa das Minas*, an Afro-Brazilian house of worship in the jeje tradition (with roots to 19th century Dahomey and surrounding region of West Africa). The jeje designation is from the language and culture groups of that region. Other houses in São Luís are *nagò*, another tradition that used Yoruba as the main ceremonial language (as does Candomblé)

Unlike other events in the Casa, this one used European instruments as accompaniment. The photos on the wall are of members of the *Casa das Minas* community

Final prayers a the *creché,* with smoke rising from the queimada. The photos are a mix of Christian figures and leaders in the *Minas* tradition.

The burning *murta*, the bitter-sweet herb that is used on the *creché*

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 main altar room in the *Casa das Minas*. It is used here for the celebration of Saint Sebastian (also the entity *Averequete*), but has a diversity of elements on the altar of mixed Christian and Afro-Brazilian symbolism

The altar in the Casa das Minas, with its mix of religious symbols and traditions.

Percussion — the drum at lower right is joined by a gourd with a beaded net that is shaken

A celebration of São Sebastião (and maybe other entities) at the Casa de Iemanjá, São Luís.

Gathering at the image/altar of Saint Sebastian. A table holds food that is shared by the group

Children learn to play by sitting in and playing smaller instruments.

Celebrants in the homage to Saint Sebastian (and perhaps other entities)

The chanting/singing and dancing go on for some time, and the emotional intensity becomes greater as the celebration goes on.

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..

Experimenting with a small camera

During the rainy season the sky is generally overcast at the ocean, but there are occasional breakthroughs of the sun. Here it reflects on the shallow tidal pools that last for a while after the water recedes. Taken with a small Canon pocket camera.

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.

IMG_1539 copy — Rua Grande, a main shopping street in the center of São Luís. It is filled with storefronts and vendors of counterfeit goods.

Fruit vendor, showing how heavy his load is.

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.

Hat vendor, early morning. The sun is usually bright by 8:00 am.

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.”

IMG_1578_DxO-1 — This water carries runoff from the city into the bay and then the ocean. During rainy season the runoff is greater, but more diluted. When the tide comes in it washes back into the lower city. The flux dirties the one (the bay) and flushes the other (the city). This part of the bay has not seen healthy wildlife or fishing for years. There are also cast away items from the many freighters in the bay that pick up metal ore in the Port of Itaqui (owned by Valé, one of the owners of the company whose mining dams broke in Minas Gerais and washed away towns and dumped tons of toxic slag and mud into the Rio Doce, then the ocean).

These are not the recreational bikers from the upper beach walk, but young men coming to work.

IMG_1488-2 — Egrets (*garcas*) sometimes come to the tidal pools to feed when the tide goes out

This is a small snail that is left by the tide. There are many of them, but I don’t know where they are going as they make these patterns in the sand. they may be part of the same food chain a the *garcas*.

Sun shelters along the beach, early morning.

The rocky part of the coast is popular for fishermen and dog walkers. The rocks are under water much of the time and are covered with sharp shells.

These rocks are exposed at low tide. The sky is brilliant in the weeks just before the rains come (usually in January).

There are different ways to live at the beach — this is one

And another …. the middle class end of Calhau/Ponto do Farol

IMG_1621_DxO — The other end of the beach, near the reggae bars and alternative (non tourist) life.

IMG_1584_DxO — All over Brazil we find street vendors sleeping in their huts or on their carts.

And yet another resident. The deck is painted with religious symbols and graphics. It is common to see religious sentiments on the beach Here “God loves you” is even more common. than the usual versions of “I love ….” On some days you find a meditator sitting in the middle of occult signs. This person, though, is decorating his home.

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.

Oi!

Definitely not Rick’s Place from *Casablanca*, nor Harry’s Bar in Paris. the Calhau Beach in São Luis has “Kallamazoo.” Every sign on the beach is in identical format with the Coca-Cola emblem and matching red plastic chairs. The classier joints have different colored chairs.

A tasteful sign for Brazilian cuisine — the Full Belly Barbeque

Egrets, I think. A bit worn, like the fallen angel in an earlier photo (above).

This is a crumbling mosaic on the Calhau Beach in São Luís, Maranhão. I think it originally showed a crab fisherman, but I see it as a metaphor for the city — a decadent romanticism with a crumbling infrastructure and deep social, environmental and health problems.

More on field work: Sometimes you get the bear, sometimes it gets you

In the mirror of *Iemanjá*. The mirror is usually associated with *Oxum*, the vain orixá of water. When I asked the *mae de santos* (the spiritual leader of this *Umbanda* house) about this, she simply said “*Iemanjá* has a mirror too.”

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.

Vendors like this one sell peeled oranges to passers-by as street food.

These Brazilian oranges have tough, green skins that must be peeled with a knife before eating. The oranges at the lower right are ready — he cuts the top so you can eat it in the skin. The bus is often fragrant with people dripping orange juice on their hands and chins while they bounce along to the next bus stop

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).

Between buses at Itapecuru-Mirim. With the vagaries of Brazilian roads and bus schedules, the whole place has the feel of Samuel Becket’s play, *Waiting for Godot*. The buses are not exactly unreliable, but their reliability is full of random outcomes — sometimes “yes”, sometimes “no”. Always “maybe.”

Mountains of luggage and doubtful nutrition. Only the (fool)hardy and the desperate actually eat here, though there is also a barbeque, surrounded by dogs and smoke, that some travelers like.

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.

This *pousada* does not seem to have a Michelin rating. Common to practice in this area, it has a slanted tile roof so the heat can rise — it does, and escapes over the walls that do not reach the ceiling. This gives some intimate contact with the sleep habits of your next door neighbor.

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.

Part of the fleet of boots used to cross he Mirim river. When not in use they are sunk in the water so they do not dry out in the blazing sun. Because they are low and flat-bottomed, it takes a bit of balance to get in and out.

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.

Two heavier ferry boats. The one at the right carries large trucks. The smaller one on the left carries groups of people carrying packages, motorcycles and bicycles, and the occasional horse or donkey.

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.

Ferry across the Mirim in Pindaré. The reward is in the background — the Malagueta Bar which has fresh fish from the river about twenty feet away. From the restaurant you can watch kids swimming across the river, being dodged by ferry boats and (on weekends) kamikaze jet skiers.

The street outside our *pousada*. For the romantic of spirit, there are wild donkeys and dogs that hang around at night. There were other unusual noises we didn’t investigate. Oddly, the building at the end of the street is the municipal health department. Just in case. I suppose. We have not seen it actually open. Perversely, the verse from *My Fair Lady*, “I have have often walked on this street before…” (“On the Street Where You Live” ) would run through my head each time we stepped out to catch a motor cycle taxi. The mototaxi is a young man on a small to medium-sized Honda that ferries you about the city, hanging onto the back with your camera equipment dangling on your back. It is not considered good form to hold on to the taxista in a death grip to keep from falling off.

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).

Images of Saint Agnes, patron saint of the city of Santa Inez. These are more or less official images from the hagiography of Catholic saints. It is interesting to compare these icons with the images below of the *Umbanda* spiritual house (*terreiro*) we visited.

Image and costume of *Oxum*, the goddess (*orixá*) of fresh water. Although the entities are different from the official churches, the traditions of icons and altars has some similarities. Many are in fact derived from Catholic practice after having been adopted and modified in popular (non-official) ceremonies and rituals. Saints Sebastian, Anthony, Peter, Barbara and many others are from the Catholic pantheon are common in *terreiros*.

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.

Image and costume of *Iansá*, the *orixá* of tempests, and sometimes of death. A wilder version of Iansá appears in ceremonies in an Umbanda house in Codo honoring two female entities (see earlier post). She is often associated with Saint Barbara, who was sacrificed by her father for becoming a Christian. On her execution a tempest destroyed his kingdom.

A pottery workshop (*olaria*) in Santa Inez. This craftsman mixed clay and threw this pot while we were there. The region has a strong tradition of brick-making factories (also called *olarias*) which use the same local clay.

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.

Devotees in a religious celebration in Pindaré.

Members of various groups usually wore distinctive garments. Different spiritual houses seemed to have different dress, and some groups changed their costumes from time to time to honor the entities that each phase of their practice evoked. The costumes are androgynous and gender distinctions are fluid in many of these traditions. This reflected many of the spiritual entities and orixás who often can take on either a male of female form.

As in many other religious traditions, incense purifies the space and invokes spirits. In this dimly-lit space it also added to the unusual atmosphere of the ceremony.

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.

Much of celebration practice consists of dancing and chanting/praying for hours to the beat of Afro-Brazilian percussion. The whirling motion of the dancers is sometimes reminiscent of the ancient meditative dervish dances of Turkey and Afghanistan, but it is wilder and more driven by drums. Like the dervish dances, though, it produces an altered state of consciousness.

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.

One of the interrelated practices is the *Bumba-meu-boi*. Another is the *Tambor da Crioula*. This celebration is a *promessa* — here honoring the anniversary of the death of on of their members, a *boieiro* (practitioner of the Bumba-meu-boi). The *promessa* is for a Tambor da Crioula dance to be held in his honor. The deceased honoree is pictured on the t-shirts the percussionists are wearing. The drummer in the center is also a also master embroiderer who creates costumes for *brincantes* (players, performers) in the *Bumba-meu-boi*.

One of *Tambor da Crioula* dancers in the promessa for the late boieiro. He was an honored member of the BmB group that was offering the dance in his memory. We also know this dancer (Dona Nazaré) as a “caixeira,” one of the women drummers who celebrate the *Festa do Divino* (see earlier post on the caixeiras of *Pindaré*).

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.

Festa dos Reis (Maranhão), Festival of the Kings (January 2016)

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.

IMG_0903_DxO — Community church, Maracaná (Maranhão) Prominent on the altar are Saint Anthony, the Virgin Mary, and the black saint, Benedict (Sao Bento, as he is widely revered in Maranhao).

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.

IMG_0859_DxO — From the altar — celebrants at a *Festa dos Reis*. The singers in green are a community group that carries the liturgy and celebration. They have been doing this for years and are an integral part of he festival’s organization. Their faith is carried in this type of community action, outside the sanction or direction of clergy.

IMG_1058_DxO — It is a community honor for children and young people to be chosen to represent the kings. In this tradition of “popular Catholicism” there are also queens and other characters represented. These young people seem a bit uneasy with the attention, the heat, and the long liturgy.

IMG_0937_DxO — The kings and queens are presented at the créche/nativity scene (*presépio*, in Portuguese). The young participants for the following year are chosen on the day after this event. This gives the families a year to prepare these elaborate costumes.

IMG_1132_DxO — The singing and ritual in this community are led by this group of singers each year. Their name refers to “Alecrim,” which means the herb rosemary.

IMG_1074_DxO — The young people are treated like royalty, though the pride of their parents seems more pronounced than the children’s excitement. The Christmas festivals come in January,which in Maranhão has daytime temperatures in the 90’s. After the day has cooled a bit, the temperatures are still in the 80’s here. Here in the enclosed space of the celebration, parents primp and fan the royalty.

IMG_1102_DxO — Many celebrations in *cultura popular* in Maranhão use a band — this one led by a sax man. After the liturgy they played jazz and dance music.

IMG_1024_DxO — This is another *Festa dos Reis* near Maracaná. It was held in a party room room of a commercial bar. In the main area here was a large audience listening to live band playing popular music. This more serene festival shows the costumes of the kings and queens The mountains of elaborate calories heaped behind them are color-matched to the costumes.

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.

IMG_1165_DxO — Often, one of the implicit notions in descriptions of popular celebrations is that they engage the whole community. Actually the number of faithful in the *Festa dos Reis* is a only a fraction of the community, many of whose members are busy elsewhere.

Women surrealist artists from Mexico: A show in Sao Paulo (December 2015)

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 Ohtake Institute is itself a work of art, dedicated to Japanese-Brazilian artist Tomie Ohtake

A famous Lucien Bloch portrait of Frida Kahlo was used as the billboard wall for the exhibit. At the right is the entrance to a documentary film on Kahlo and the political/artistic world she inhabited.

Self portrait of Frida Kahlo with Diego Rivera

Frida Kahlo, cradling Diego Rivera, and in turn being cradled by nature, the earth, the universe

Diego Rivera, romanticized as a younger, less corpulent man than the photographs of the time show. For a contrast, see the portrait by Modigliani in the Sao Paulo Museum of Modern Art (earlier post)

Part of Frida Kahlo’s circle of artists included Lola Alvarez Bravo, the photographer of his beautifu gelatin print of Frida and her dogs.

Mexican surrealist artist Olga Costa (Corazon egoista), “The Selfish Heart”

Silvia Fein, Garota de Ajijic, “Girl from Ajijic.” This work is actually part of the holdings of the University of Wisconsin

Andre Breton, a significant influence on Frida Kahlo and Mexican surrealism

This work by Remedios Varo is “Woman Leavng the Psychoanalist”

The only physical artifacts in the show were clothing of Frida Kahlo. Without being to identify them exactly, you had the feeling of having seen them in her paintings

The Sao Paulo metro

The Sao Paulo Metro

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.

In the tradition of progressive muralist art, this work shows the iron hand of the Portuguese colonizers and the adventurers/explorers (*bandeirantes*) who opened the Brazilian interior.

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.

Three trains running, *Praca da Se* metro station. Above ground is a cathedral square that gathers tourists, downtown workers, galleries and stores, and a small army of street people and sketchy touts for buying gold and selling, well, all sorts of things.

Metro, *Praca da Se*. The display above warns of the *Aedes Agiptii* mosquito that carries dengue fever and a host of nasty diseases (including the Zika and Chikungunya viruses and possibly microencephalitis). This is the underground traffic for most of the day.

Even in the age of cellular telephones, the Sao Paulo metro actually has rows of colorful telephone “ears”

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.

During the Christmas holiday the Sao Paulo Museum of the Portuguese Language burned down to the building shell. The museum was in the building of the Victorian-era train station, *Estacao Luz*, which was able to continuing functioning. This was one of the most popular museums in Sao Paulo, and its loss brought attention to long-standing deficits in fire protection

Street vendor, in front of the now-dead museum and a closed subway entrance. There were almost no customers on the street now — just the police, wrecking crews, and photographers. The shell is intact, but at the upper right of the building you can see the charred timbers. The “Big Ben” clock allegedly never stopped running during the fire — a symbol of Victorian engineering, perhaps as the fire itself is a reflection on Brazil’s stewardship of its artistic institutions (there is an investigation of lapsed and unenforced fire codes).

Argentine modernist artists, Buenos Aires Museum of Fine Arts

The Buenos Aires Museu Nacional de Bellas Artes

Modernism and Antonio Berni

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.

Berni’s images often combined religious themes with workers and prostitutes

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.

Even this picture of a dead or dying man has a background of social justice and, in this case, a touch of Pieta. His work often juxtaposes religious imagery and political themes

Antonio Berni’s “Christ in the Apartment” was during the dictatorship (1976-83) and near the end of Berni’s life.

Uneasy Brazilian histories: Afro-Brazilian Museum and the Bandeirantes Memorial

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.

Mural on the outside wall of the Afro-Brazilian Museum

Afro-Brazilian Museum, mural evoking indigenous people

Mural on the exterior of the Afro-Brazilian Museum. Its symbolism is ambiguous, but it seems to evoke the mystical elements of African Brazilian spiritual practice.

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.

Schwartz’s portraits show famous Brazilians of African heritage. The most recognizable face is that of Pele (lower right), the brilliant soccer who also played in the United States later in his career

More portraits of Brazilian with African heritage by Madalena Schwartz

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.

An example of the elaborate embroidery work done in Maranhao and worn by performers (*brincantes*). This an older example and now a museum piece, but the style and artisanship continue into the present. More examples of current embroidery can be seen in earlier posts (including that of Dona Tania, Sao Luis’ best known embroider).

An ox (*boi*) wearing an embroidered “skin” (*couro*) over a frame of native woods (notably buriti palm which is tough and light). Earlier posts describe and show current versions of this distinctive practice.l This, of course, is the “*boi*” in Bumba-meu-boi.

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.

Memorial to Bandeirantes, just outside Ibipuera Park, Sao Paulo

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.

This map engraved n marble shows the line drawn by the Pope in the Treaty of Tordesillas (1494) which was designed to divide South America into the Portuguese section (to the right of the vertical line in the photo) from the Spanish side (left of the line). The points indicated on the map are the explorations of the Bandeirantes who opened the Spanish side for the Portuguese and essentially nullified the papal decree.

In classic heroic style, the Bandeirante troops are depicted as heroic and in great suffering. These soldiers and adventurers are regimented behind the European leaders on huge horses. This kind of monumental art seems to be universal, with similar massive figures depicted as workers in the American Depression, 1930s Germany, the heroic workers of Stalinism, and many similar monuments throughout the world.

The ethnicity of the foot soldiers is a bit ambiguous, but many of the faces carry traces of indigenous and perhaps African heritage.

A heroic *Bandeirante*. It is actually unclear whether these are willing followers or slaves captured along the way. A major goal of the *Bandeirantes* was capturing land and slaves. Later they turned their attention to diamonds, gold, and other natural resources.

The artistry of the memorial is a powerful representation of the arduous march into the interior of Brazil, as this and the following photos show.

The ethnic identities are often unclear, but *Caboclos* — the Portuguese name for persons of mixed indigenous and European parentage — were an important link between the two cultures. According to anthropologist Darcy Rebeiro they typically belonged to neither culture, but their knowledge was instrumental to the Bandeirantes. Ribeiro calls them the first real Brazilians.

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.

On the road in Patagonia: endless skies, mountains and glaciers

On the road in Patagonia

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.

A waterfall in Chalten, Patagonia, Argentina

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.

DM4A2449 — A mountain range along the ascent to El Tronador, the “thunder mountain” that sits atop a glacier. The thunder is the constant shifting and groaning of the ice in the glacier. The mountain seems almost like an organism.

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.

DM4A2246 — Lake Nahuel Huapi near Barriloche

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

DM4A3046 — Glacier in Lake Viedma, near Barriloche.

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.

DM4A2344 — The Arrayanes Forest, a dense and romantic (or spooky) eucalyptus grove

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.

DM4A2439 — A typical tourist “selfie” shot, though our van driver insisted on taking it because, he confessed, he liked my camera. The park bears the name of Lake Nahuel Huapi. We are headed to Cerro Tronador, the “thunder mountain” which was once a volcano and is still marked by the “thunder” of the glacier shifting and breaking up

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.

DM4A2500 — The “thunder” mountain. At the center just above the edge of the lake you can see the edge of the “black” glacial front. It contains volcanic ash and rock debris that gives it the dark color. This is the front edge of the glacier that periodically ruptures and falls into the lake

DM4A2560 — Locals say that where Simone is standing on the upper rim of the valley was covered by glacial ice only 50 years ago. Now the glacier is at the bottom of the valley at the far right of the photo.

DM4A2520 — The dark edge of the glacier is to the lower left. Above it, extending to the center of the photo, are white snow fields that were moving in avalanches and as we watched. The glacier field is an active, living, presence with groans, movement, ruptures, avalanches and nearly constant rumbling. Some years ago a major avalanche tore through the valleys below and wiped out thousands of trees.

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.

Early morning from the front of the bus from Barriloche to Perito Mereno. This leg of the trip was about 12 hours.

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.)

A stop along the way. We took a few minutes at a pizza restaurant that didn’t actually have any pizza, but did have beer and a soccer game on television.

Puerto Moreno and the Cave of the Hands

DM4A2659 — The guide referred to this as “*tranquilita*,” which I foolishly translated as “walk in the park.” This was offered as a more peaceful descent to the allegedly tougher main descent that used safety ropes to keep you on the mountain. Frankly, a rope would have been welcome on *tranquilita*.

DM4A2684 — Picking our way down “tranquilita.” One of our companions was a doctor who picked this route because, well, it sounded less risky

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.

DM4A2793 — The Cave of the Hands (Cueva de los Manos) near Puerto Moreno is a sheltered system of rock crevices and shallow caves that extend over several hundred yards. The area overlooks a deep valley that is sometimes a river. The hand prints and occasional animal images are made of mineral matter sprayed (perhaps by mouth) to make stencils. Some date back 9,300 years, they say.

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.

DM4A2963 — One of the more exciting parts of the road from Puerto Moreno to El Calafate. The interest comes from the rare curve ahead, and the fact that it is one of the best-paved stretches of road.

Our third glacier (Perito Moreno, near El Calafate)

DM4A3200 — The Perito Moreno glacier carries the name of a town further to the north, but is reached from El Calafate at the end of our trip.

DM4A3187 — The glacial field extends some 14 kilometers between the two mountain ranges to the horizon.

DM4A3206 — The face of the glacier is about 150 feet high. It is an active ice mass — had a major rupture a few years ago, but has minor ruptures and ice slides nearly constantly. The bits of ice in front of the glacial face are pieces that have broken off. They melt slowly as they float into the lake. In the hour or two we spent watching, the glacier groaned and ruptured constantly.

From one end of South America to another: Maranhao to Buenos Aires

Getting to Buenos Aires, and a disclaimer

A sort of disclaimer:

“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).

Brasilia at 6:00 am, after a night flight from Sao Luis

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.

This mural from rural Patagonia (Perito Mereno) shows some of the intensity of the opposition to Macri. Here he is portrayed as a pyromaniac, setting fire to Argentinian institutions and the economy

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.

The Plaza de Mayo, which faces the presidential seat of government (Casa Rosada), was circled by police and tactical urban riot machinery. The previous night supporters of the outgoing Kirchner government were on the street by the thousands. The transition was quiet, however.

Riot equipment with crowd-control shields, waiting for the inauguration of Mauricio Macri as President of Argentina

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)

Police ready to parade. They thwarted my candid photo when one caught sight of me and called them to order. (except for the one who was texting). Fortunately the political transition was peaceful and their duties, like their cavalry pants, were ornamental

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.

An encampment of veterans on the Plaza Mayo, Buenos Aires

Recoleta Cemetery: Architecture of Death and Power

The Recoleta Cemetery is a city of the dead with a web of streets intersecting narrow streets lined with monuments to the wealthy and powerful dead

The families of the dead used Recoleta Cemetery to display their power and prominence,. Their gargantuan taste is another matter.

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.

Buenos Aires has cafes built on an angle on many intersections. The foot and automobile traffic gives the sense of a kaleidoscope surrounding you on three sides. The street in the background is the Avenida 9 de May, and is the widest of any city in the world.

This man with a cart of boxes (photo below) is incongruously pulling it across the widest street in the world.

Crossing the Avenida 9 de May, Buenos Aires

This building is currently an alternative medicine/pharmacy store, but its architecture is astounding for a commercial building. It is on a shopping street that is lined with buildings that look like the old downtown of Madrid. The question might be: “Who needs such a building?” But the answer is in the sheer beauty of its excess.

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.

Puerto Madero, and area of former working docks. This ship was once an Antarctic freighter and is now a display boat for visitors (to look at while they eat in the district’s remarkable restaurants).

IMG_8361-2 — Parts of Puerto Madero resemble London’s Canary Wharf development with sleek buildings and modern businesses set in a former working dock

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.

Oscar and dancer, the new “Mahler” piece

A spiritual celebration dedicated to two female entities: an Umbanda terreiro in Codo, Maranhao (December 2016)

Two Nights of Celebration at the House of Iemanja in Codo, Maranhao

Yansa de Fogo p — Iansa do Fogo (Yansa of Fire)

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.

Shrine to Saint Barbara on the night of the celebration to her (and Iansa). The saint’s day dedicated to her is celebrated widely in Brazil in early December of each year and is shared by many diverse spiritual practices from Catholicism to diverse Afro-Brazilian traditions

DM4A1931 — Devotees near a statue 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.

DM4A1878 — Pretos Velhos, “Old Blacks,” appear in various practices. In general, they represent peaceful and positive entities who died as slaves

DM4A1973 — Devotees near the memorial to Anastasja, a martyred slave. In a example of mixed symbolisms, she appears before a cross. An statue of Jesus on the cross is on the other side. In the photo below the image of Jesus also floats above.

DM4A1804 — Anastasja was a slave who was (literally) muzzled and eventually killed by her slave master. She is an important entity in various Afro-Brazilian traditions. She also appears in the Catholic Church in Salvador, Bahia, called *Nossa Senhora de Rosario dos Pretos* (Our Lady of the Rosary of the Blacks). She is not quite a saint, but a black martyr who is revered in Afro-Brazilian tradition. Another image of her from the church in Salvador is shown in the Study Abroad post on syncretism (this BrazilBlog, June, 2015).

SFCodo — just before the celebration began we were invited to join the celebrants in the inner space of the terreiro (spiritual house)

DM4A1295 — At the beginning of the celebration of Santa Barbara, the spiritual leader (*pai de santo*) Bita Barao circles the inner space accompanied devotees dressed elaborately in white lace.

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.

DM4A1439 — Devotee, celebration of Santa Barbara/Iansa de Fogo. Notice the remarkable lace work on the elaborate clothing worn by the celebrants. The necklaces are associated with various entities of worship

DM4A1375 — The circle of celebrants; some dance more vigorously and move to the center of the space

DM4A1366 — Devotee, celebration of Santa Barbara/Iansa de Fogo

The majority of the devotees are women, but there are many men as well

The Second Night of Celebration, dedicated to Iemanja (Yemanja)

DM4A1792 — Iemanja/Yemanja in the courtyard. The ship (lower right) evokes her attribute as the orixa or goddess of the sea. This attribute associates her with Nossa Senhora dos Navigantes, Our Lady of the Sailors. Jorge Amado’s novel *Mar Morto* contains a passage in which he says that not all sailors want to drown at sea, but if they must, then in the arms of Iemanja.

Janaina, daughter of the *pai de santo*, evoking Iemanja

DM4A2052 — Procession through the city of Codo to the river where the main culminating ceremony to Iemanja takes place. the devotees are carrying gifts of food to her. The food is redistributed among the followers. Beverages are spilled into the river as an offering.

DM4A2148 — The image of Iemanja is at the left of the circle of candles, the place from which the leaders and some devotees descend into the river

Janaina as Iemanja during the ceremony in the river. Offerings of drink are placed in the river and some devotees are brought into the water for a dedication

This woman has just been in the water for a dedication to Iemanja and is being helped back up the river bank

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.