Brazzil

By late evening firecrackers were popping continuously and the smoke in the street was thick enough to choke an electric elephant. Once in awhile an especially loud explosion produced a concussion that startled the senses. It was time to break out the light swords, which can be very dangerous.
By Phillip Wagner

The several hundred kilometers bus trip from Salvador to Senhor do Bonfim should normally take about six hours. But this was late June, and all of Salvador was on the move. Festa de São João was about to be celebrated and the need to consummate carefully arranged plans had triggered a biblical exodus from the bustling, chaotic state capital, and coastal city.

Danielle Valim, her daughter Lua and I were headed for the usually sleepy little colonial village of Bonfim. Our bus slipped helplessly into a paralyzing morass of decades old automobiles, SUVs, micro vans, dusty pickups, motorcycles, "big rigs" and other buses that merged and converged on a singular main artery. The "choke point" spawned gridlock and, for a time, we were unable to progress at all. Favela, or slum, dominated urban sprawl obscured the view on each flank as seasonally predictable drizzle drifted monotonously from an overcast sky. Our driver and one passenger passed time in a futile attempt to lock in a signal on the radio. No music to lift the spirits. Finally, the vehicles ahead of us began to inch forward until we were moving again.

As darkness settled in we gained momentum and the urban landscape gradually gave way to a transitional environment characterized by small, improvised, communities. Intersecting arteries siphoned away some of the pressure on traffic and the road extended itself into the semi-arid, sparsely populated caatinga. I found myself wishing I'd brought along a windbreaker from the States. The seasons of the Southern Hemisphere are reversed and the region of Bonfim is at an elevation sufficient to consistently produce cool winter nights. Lua pointed excitedly as the lights of Bonfim came into view.

Jairo Sá met us at the rodoviária, or bus station, after our exasperating 8-hour journey. Jairo escorted us to the inauspicious, but comfortable residence he shares with wife Jacira, son Bruno and daughter Luíza. I found their two-story house to be consistent with the rustic architectural personality of Bonfim. It was reasonably large with stucco walls, clapboard covered windows, and open airy rooms with stone floors.

Bonfim has retained the charm of its heritage, and feels inviting. Rooftops are predominantly red, orange or yellow tiled. There are many poor in and around the town, but class distinctions are fuzzy and there's no insidious favela-sprawl, no "social cancer". I realized that the people of Bonfim seemed to trust each other, something that contrasted sharply with the ever-present suspicion between educated masses and "marginals" in bigger cities of Brazil. As if reading my mind, Dani pointed out that in this harsh, unforgiving region people have to be able to rely on one another.

The rua on which Jairo and his family live is cobble stoned and uneven. Most of the streets in Bonfim are like that. A few are hardened earth or paved. Some buildings are constructed so that their exteriors belly up to the street. Others, like Jairo's, do not, but are protected by high walls that run the length of their property lines. Wooden gates open into driveways or what would approximate a front yard.

At Jairo's home we were greeted by a gathering of celebratory zealots preparing for the anticipated festivities. Orange and jenipapo (a fruit of Brazil) liquor, cerveja (beer), carne de bode (goat meat) and pão (snack breads) were passed around the room. I unexpectedly encountered a frog in the downstairs banheiro (bathroom) and my reaction triggered ripples of laughter. Late in the evening we all dispersed and reassembled at the praça, or Town Square.

Most of the residents of Bonfim still prefer to communicate by word-of-mouth rather than by telephone. So we went to the square to find friends and fellow members of Jairo's bloco to make arrangements for the following day. The blocos of Bonfim are community groups characterized by a particular philosophy regarding how the festival should be celebrated. Jairo's bloco is named Caruá, after a caatinga plant producing fibers stronger than sisal. Bloco Caruá is especially dedicated to traditional cultural practices and the distinct original forms of the forró music specific to the region and to Festa de São João. The kind of forró Caruá plays is called Pé de Serra, or "foot of the mountains", which traditionally employs only accordions, triangles, and a special kind of large drum known as the zabumba. This is the original form of forró, so named because it was born in the foothills of Brazil's rugged northeast. But Jairo's Caruá bloco also incorporates six stringed acoustic guitars and four stringed scaled down versions equating to something like a ukulele.

According to legend the word forró is a bastardization of "for all". The legend sugggests that an English speaking man referred to the music now associated with the quadrilhas of Festa do São João as music "for all". Quadrilhas themselves appear to be troupes of Brazilian "square dancers". The most beaautiffully costumed quadrilhas I've seen are in the city of Maceió in the state of Alagoas, northeast of Bahia.

The praça that first night was filled beyond capacity. A performing stage was constructed adjacent to vendor stalls and food booths. Great arrays of powerful speakers sent shock waves rolling through our chest cavities as we passed by. Large quantities of hot dogs, beer, guaraná soda, candied apples, strawberries and limp water-soaked peanuts were distributed and consumed. The crowd was full of Latin looking slender young girls and muscular young men. Cowboy hats and short skirts were the order of the day. I watched in fascination as hours of lively socializing, flirting, dancing, chatter and laughter melted away. We departed sometime after 3 AM.

Our second day in Bonfim began at the breakfast table where, as everywhere in Brazil, cafezinho (exceptionally strong coffee served in demitasse cups) was accompanied by several varieties of pão (bread), frutas (fruit) and queijo (cheese). Conversation flowed like an old river with a lazy sense of manifest destiny. Green carpeted morros (hills) were visible through a back door, the beneficiaries of a significantly greater than normal rainfall in recent months. After breakfast we adjourned to the living room where the conversation continued. Jairo played Gilberto Gil's latest CD, the sound track to a critically acclaimed film, Eu, Tu, Eles, which reflects the culture, and features the forró music of northeastern Brazil. The lyrics of the unofficial forró anthem "Asa Branca" (White Wing) written by Luiz Gonzaga and Humberto Teixeira sounded out:

A short while after relocating to a table outside an adjacent home that doubled as a small grocery we were approached by a banda de pífanos. The band consisted of four men, formerly landless peasants of the Movimento dos Sem Terra, or MST, Movement of those without land. They serenaded us with homemade instruments, two drums and two flutes. The music they played had been passed down through generations of Brazilian peasants. We shared pleasantries, then provided food, beer and a small donation before they moved on. A little while later we received a similar, larger group, comprised only of flutists. Once again, the instruments were all homemade.

By late afternoon it was time to prepare for the night to come, so we all showered and changed. As evening approached the Caruá Bloco gathered at the home of one of its members and we joined in a nightlong procession of singing and dancing. The bloco passed through the home of each member, stopping only long enough to fully consume the considerable quantities of food and drink that had been prepared and left out. Sometime between 3 and 5 AM we wandered back to bed.

On the third day, café da manhã, or breakfast, was followed by a shopping spree. It was time to complete the purchase of firewood and fogos, or fireworks. The growing sense of excitement was palpable; you could really feel it in the air. Chatter began to focus on the impending tradition of igniting "light swords", and the associated dangers of doing so. The Bonfim hospital staffed up. It stocked additional provisions for treating burns and, in some cases, fractures. A Brazilian form of sparkler, firecrackers and assorted other fogos were also purchased, but everyone's focus was on the "light swords".

In late afternoon we assembled with a bloco known as Jegue Elétrico, or Electric Donkey, on a small lot where churrasco and beer were being served. Jairo's wife, Jacira, works at Banco do Brasil, which co-sponsors this bloco. Entry to the lot was allowed only for people wearing the official Electric Donkey Bloco T-shirt with sponsor advertising on the back. On the lot was a large, very tall, and colorful donkey drawn wagon. The wagon was mounted with numerous speakers, and a microphone activated speaker hung from the neck of the donkey; thus the "electric" donkey. People milled about excitedly as a band struck up some music.

I initially concluded that this signaled the onset of our next activity, but I was wrong. It was only something to "get the juices flowing". In this particular case the bloco included the children of members as well as the adults. Talking, dancing, eating and singing continued unabated as emotions continued to rise. Finally, as if by silent command, the bloco moved off the lot and into the street. It was time for the bloco parade. We slowly wound our way through Bonfim accompanied at the rear by an enterprising entrepreneur driving a beer truck of sorts. Revelers periodically fell back to refurbish beverage stocks as locals gathered along the route to smile and wave. At one point we passed a caravan of horse drawn wagons transporting period piece costumed actors and actresses in the opposite direction. Automobile traffic was halted as we crossed side streets. Parents struggled to keep track of their children. Eventually we all safely arrived at the square.

By the time we returned, the festive music, dancing and drinking on Jairo's street were well underway. Jairo built a fire outside his home using firewood that had been purchased for that purpose. So did pretty much every other neighbor. The air began to fill with clouds of smoke that rolled up and down the street. Jairo cut some beef, chicken and goat meat, which he skewered on long rods and laid over the fire. Children lit firecrackers and tossed them about indiscriminately. A few lit sparklers and waved them excitedly while chattering in animated Portuguese. Occasionally someone ignited a fogo that produced a "fountain" of sparks generating "ooohs" and "aaahs" from the crowd.

Tables were erected and plates, silverware and beverages were set out, along with side dishes to accompany the meat. A feast ensued. By late evening firecrackers were popping continuously and the smoke in the street was thick enough to choke an electric elephant. Once in awhile an especially loud explosion produced a concussion that startled the senses. By now, the eyes of some of the revelers were glazed over. This seemed to signal that it was time to break out the light swords. Light swords are basically tubes filled with gunpowder. The type, and size, of the tube determines how dangerous it can be.

The standard commercial light sword is encased in something like stiff, durable cardboard with a clay liner to force the fire outward and prevent an explosion. A more serious, and larger, version is encased in hardened, glazed, clay like the tiles of which the roofs of many homes in Bonfim are constructed. Handling either of these fogos can be very difficult, and residents of the city understand the risks involved. Windows and doors that border the streets must be closed, locked, covered and/or boarded up before the light swords are ignited. Celebrants drift into the relative safety of driveways or yards, or indoors, as the night wears on.

Temporarily controlling, and then throwing, a light sword is considered a rite of passage for young men. Particular skill and bravado are exhibited by managing to "write" messages with the light swords on the walls along the street. The "toss" is generally preceded by the kind of running start employed by javelin throwers. Once released, the firework cartwheels, caroms and careens wildly about the street, occasionally bouncing off walls or anything else it comes into contact with. The larger clay-tile-tube light swords can easily snap an arm or a leg on contact, and the threat of being seriously burned is always present, no matter which of the two types is used.

A neighbor of Jairo's forgot to close the gate at the front of his property. A light sword found its way into the house and burned the couch there. But Bonfim residents are stoic in the face of these "assaults by fogos". Each time a light sword was lit people seemed to simply make a mental note, or turn to enjoy the show. When one was actually released nearby crowds scattered with the speed and precision of silver-sided prey-fish at the sight of a predator. But the crowds just as quickly, and efficiently, reassembled once the danger had passed. No matter how irresponsible a light sword handler appeared to be, there were never any looks of disapproval or expressions of concern, other than from myself.

The perpetrators were always wordlessly accepted back into the group as if nothing had happened. Bonfim is on the edge of the caatinga, a harsh environment that serves to toughen its inhabitants. The atmosphere of Bonfim at this time of year reminded me of a frontier town in the old west of the United States.

Bruno, the son of Jairo, was now 13 and ached for an opportunity to wield the "weapon of Festa de São João". It seemed, on the surface, like a great opportunity for a photograph. Bruno positioned himself several dozen meters from my location and dipping his light sword into one of the bonfires along the rua, ignited it. For a moment it seemed that Bruno would lose control, but then he gathered his hands more firmly about the tube and began to wave it wildly, as if in triumph. There were cheers of approval. Possibly now overconfident, Bruno marked a nearby wall and began his "run up to the toss".

Having gained sufficient momentum Bruno prepared to release the sword; but my perception was that the sword had finally gained the upper hand and released itself. I gaped in horror with my feet frozen uncomfortably to the uneven cobbled stones as the deadly tube cartwheeled in a direct line toward me. "How can this be?", I wondered, but my lips could only utter the expletive "Oh shit!". Did this particular tube have something against me? Was it being guided by the vengeance of an evil spirit? Incredibly, it died out only a scant few centimeters from my still locked, but now considerably weakened legs. I'd survived another night of Festa de São João in Senhor do Bonfim.

The final day of Bonfim festivities was almost anti-climatic. No binge drinking processions or death defying pyrotechnics. But all the positives remained. The ongoing hospitality was, as always, exceeded only by the personal affection that I'd begun to feel connected everyone in Bonfim. A young girl appeared at the gate to Jairo's home. After conversing briefly with her in soft tones he reentered the house and returned to the gate with a small pão, or bread. The girl was hungry and no one in Bonfim would refuse to help alleviate someone's hunger.

Our intention that day was to visit a nearby fazenda, or ranch, after stopping at the residence of more friends of Jairo. The informality of life in Bonfim was reflected by the fact that our unexpected appearance failed to disrupt a family gathering. We were treated to beer, goat ribs and "flying biscuits" in an open-air patio while the children played in the street. The biscuits are so named because they're so light it seems they could take to the air.

In a far corner of the patio was a small stone grotto, over the entrance to which a plain white cloth had been draped. At Jacira's urging, the man of the house explained that there was a statue of the Virgin Mary in the grotto and the cloth was intended to shield its eyes from the debauchery of drinking that accompanied Festa de São João. After forewarning everyone to shield their drinks, he proudly lifted the veil to reveal the statue and encouraged me to take a photograph. Not wanting to offend, I did so.

We never found our way to the fazenda, but we did stop at another home where a churrasco (barbecue) was underway. A small three-man band played more forró. Couples danced and friends were reunited. Cool temperatures and intermittent light rain failed to dampen spirits. All that remained was the concert in the praça that night given by Flávio José, one of the most beloved cantadores, or singers, of forró music in northeastern Brazil.

José's accordion heavy concert was magical. It opened to an audience so tightly pressed together that the planned circulating of police for managing crowd control nearly precipitated the panic it was there to prevent. With literally nowhere to go, the crowd began to collapse outward in its attempt to part before the police patrol. The pressure seemed to magnify as it radiated, and there were some tense moments when we all had doubt as to what might happen next. Jairo calmly counseled "calma, amigos, calma". His reassuring voice contributed to a restoration of the peace and tranquility that reverted to boundless excitement over the romance of Flavio's crooning the lyrics of Nanado Alves and Ilmar Cavalcante….

Phillip Wagner is a free-lance photojournalist, a frequent traveler to Brazil and a regular contributor to Brazzil. Phillip is a graduate of Indiana University and hopes to pursue a post graduate degree focusing on Brazilian studies at some point in the future. Visit Phillip's Brazil web-sites at http://www.iei.net/~pwagner/brazilhome.htm . Phillip may be contacted at pwagner@iei.net

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