Deeper into a complicated Cultural Soup...

History keeps repeating itself, as I've found out during my last visit to Rio December 4-8.  I had the blessing of attending a Samba party at a vary historical and religious site, Praca Do Sal (Rock of Salt).  Located in the neighborhood of Saude, originally a quilombo; where the first African immigrants from Bahia settled in Rio in the early 17th century.  A quilombo was a Brazilian hinterland settlement founded by people of African origin. Escaped slaves and a marginalized Portuguese, Brazilian aboriginals, Jews, and Arabs, and others who experienced oppression during colonization lived there and were called Quilombos.  Favelados are the displaced, marginalized peoples of present day Brazil.  Favelados, like Quilombos are people that have experienced oppression, in most cases economic oppression, and in some cases racial and sexual marginalization, and where they live are called Favelas.

Though all of the marginalized people of Brazil are not found in Favelas, since you could say the most marginalized member of the population are women, and not all women live in Favelas.

Again a very special Samba party took place on December 5 in the Praca Maua, in a place nicknamed, Little Africa, on the last remaining mountain of a former favela that contained the houses of these escaped slaves, that were literally washed away.

One that night I went to the Samba party, sure that I would jump right in and dance, which I did.  What I didn't expect is that rather than dance many of the people there just stood around and drank beer while this amazing Samba music was being played live.  Sure they knew the words to all the songs played, and sang them beautifully adding to the atmosphere of the plaza, but most did not dance.

A perfect moment

An imperfect moment

My friend, Patricia who took me there was among the majority that did not dance, and she said she didn't because she didn't know the words to the original Carioca (native to Brazil) sambas. She'd been taking samba lessons to perform the steps just right, and she just didn't dance. What this brought out to me is something that I've been running away from during the three year process of beginning to document my film, formerly WHYBRAZIL, newly renamed WHY RIO.  I'm just like every other tourist, that gets big and bad because they know no one knows them, at the vacation destination.  The only difference is - I feel something.  I feel a connection, with Brazilians that I'm positive I will be forced to explore further.  But that night the only confirmation of my connection was that the singers and dancers immediately embraced me, and gestured to indicate that I got the rhythm right.

An imperfect moment that was perfect!!!

Joyful!

But it isn't just my ability to dance the Samba that makes me want to explore this connection.  Its other intangibles.  The next morning, upon seeing a fellow hostel visitor, I was compelled to apologize because I'd made dinner in the communal kitchen, and I hadn't offered her any.  She was from Sao Paolo, and I'd noticed that she'd shared a much simpler meal the night before with the receptionist on duty that was from Rio.  She assured me that I shouldn't feel bad, and then went on to ask how my night of samba had gone.  Not to be distracted I explained that the guy that filed my fish at the fish market, had left me with a much smaller amount of fish than I expected.

On further thought back in the States I realize that its not the amount that you are willing to share that counts, its that you are willing.  I look forward to exploring what sensibilities I share with my Brazilian friends, and what other complex aspects of their culture I will uncover.

Another thought that I had when I got back to the States is how did I know to wear white?  That night December 5, was also the night that they celebrated the bringing of the religion Candomble from Bahia. In this religion it is tradition to wear all white.  Why did I wear white when I knew nothing about the significance of that night, and that plaza?  Connections....