Ode to Bahia!

by Vanessa McMahon (United States of America)

Making a local connection Brazil

I recently traveled to Salvador, Bahia, Brazil on a return visit; my first time there was fifteen years ago. It was during the Festa de Iemanja (Yemanja Festival), which takes place every year on February 2nd, when Brazilians pay homage to Orisha mother goddess of the sea with the eponymous name. Brought to Brazil from the Yoruba religion during the African slave trade, Yemanja was syncretized locally and became one of the goddesses on the pantheon of the Candomble religion. On this day, worshipers dress in all white and send flowers, candles and gift offerings into the ocean. The ritual is followed by a major outdoor street party that lasts well into the next morning. I took part in the festivities in the seaside town of Rio Vermelho, which swarmed from all directions with revelers. It was a collage of impressionistic turmoil of everything from the smells of flowers, beer and urine to images of trash piles, merrymakers, armed police and ethereal women clad in white and sounds of vociferous street vendors, axe-samba and Reggae bands. I stopped to groove at a local bar with a live samba band where euphoric inebriated adults danced feverishly and 'encheu a cara' (filled their face) with alcoholic beverages in a riotous frolic. Some vagrant little children were cleaning up the mess, collecting empty beer cans and plastic water bottles in garbage bags to later exchange for change. It seemed like a topsy-turvy world where the kids are the adults and vice versa. Brazilians say they live the best life in Bahia because it's a party all year round, but I wonder if maybe they carouse often to forget the hardness of life. An adorable toothless elderly lady was twisting up and down with her samba moves, happily amusing herself. Up and down she writhed with the other dancers, lowering her butt to the ground then bouncing back up to the lyrics, “Ceu, chao, ceu, chao. (to the sky to the ground, to the sky to the ground.” Apparently, one is never too old to celebrate life here. I noticed there was an old man watching me. He smiled and inquired, “Voce e uma gringa? (Are you a gringa?).” I nodded, reluctantly. Locals often spot me as a foreigner because of my blonde hair and inability to samba like a local. He asked me if I liked Bahia and I assured him it was my favorite part of Brazil. He was humored and commented, "Na Bahia, nos não somos com Cristo Redentor, mas somos com abraços abertos." This means that while they don’t have a statue with open arms like in Rio (Christ the Redeemer), in Salvador the people all have their arms open to welcome people. At night, I went to Pelourinho where most of Salvador's four hundred Catholic churches were constructed. Walking through the old town is like going back in time to old Portugal with all its colonial architecture. The smell of fried fast food Acarajé lingers everywhere. Brought by slaves from West Africa, it is a local delicacy made from beans and deep fried in dendê oil (Brazilian palm oil). The famous African drumming band Olodum was making its rounds with crowds of roisterers following in its wake. I tailed the band as it snaked through the antique part of the city, cavorting along with other locals and tourists. Salvador, Bahia is known to Brazilians as the cultural heart of the nation. It is no wonder that my love for the country began there. Few other places in the world can serve as a living metaphor to syncretism with its endless mix of cultures, races, religions and philosophies. Bahia is a place that moves me, haunts me in a way. Its long misty beaches that stretch for miles in each direction are sublime with a magical energy and mystical essence, as if the presence of ghostly spirits drift in the whispers of the wind-blown coco palms, or in the caresses of its dewy hazes. Bahia swallows me up when I visit and it’s always hard to leave. It’s like a lucid kaleidoscopic dream that stays with you forever in waking and in sleep. I will always return.