The beginning of Goodbyes

Time tough. In a recent email, Danny suggested that I had the pre-Saudade Saudade in reference to a statement I had made regarding my displeasure over my imminent departure. Yeas, a deep, and moanful blue(s). Melancholia nervosa. I have many, many thoughts of this place I have begun to know, Baia do Todos Santos; Cachoeira, Itaparica & Salvador. I feel like my feet have sprouted interstitial root hairs, looking for a place to take hold, grow and come into flower.

It is by no means perfect. The poverty is omnipresent. But the culture and the manera de ser of the people is transcendent. As almas da gente da aqui, têm um sol reflechindo ao mundo. Que beleza; beleza. The soul of the people holds a sunshine reflecting out to the world. How beautiful; beauty.

Coming and leaving. I have looked up several times randomly and realize that I have found myself in places where I had began this journey. First, it was coming back to Rua Doutor João Ponde e Edificio: Paul Cezanne with Kathy and Tracy. The same apartment that Michele and I had rented in July and August.

Originally, I had planned to take a trip and travel to another region to see a new view and gather information from another point of reference. I am glad I stayed local. More things became evident as I became more and more familiar with Salvador. It may be a street corner that comes up out of nowhere, or a concerted effort to reconnect and say goodbye to a new colleague or budding friendship.

I had asked Danny what if anything did he need to be brought back to NYC? All he wanted as Valdina’s Pemba. A special chalkish powder. She harvests it once a year in late May or early June. It is dried and ground fine. Then it is used as an aspect of ritual practice.

I had decided to try and nail down all of the stuffs that I needed to bring home before I left for Cachoeira on Friday morning. I also thought that it would be a good idea to go to Tanuri Junçara, Valdina’s Terreiro. We had never managed to coordinate my visit during my residency. The Terreiro was close to her house in Engenho Velho de Federacao. Wednesday’s and Thursday’s they were open to the public.

I had had a full morning already running between Dois de Julho for an interview, Liberdade, Sao Joaquim and Mercado Modelo before coming to Federacao. I got the wrong cabbie from the Mercado. When I told him where I thought it was, he acknowledged that he knew where to go. To insure success, I borrowed his cell to call Tracy. He was able to give me the exact address that I had in my computer, Rua Apolinário Santana, #146. I looked down to check my notebook for something and then I saw that he went into the wrong part of the neighborhood. We had previously discussed where to enter this large district. At the next traffic jam, I jumped out and threw 10 reals in his lap, discounting money for his mistake.

Walking down the main avenue I passed a Manicure-Terreiro combo business. I guess you have to know that you can pay the rent. I asked a few blocks later and was asked which one of the three major Terreiros’ just ahead did I want? This group of women was not familiar with the name I had given, or my pronunciation of it. Then, one woman stepped forward from the group I had stopped and she said she had an idea. She pointed, explaining the location and landmarks to me before I continued on down the hill.

At the first doorway, she appeared again, and dissuaded me from ringing the bell. Let’s try the next one, she said. Suddenly, I had a partner. I knew already that the third one was Bodum, Urania’s Terreiro, so I was confident that middle choice would be Tanuri.

The heavy wooden door opened up to a large courtyard and driveway with a large, old tree in the middle of it, (memories of my Norwalk home). A carved, wooden plaque, was painted in primary colors: Terreiro Tanuri Junçara. The yard was ringed by a few two story houses and the Barracão or ceremonial room. A boy was folding clothes just inside the open second floor window on my right. I asked him for help and his mother appeared. She said that Valdina was probably at home, but I was free to look around, “Fica vontage a ver o que voce quer.”

I stepped into the dark, squarish room, stacked with chairs and other stored items which suggested that they were in between ceremonies. A large image of Yemanja was the only décor. As I walked back into the bright midday sun, a thin, jet colored man appeared to greet me. He had a halting Portuguese that I had to work on to comprehend. He led me to each offertory shrine, and each house of Orixa, explaining who was being honored. Since I had never been to a ceremony here, I had not realized that it was Angola or Fon Terreiro, until he explained that if I was Ketu, I would call it this name in Ioruba and if I was Nago-Jeje I would call it that. The layers and interconnections run thick and deep. I took one picture and left to find Valdina.

Ten minutes later, I walked through the back door of the ad hoc thrift shop into the yard that her house shared with half a dozen others. She was home and just as I had found her, at her computer. Her head wrapped in a beautiful coil of fabric. She had a long short sleeved cotton shift, decorated with a bit of lace. Funny she said, after we embraced. I had just returned your email, when you walked in.

We talked for a bit about my research, and she invited me to a Palestra, she called an Abara. I guessed that they borrowed the name of the steamed amalgam of ground black-eyed peas, ginger, Dende and grated onion wrapped and cooked in a banana leaf as a metaphor of the joining of ideas involved with culture, politics and food. Unfortunately, it would occur while I as in Cachoeira.

I sensed in this conversation how she was renewing her invitation of welcome to her community and culture. We laughed together when I asked for the Pemba. She told me that everyone who comes from NY to Salvador is required to bring back Pemba for Danny. He’s gotta have it. Shrewd dog. She wished me well and we both looked forward to my return.

This time I found a cab who knew how to get to where I was going. When I walked up the ramp to the driveway of Paul Cezanne at 3:00 PM, Henrique, Tracy and Kathy were anxiously waiting for me. I ran up, grabbed my things, shut down my computer and said goodbye to this oasis. Henrique dropped me and my stuff at Zeno’s and took Kathy to the airport. I had to switch gears and go back downtown to São Joaquim and meet the TVE crew for my interview on connections between African-American and Afro-Baian foods. Time was tight.

remake remodel

Today I had some time with V. We had arranged a day in his library situated on the second floor above his house. Henrique drove me to the house in his cab. The traffic was light, possibly due to the bank workers strike and little money in the street. We got there early, just after 8:30. Henrique split and I sat on a low cement wall reading my GRE book for thirty minutes waiting for nine A.M.


I was lead into the living room, greeted Mrs. and given some cool water to drink. He came in shortly afterwords and we spoke briefly. He shared the Sunday food section with me and then he probed me for details. “Did I realize that I would need to have an adequate bibliography of Brazilian Culinary Books to begin my work with? I could supplement it with titles of similar significance from Portugal or Africa.”
He cautioned me about the delicacy of his health and stamina. “Now we can begin.”

We discussed regionality in Brazilian cooking and I made the error of paraphrasing a previous statement, substituting “typical” for regional. I quickly learned the etymology of typical, type, to typos from the Greek. I also realized how tiptoeing through word mine fields might become a necessity. Tread lightly, but with assurance.


We ran between an old fashioned apprenticeship, light banter, questions of intent, rootedness and jazz. He adored Chet Baker, among others. We both had a strong taste for Opera, Blues and African music. Some of that would unfold later.


The library was accessed by an external wrap around stair. There were windows on two sides. Full bookcases, mostly the gunmetal painted steel jobs seen in supply offices and medical equipment closets filled every wall. More books were stacked across three wooden tables. Within in moments of putting down his cane, he was picking up book after book and detailing key aspects of the story offered in each.


I was bringing my chair closer to his, looking over titles from Senegal to Goa. New stacks were growing. I wished then that I had taped this time. He moved so quickly for someone who truly did not seem as well as he could be, so animated, in the zone that I was taken aback when he stood up and suddenly seemed wounded.


I checked myself for a moment, had I miss stepped, spoken out of turn…?.Hmm. No. Now he barked about medicine and pain. I needed to have more empathy, for him in his situation. He got me with a low blow. I could be accused of being so high from the previous moments that I had pushed his limits. I was quite anxious now, since I really did not know him more than a few hours. As he turned in the doorway, I called out that I could understand, my father was his age. I didn’t speak of my mom.


It might be the vagaries of ego, too. We all need to be stroked. And as most elders and wise people I have met, academic or otherwise it can be a thorny vine to navigate egos and agendas. Pull it back a little. “Desce!”He called me to descend, and I didn’t want to. It seemed like going downstairs now, might set me into a characterization that was not mine. I asked if I could stay a bit, before I finished he told me, “Fica vontage se voce quiser, eu vou pra meus remedios agora.” Ok, I agreed to stay.


Alone I began to feel guilty. I understood the concept, but I did not truly know the nature or extent of his pain. Thinking that this might be the first and only time with these books, I decided to write notes for ten minutes and leave. Writing,now scribbling scrawl, fast, faster. My eyes darted up and down shelves to locate the gems he had referred to moments earlier. I think I retrieved most of them. I had some remorse. I put down my pad, went to the doorway and found that he had left his cane. I grabbed it and went downstairs.


He didn’t want the cane now. Male patterning; gotta do it myself-I’m ok, I don’t need any help. He reiterated that I could stay alone upstairs. I returned and took a little more time to recount which books required notation. I found him in his library 15 minutes later. He was studying quietly.


He motioned for me to sit, and then handed me an open book. Read this, if you can. It was a well written overview of Afro-Brazilian food written by him years earlier. It put things in order nicely. Once I had finished he told me that soon he would be leaving to run errands and see the doctor. Now is when he described his medical issues in depth. When he finished, I asked if I could call Henrique to come get me.

He thought that I was foolish to take a cab. I concurred and added that I had wanted to make sure that I was prompt for the meetings. I also needed to find where the bus stop was and which buses came closest to his home. He agreed to take me. I said that if he didn’t mind, I could get out at the bus stop. He insisted on driving me home. And also that at our next meeting, I should stay for lunch, planning to work into the afternoon. He gave me a slim volume with a concise history of the cuisine to take home. He also suggested that he could Xerox some articles that were no longer in print for me to keep.


We got up and went into the sitting room. I swear he had transplanted Perry & Nedie Sloane juju all over his sitting room. The art, color schemes, the same coziness, all of it. Just with a Brazilian flair, no Waterbury here. We discussed music in greater depth and we looked through some of the African ethno-musical series he had been an advisor for.


Barbara came in to ask if we needed a drink. I said that I was fine, and he stared at me from the bottom of his glasses. “Pois, se voce quis…-” I trailed off. Yes, he was thirsty. How do I like my Scotch? The eleven A. M. drink should always be neat so you really see right away where you are going. He apologized for not offering me Bourbon. I truly did prefer Scotch. I was happy, considering. Our talk became more jocular and rambly. The bell rang but he wasn’t ready to leave. We did have our Scotches, and he was showing me some of his music. The driver waited outside until we were through several minutes later.


We dropped him at a shopping center to run his errands. I was ferried home by Edger. I learned that he had two eight year olds, Junior and Matilda. “Ibeji; -twins I asked?” He mentioned a word I didn’t know. I looked puzzled. He explained that they were two months apart born from different mothers. “Oh..did they know, that you had to bellies pregnant at the same time in 2000?” “Nao, mais tarde. Eu ses disse mais tarde. E agora sim elas falam. Todo e tranquilo.” It was all good now. “Whew that’s a load to bear. But, I guess you know that you are fertile” I said. He smiled, as I opened the car door to leave. We had arrived in front of our building on Joao Ponde.

First Days in Salvador

Arriving at the apartment close to 2AM, we slept heavily for several hours til just after dawn. Then we dozed and woke repeatedly until 10ish. Alain, the agent for the apartment came promptly at noon, full of vinegar and plastic smiles. Bruskly, he recited the details of his life and the needs and responsibilities of the house. Born in Egypt, raised in Syria, lost his virginity in Paris, built a real estate career in L.A. and realized 16 years ago that he needed another kind of life, so now he is doing real estate & property management in Salvador

Quickly, he began cluing us into how to light the stove, wash clothing, use the TV's, access the net,buy bottled water and charge the complementary go-phones. It all came out in such a flurry, I felt as though I should have taken notes or recorded it. In part, I can say we were spent, but as such he could have taken time to insure that we were clear on all aspects of the place. In the end, we had to call and email him several times to fill in the gaps we had missed in this audience. He left in the same whirl that had brought him in.

After we caught our breath, we showered and prepared to change money, get some food, take a walk, buy groceries and check out the neighborhood. From our 18th floor view to the street the air was fresh, like San Francisco Bay, the sun warm and friendly, though not blisteringly hot. On the corner was well stocked fruit & vegetable stand run by a caramel toned man. He sported an stubbled head, gravely voice and a warm smile. After circling the hood a bit, we settled on a local bar restaurant about 2 blocks from home. The Moqueqa de Camarao was good the Cascanha de Siri was decent, but i misunderstood the waiter and ordered Maltbier instead of Pilsner. (Read OE/Old English).After lunch we charged our phones, checked out the beach-full of overtanned hangerson, skimpy suits, a 17th century fort and too many men hawking too many things that weren't on my agenda. We found a BomPreco-the local market chain which embodied both Food Emporium and C-Town.

Shortly thereafter we went back home and collapsed for a much needed deep sleep. We woke up the next day, earlyish and I made some phone calls to solve my new computer problems.....I couldn't access the net and was getting various error messages on the computer. In addition, I began to address some of the folks on the various lists that we had been given too. We found a few, Eneida, Valdina, Zeno to be precise. We decided to check out the Pelourinho and figured out the bus and made our way into town.

Salvador's historic district is divided into Cidade Baixa and Cidade Alta. To access the upper city, there was an express elevator for 5 cents. We got off the elevator in front of a magnificent palatial mansion, which had been the first governor's mansion. Established n the 16 hundreds, and rebuilt in the 19th century. We strolled through the house, shooting pictures and slowly made our way through the main thoroughfare of Pelourinho seeking out history and culture, both Portuguese and African. In the Praca de Se, (Plaza of the Cathedral), we stopped at the Museo de Misericordia, (museum of mercy/compassion). They had an exhibit of recent interpretations of the Orisha in abstract sculpture, textiles and watercolor. Leaving the exhibit we made our way to the second square we were welcomed by 4 women of varying ages dressed as Mae's. I tried to sneak a photo and they caught me. They let me know that a photo cost money, but if i paid them their fee they would give the money to their terreiro. We could have photos taken with them. We sat and talked with them briefly and walked on to explore the square. We found the Museo Afro-Bahiana which had a nice synchretic history of African Art juxtaposed with the spiritual significance and imagery attached to the sculpture, implements and objects that are customary in African exhibits. One of the high points was a nice display of large six foot wooden carvings of the Orishas done 20 years ago or so, by a Frenchman (?) who came and fell in love with the area and the culture. The museum segued into a museum of archaeology and anthro, which displayed artifacts from this area as well as indigenous artifacts from the Amazon. In the end we found a traditional buffet lunch of authentic Bahian fare at tourist pricings. Everything was quite tasty and the second floor setting was quite charming since it overlooked the square. Landing back on the street we were once again accosted by a variety of uniformed and licensed souvenir hawkers offering jewelry, t shirts, and rustic instruments. we pushed through these salesmen and the bevy of tourists to recross the square we found a capoeira demonstration and our 4 friends, seated still in front of another church. I believe this square held 4 churches. We decided to check the alleys and side streets for some of our contacts and found the Olodum drum practice session, a local museum of folk art and the Teatro e Fundacao de Jorge Amado on the site of the Pelourinho Square. Pelourinho means pillory, and this had been the site of slave beatings. The pillory pole is long gone, but many people are in place to cue you into the history. We watched at one of the cities hundred or so Acaraje stands, while a local Mae Santo made acaraje and barra. Feeling tired, we walked back up to the square, where our 4 new friends convinced us to follow them into a large gem dealer and jewelry store. We sat with Inicia and she showed us a variety of stones, gave us a history of gems and the family that had run this establishment for over 30 years. We toured the facility and their modest museum of gems and stone carving before heading back to the elevator and west to Barra.

When we arrived at home, the phone rang, and Eneida, (one of Danny's best friends in Salvador was calling to invite us to her gallery). Michele suggested that we walk, and up the steep hill we went. In the end, the walk was much longer than we had anticipated, and we nearly held Eneida up from her early evening appointment. We did manage to make the connection, see the gallery at ACBEU and enjoy her company for a bit. Back home, we relaxed and I made a simple dinner as we prepared to rest and I tried to understand how to resolve my computer shenanigans.