leaving Itapua

Gantois, uma vez mais…festaramos Iroko, Iewa, Ossain e Oxumare

Sleeping at E’s. October 23
Thursday evening after the opening, Tracy and I shared a friend’s apartment. She was on a short trip out of town. Her life was, is in flux as she begins a period of redefinition. This new spot, a sublet was serene and tender a perfect refuge for someone in between experiences.

I found enough of her other existence in evidence to create the appropriate snuggle up cozy feeling. Tracy took the bed, and I the sofa cum floor. The sofa was a little too tight and the latter a bit hard, but I could freely toss and thrash about. As usual in a new sleeping space I slept poorly and awoke early. We had an abbreviated breakfast and I set out for the bus to Cachoeira. I made my connections without a hitch, and you know the rest since this entry is a flashback from previous entries. FAST FORWARD….

I ran into several Yield signs this time in Cachoeira, including the fact that I did not have my own keys to Francisca’s apartment. After missing a connection with the bus let me back off at the Rodoviaria, Sunday evening. I made my way to the Engenho Velho/Federação bus to attend my final ceremony at Gantois. I had left an email with Zeno, so I was not sure that we would connect this time. I had to be mindful that I might need to find a room at midnight if there were any glitches.


I grabbed a seat on the crowded bleachers to park myself and my gear. I reflected on how much had happened over these last couple of months, since my first ceremony in August. I had altered my sense of the environment and my relationship to it. I had enough sense to decode aspects of what was occurring before me. Once more I felt comfortably alien as the service began. The repetitive and meditatory nature of the Bainas gathering energy and spirits in their Reza de Roda, intoning praises to each Orixá, choreographing the essence of each deity was now familiar in the way it both lulled my conscious mind and incited my spirit. Often the ceremonies are dedicated to one major Orixá, though each one always gets their due and honorifics. Ancillary Orixá, Nana the mother of Omulu may be fêted on his day to strengthen the power and presence of Omulu in the Terreiro.

Tonight Iroko, Iewa, Ossain and Oxumare were being engaged.

Iroko- A major figure in the Candomblé of Salvador, represented by the tree of the same name, alternatively the Strangler Fig or Ceiba. The seeds of the Iroko take flight and alight in the boughs of their hosts, strangling them to begin their own life. Often they leave a sacred room where the host had once been. Iroko is the tree that grows from heaven into the earth, in opposition to the cycle of every other tree. An archetype of time, symbolic of a person who is rigorous, malicious, and open in their views, imbued with graciousness and an empathic heart.

Iewa-Is synonomous with Iemanja. She is that manifestation of Iemanja that lives in the foam of the rushing breakers. She is effervescent, connoting change and flux.

Ossain-is the divinity of leaves, medicines and the liturgy. He brings power through the leaves, sun and rain to heal and share with those who understand his gifts.

Oxumaré-Father to both Nanã e Obaluaiye,(or Omulu),the spirit of mobility and activities, the one who directs movement.

Ossain and Oxumare were presented in several of their manifestations. They had golden, green, brilliant hued costumes, staffs, crowns and powerful. The mounted and costumed celebrants filled the room with more than fifteen Orixá giving praise, humbling themselves and dancing in tempo to the Atabaque. The food I saw was simple, some sweets and fruit. I did not stay through to the end of the ceremony. Late in the evening I looked out the window and saw Zeno heading up the hill towards his car. I called to him, and we went home together. We had our final discussion of place and spirit. He related to me some of the details of the ceremony at Castro Alves last week that had honored the tenth anniversary of his mother, Mae Cleusa. We discussed my work, and his attempts to arrange an interview with the woman who is the Chef of Gantois. That would have to happen on my next visit. The spiritual season was in full swing, so he was overloaded and spirited.

I slept in, a little too late. By the time we left the house in the morning it was nearly eleven. I watched João ham it up for my camera as I ate my café da manha while Zeno showered. He had found a tender spot in my heart. I knew that in all likelihood based upon his age, I would be a stranger upon my return to his world. Youth and aging have so many parallels.

Zeno dropped me off at a Federação bus stop on his way to the Terreiro. I missed both of the ferries I was shooting for. I had made arrangements to have lunch at Sacatar and meet the new fellows. The twelve thirty Lancha arrived at Mar Grande close to one forty and I encountered my first female moto tax driver, Mery. It seemed appropriate that one of the last trips would be unique. She was careful and quick. I felt comfortable enough to shoot some pics from my perch in the rear. I made sure that Luis took her name and number, she could be a good contact for some of the fellows, especially this new crop of women fellows.

Hivebee

I was immediately swarmed and information was drained like a Vulcan Mind Meld. This time there were six fellows and one had a collaborator who was staying in Salvador. Film, photography and writing were the disciplines. I was quite impressed with the group. They appeared to have created some strong primary bonds from the jump. I was glad to share what knowledge I had. They were all curious about the Eguns. It seems that Halloween, Day of the Dead has resonance for them as well. Within 20 minutes I was exhausted and famished. Slowly they went to their studios and left me in the courtyard, hungry. Something was off in this scene. Michelle the writer and journalist had continued to engage me after the others had departed. Out of the corner of my consciousness I saw and felt the presence of the team from Capoeira União. Good. One of my main reasons for coming back to Sacatar was to officially say goodbye to Augusto and Luis, but mainly to try and connect to Junior. He really had my heart and my second attention. Now as I write this, two weeks later he still is in my mind several times a day. I want so much for him to find a way through the loss of his mom and what could be a poor, working class existence. He has so much to offer.I hope that he can keep moving on; move forward or in place until he can find himself.

Flashback: Farol da Barra

I arrived at the bar after Tracy did. He was fully engaged with my homeys when I arrived from the TVE –São Joaquim interview. My last night with Bia and Giovana seemed as fun and fresh as our first meeting months ago. We all met, Tracy too at the 24/7 seaside bar next to Barraca de Dinha in Rio Vermelho for cocktails and Acarajé. Boiled Peanut, roasted cashew and grilled cheese on a stick vendors happened by in addition to some panhandlers all looking for our Reals. Giovana bought a Pu-Pu platter of Abarrá and Acarajé to share.


Bia wanted to take us to an opening, of one of their dear friends. I cannot recall her name right now, but the show was engaging. Not what I expected and that’s a good thing. The gallery was inside the Colonial lighthouse of Porto da Barra. I had passed it many times, meandering through the neighborhood. Though I had never had had the desire to climb the stair and check into the nautical museum. After I had scoped out the show, which was a fascinating statement on waste, I went to find a toilet. The bathrooms shared the floor with the observation deck. The sentries needn’t have left their posts for long.


I was mesmerized nestled myself just inside one of the turrets. Time was elastic standing under a slit of a moon, with beachfront floods casting sterile, white shadows on surf & sand, as the flickering fistfuls of light beams splashed across the murky waves. I vacillated between centuries, free associating myself as a colonial sentry, a landscape oil-painter, a 21st century Coast Guardsman, tourist, dignitary or photographer. Pre-Edison I knew that the Portuguese or the Brazilians must have had mirrors and torches where we are so electric. I was all of them, all of those time periods for a flicker of time.


Returning to the gallery, I dug a bit deeper into the show. The artist had made a discipline of walking, swimming and diving along the coast, scavenging the detritus, forgotten and rejected by other people. She had packaged every piece of garbage in plastic with a label as if it a consumer good for sale in Wal-Mart or the local mall. Everything was plastic, brilliant primary colors, mangled or worn. She later said that everything here represented floaters. She dove for the things that sink, metal, glass, certain woods and furniture. The beach had always been an inspiration for her. Prior to this chapter she said that she had absorbed the landscape, the elements, birds, fish and sounds in a more traditional way. Now she reacted to it, in deference to responding to it.

Carrosa to the other side of town.

On Friday at the Irmandade, Valmi had suggested that I come back Saturday at ten to go with him to Mae Filinha’s house to see the cooking process. Everyone in Salvador had said that they were sure they would be serving Caruru. Valmi told me that she requested Feijoada. There was said to be no significance or metaphor in the choice of Feijoada, they did not have to feed Orixa, just honor Filinha’s wishes for her 105th birthday.

When I arrived just past ten the next morning Reunis was the Sister on duty. She came in while we were talking, Valmi, two of his four daughters and me. She changed into a lovely saia of red lace with a typical white lace blouse and head wrap. She has a wide, round face and tender eyes. Her gaze always suggests a tolerance and empathy for all of those people who cross her path. She greeted me, by saying,” Se chama uma pessoa atençao. Cada feo tem sua simpatico e cada bom tem sua elegante.” Attentive people see that we each have an ugly side that asks for sympathy and a good side that exudes elegance. A morning thought that would, or should have helped me later.

Valmi left me with Reunis and he went to get the carrosa or mule driven wagon. They intended to transport a refrigerator over to Filinha’s to store overflow food and drink for the party. He came back shortly, and suggested that I get a cab or motor scooter taxi to follow him. “Não podemos ir comjunto?" I asked. I wanted to ride in the cart. He loved that side of me. Twice he jumped off the cart, grabbed my camera and jogged ahead or stayed behind to make a photo-op with me as the focus. We fall in well together.

We probably could have ruptured our bladders riding in the cart over the cobblestones across town, but it was good, honest fun. Valmi introduced me to one Filinha’s daughters and sons and left to help with the Caravana da Musica e Deportes that was coming to town with Daniela Mercury. I took a seat in the open air Terreiro and began observing how unique and beautiful it was. Three middle aged black women were already sitting alongside me on the same bench . One of them had been introduced to me in the street just outside of the house. She had a kind face and elephantine calves. A pretty powder blue headwrap and matching dress, fitted at the bust and ample below to keep her hips under cover.


The other two started speaking at me in hushed tones, immediately. They were probing me to see how much Portuguese I spoke and understood. They wanted to converse about me, in front of my face. Not very pretty. What they did share were their names, Ayesha and Eunidis. They were both from the area near Feiras de Santana. Allegedly a powerful community with interesting terreiros, some of which were administered Gays and Bi’s. They were neither.


They had a vengeful look that worked its way into my skin like a slow cigarette burn to the groin. They needed to know if I had been made. “Está feito, voce? Acho que nao. Pois, estava vendo suas contas, e são mau feito pra voce. Quem jogou pra voce? I see your beads, they were not well chosen for you, who threw the cowries for you?"


Ele deve ser Iansa. Sim, estou do acordo. Iansa e Ogum, não pode ser Xango, e tampoco Iemanja. Sinto que não estava quebrada de cabesa.” Sim, de verdade. Tem razão. I wasn’t sure if I should answer their entreaties or play dumb. What can these folks see, really?" I put 2 and 7 together and realized that they must both be Mae’s de Santo. I didn’t conclude then that they were also Senhoras do Boa Morte. The conversation continued on like root canal without anasthesthia.


They were from the Casa Nago Viuduese, (no Jeje) . They both had Iansa. One carried Iemanja, and the other Ogum. The third woman , dressed in blue had been quiet up to now. She interjected that she also had Iemanja and Oxum. Sparks flew between them, in what seemed like a clinical vivisection of Scott.

Maruzia, Caol, Igor and TVE

Quinta Feira, 16:30 and counting.......

Luis had let me know that TVE was interested in interviewing me regarding my work on Afro-Baiano Cuisine back in mid September. He had thought that the connection would be a good one for me. Now it is nearly the end of October. Every week we play phone & e-tag with a new round of dates. How many times will we change the date? Some of the dates they have suggested are for after my departure. Mosaico was anal with details, and scripts. These folks just need me to be available. First we planned to be in a restaurant, just as before. Again I chose Feijão de Alaide, in the Pelourinho.


I spoke to one of Alaide’s cooks and tentatively set it up. Nope. That won’t do, we want to shoot at São Joaquim. Another cancelled date with Alaide, burn that bridge.

We are working without a script or outline. If I have a question, they suggest I email them. I like improv…yet, I also like a thread of substance too. I chose a final date, last Friday that wasn’t at an ideal time. I could live with it. Thursday evening I planned to meet Tracy, Ana Bia and Giovana for drinks at the bar next to Acarjé de Dinha in Rio Vermelho. Then Wednesday, they want to change to Thursday, even though it conflicts with my schedule. Bia & Giovana said that it was important and I should do it, we could rearrange our meeting.

I sent jpegs to each of them and to Tracy so that they could identify each other. I arrived at Sao Joaquim in a fast cab and proceeded to wait for nearly an hour. Caught in a NY neurotic spasm, I am not quite Baiano I guess.

Seeing Analia: Vivaldo redux--Lion in a kettle

Arriving back to Cachoeira Friday afternoon, I kept finding broken phone booths. On a whim, I walked to Francisca’s apartment/studio and Itamaraci was home waiting for me. I dropped my things and walked over to the Irmandade. I found Mae Analia & Valmi, the glue or maybe Ops director there. Valmi was the fulcrum in the education project that Francisca and I had discussed. We laughed a bit, catching up on all of our escapades.

I remembered to give Analia greetings from Luis Antonio and Vivaldo. She smiled and thanked me. Immediately she went into a personal Vivaldo reverie. “Ele e profundo e essential!--He taught me what I am singing. I know the songs, I learned the words when I was young. Listen, can you sing it?”…….She sang a few sacred songs and then told me how he shared that this song brought Xango into the room, or summoned Ogum to come listen to their requests. You will find what you are seeking with him.
Everyone has a story about Vivaldo. Now that I have met him, it is as if another door has opened. His power and knowledge are revered and his contributions to the culture are invaluable according to all. Analia said it is hard to keep knowledge inside your head, especially details. He has it all.

One colleague mentioned a spat over a parking space that endured longer than they thought it should have. Mistakes happen. Though, strong willed people can boil quickly. Another echoed previous sentiments of how much of a touchstone he is. I was in good hands.

He had been surprised how quickly I had found Analia e Filinha. You Americans he intoned……

Back in the Irmandade, Analia hit me up for some money for dinner. I guess this will pay for ingredients for the dish she promised to make when I come over Sunday morning. She wasn’t sure if she would be at the birthday party for Mae Filinha, maybe. I have sensed that like any club or group there are allegiances and petty jealousies. She hugged me and left to shop for dinner.

Cookin’ at Ilê Ayé-

I was not sure what the nature of their Culinary Program was like. Last month during my interview with Vovo, the director of Ilê Ayé, he had suggested that I come observe it. I packed that away with my things to do when I am staying in Salvador. I guessed that it might be a vocationally based program, training the prep crew and ancillary employees as opposed to developing a cadre of cooks and chefs. Other than the fact that it was community based for Liberdade residents, how did it compare with the intensive program at Senac? I had been impressed with how comprehensive and affordable Senac’s program was.

Recently, several people including Beto at Pariaso had spoken well of it. I decided to do it before I left for Cachoeira. There were two sessions per day, 8:00-12:00 and 1:00-5:00. I decided to go on Tuesday after my morning errands. I would shoot to get there as close to one o’clock as possible. I arrived at 1:30 PM and asked for Gelson, one of Vovo’s assistants. He informed me that the teacher needed more warning, even if I was just observing. And he needed to reconfirm my authority to observe with Vovo. “How about tomorrow? 9:30?” “Sim, está bom, Escotch.” “Então, até amanha!” Kind of a bummer, but ok.

I was mixed into Gelton’s Welcome to Ilê Ayé Tour Group, until the culinary administrator, Elizete; Vovo’s Sister in Law could be located. The culinary classroom was appropriately clinical, all white tile and stainless steel, white smocks and hairnets. I learned that in addition to a Culinary Teacher they also had a Nutritionist on site.

Students first learned some general history of the development of man as a species, leading up to his alimentation. The course covered all aspects of cooking, not just Baian foods. Decoration and visual display of prepared foods was also stressed. I heard that aesthetics were important to, since we eat with our eyes. I knew that banquet service was an integral aspect of both home and professional kitchens. I guessed that banquet work was probably a key avenue to employment.

The term was twenty weeks, twenty hours per week, no more than 20 students per class, between 17-24 years old. Students were selected from the community, bright young lights, recommended by teachers, church leaders and community organizations. Tuition was free if you were accepted. During my brief orientation to the program, Elizete said, that If three students stick with it, graduate and find work, then she is happy. We agreed that regardless of the outcome, the discipline, continuity, effort and knowledge involved with culinary education would inform their lives and career choices.
Today’s class prepared a whole baked fish, Amarella. It was accompanied by Rice, Molho de Pimenta, Farofa and salad. I guessed that the Nutritionist tried to inject some healthy alternatives to the popular fried foods and rich meats inherent in the local cuisine. While the fish was cooking part of the class began to prep tomorrow’s lesson. They simmered a whole octopus and cleaned shrimp for the seafood Mariscada and cut okra for Caruru.

The gender ratio of the group was 2 young men: 17 young women. I asked Elizete about this skew, since I already knew that women had a real glass ceiling in the local food scene. Truthfully, one boy was a pretty boy and scared of his shadow, while the other might not have been breathing.

She acknowledged that finding employment was tough for women, really hard for all students. But, the boys would find work. The girls often worked for small Mom & Pop operations, started their own cottage businesses or became better home cooks. I asked her if she was familiar with the Incubator project in the center of the state that gave intensive and comprehensive training to women in Candy Making with local fruits, allowing them to come away with a home based business. She knew of it, but it was one dimensional. She trained for all phases of culinary work.
I shut my mouth, gratefully took the plate I was offered and sat down at her desk to have lunch with her. The meal was good. Elizete asked me to say a few words to the students regarding what I had observed. I thanked them, asked briefly about their motivations to study cooking and applauded their efforts.