[EN] Waters in dispute. Waters that advocate for life, not death. Forest of waters. Salvador is not just a city on land. Salvador is aqueous; most of its population came by sea, and still live from, and devote themselves tothe sea. 

17 Nov. – And there I was, sitting in an airplane with a card that my son gave to me before flying – a sea monster/deity with great splashing qualities. Reading The Dialectic Is in the Sea by Beatriz Nascimiento, translated for the first time into English, reminded me of Eu so Atlantica and Orí, and the many nuances and resonances that translation misses. 

18 Nov. – My first immersion in Salvador’s Sea. Coming out of the water with a nosebleed, then stung by a bee. A couple sitting next to me looks at me and asks me when the last time I swam in Brazilian waters. I answer: One night in Rio de Janeiro in 2000 when a congregation of Baianas, arriving at night to a beach we were sitting at, called me into the water and blessed me. A blessing for the [health] challenges to come. ‘In this water you cannot just dive as you arrive’ they say. I return, I remember; I stand by the edge of the water, gently, salute these waters and ask for their blessing, before immersing myself in joy. 

27 Nov. – There was once a shell, made of many shells together, tortuous, troubled, but also holding, embracing themselves together – three shells in one. Glued together, not letting go. This was the shell that Nega, leader of the Quilombo Bananeiras, picked up from the beach and shared with me when our visit to Ilha de Maré, in la Bahia de Todos os Santos was coming to an end.

Fishermen/women colony. Next to the water, at the feet of the House of Iemanjá, orixá that protects sailors, orixá of salty waters, mother of all mothers. Iemanjá, queen of the sea in the words of Maria Bethania. The leyend of a caramuru by the tupi population from the XVi century, arriving to the shores – when the Portuguese vessel that founded Cachoeira naufrago. Rio Vermelho, fishing shore before the arrival of the African population, afterwards turning into a Quilombo of rebelled enslaved. Water blessed, sacred entity, indigenous waters, black waters, waters in dispute – in rebellion. All these worlds passed by Iemanja’s hands who every 2 February received thousands, mothers and daughters bringing their offerings and presents. ‘A Santa-orixa vai pelas aguas’ tells us Cibele Bonfim while we stare at the reflection of the fisher boats, of the tables where the fish are cleaned every morning and Iemanja’s statue in the water. Mosaico artista Ed. Ribeiro around all walls of the house.

With these watery presences and otherworldly beauty, we head towards Acarajé da Cira. 

Female orixás are usually termed iabás. Three iabás are the ones more closely related to Tororo, known as well as the Bacia do Oxum, Nanã and Iemanjá. Oxum is the deity related to water movement and therefore fecundity. Rules the sweet waters: rivers, fountains, lakes. Nanã is associated with the earth, soil, lama, riverbeds, mangroves. Is considered the eldest orixá. These three deities are related to ties of creation, of water energies.

We arrive to listen to Oludum, a Bloco founded on 25 April 1979 derived from the ioruba olodumare: god of gods. When living in São Paulo I remember listening Moreno Veloso ‘s newest song playin on the streets: Vejam o Bloco Olodum ao passer na Avenida / Todos cantando felizes de bem com a vida […]. Oludum, founded as an African Block (Bloco Afro), brought Pelourinho and its community visibility. It was an area of the before not allowed to participate as a bloco in the carnival. ‘Varias Queixas’ – song we will also hear later when returning from Ilha de Maré. Music, music music – sonic landscapes, movement, dance. Embodiment, black joy, joy. 

Dona Maria, the grandmother of Gustavo, welcomes us to her home. There is a Quintal, full of medicinal herbs and other plants. Hidden in the concrete floor, a lid to the last remaining source of underground sweet water in the neighbourhood. Before being heavily built and populated, Dona Maria’s house was one of few in an open landscape of creeks heading towards the sea. Beautifully, it still today serves the community and nurtures all healing plants that live in the quintal (see glossary).

This place I was so much looking forward to visiting.I've listened to songs, poems, and words about it. An incredible special lagoon with white dunes and sacred waters in the middle of the city. "Abaeté" comes from the tupi term abaîté, meaning"terror, horror". It is a reference to the fact of the lagoon being considered a ghostly place. The indigenous legend tells that É Abaeté was a Morubixaba (líder, chefe da tribo) taken to the water by Uiara (Mãe d'Água) to the lagoon floor, and since then voices can be heard coming from the water. 

Area of environmental protection now, Abaeté is sacred to Candomblé. One can see remains of presents – animal bones, ceramics amongst others - left over. Water is warm. I step in – then back, realising that no one else does. As contas are being washed in these waters. The Ganhaderias do Itapuã - lavadeiras – that have inhabited this place are now displaced to a building at the edge of the lagoa’s waters. "De manhã cedo, se uma lavadeira / Vai lavar roupa no Abaeté/ Vai-se benzendo porque diz que ouve / ouve a zoada do batucajé". ("Batucajé" é uma dança profana ao som de tambores). Sweet waters. Dark waters, shining white and orange dunes. Green waters that according to Diosmar Filho from Iyaleta shared while drinking coconut water by the edge of the lagoa are also because water can’t breathe. Water should be going further up, down because of extraction and pollution. 

Busto da Mãe Gilda

Sculpture from 2014 in honour of Ialorixá Gildásia dos Santos e Santos – Mãe Gilda de Ogum. A symbol of resistance and affirmation of African religions and practices once the terreiro Ylê Axé Abassá de Ogum was invaded and vandalised by another religion. Part of the ‘Struggle against religious intolerance’ Mae Gilda protested, and fought for rights of black people and Itapua.

Mae Gilda’s bust was vandalised in the week of our visit, during the celebrations of Salvador as ‘black city.’

Sitting in the brilliant blues, whites and colours of Pelourinho, and an interior covered in gold moulds, I want to stay with the sound of atabaques atabaques atabaques, cantoras, and dance – candomblé - inside a catholic church from XVIII century. An extremely emotional mass, which finished with a blessed bread in my hands. 

We sit, listen, stay with the music, the clapping, the overwhelming joy at Bar do Cruz do Pascoal overlooking the port and the waters of Bahia de Todos os Santos at night, and with Largo de Pelourinho and the square where auctions and executions of enslaved peoples took place. In 1888, Brazil was the last country in the Western Hemisphere to abolish slavery. But as in other regions of the world, its legacy still lingers. Pelourinho, now a place of resistance, and celebration of life.

We drive outside of the city of Salvador northwards. In the car Joao Rodrigo Araujo Santana, social sciences researcher. Once we arrive in São Francisco do Conde Naiane Pinto (former Quilombo inhabitant) and Seu Zé do Guaiamum, quilombola welcome us in Seu Ze's mangrove/quintal. Blue crabs, seeds of dendé, a former oil extraction place turned into a living and celebratory life quintal. 

We walk, eat cacao freshly taken down from its palm tree, peal dendé seeds – those from which all is cooked, admire Seu Ze’s watery collections of shells with Tv’s and watches, and play with Seu Ze’s dogs while trying to avoid the constant leftovers of the oil extraction industry sleeping under our feet. Dona Ana, quilombola, couldn’t welcome us as she was not around, she was lecturing with Movimentos Pescadores e Pescadoras artesanais do Brasil. There are no words to describe Seu Ze. He’s brought us so much joy and admiration, to all.

In San Francisco do Conde we eat Moqueca de siriri, shrimps and seafood before driving to Rua do Cais, where the ruins of the first agriculture school in Latin America can be seen (Imperial Escola da Bahia). This is also the place of the first resettlement after the first attempt of removal of the Quilombo Dom João. A small shrine to Iemanjá by the water of the river, and a ramp that slips into the water from where we listened with our buddhist cuenco. With the help of Seu Ze we reach the water. Water was beautifully calm, sounding softly and endlessly – João also tried and was so soft. Back in the car he tells me how surprised he is that we are not coming to take data, as any social scientist does, but to engage in listening and affective dialogue, something unusual for him when visitors come to the Quilombo. We end the dance dancing, releasing and celebrating with the music of Pivoman. 

The hardest experience of all, still lingering and making my chest tight when returning to this day, to what we listened to, observed and felt. Arriving at Praia de São Tomé, we take a boat called 'varias queixas' to Ilha da Maré. Boat passes by the Marinha do Brasil (presidential house), Base naval de Aratu, TEGAL, CODEBA (gas), Ultracargo, Museo de Recôncavo Wanderley PInho (former plantation), soya grain storage. 

Historically Ilha de Maré is one of the three islands part of Salvador and that evokes processes of colonial violence, where multiple enslaved were brought to work in the sugar engenhos of this part of the recôncavo, passing through the discovery of oil in 1941 that Wagner shared with us, and the later construction of the Aratu port in the 1970’s. 

We walk the mangrove, shells all over the ground framing the story of a priest who invaded land to have a ‘therapy’ clinic and was later removed by the community. Graffiti of an oil extraction company with a grey cloud approaching kids. The Tibetan Cuenco could barely make any sound. Was heavy, sad, opaque, laborious. 

We sat by a mangrove and listened to the hardest stories of the immersion so far. Luiz tells me the story of how grandparents escaped the plantation on the other side of the water when the tide was low and came to hide in the ‘mangrove of patience’ that sits in the centre of the island and is of almost impossible access. Patience to get in, patience to remain there to not be found by enslaved owners. Coconut and banana sweets wrapped in banana leaves after enjoying a shellfish moqueca. Fisher community, mostly shellfish and fish, and working with caña brava. Women find sururu in the mangroves. The mangroves provide their living. There is one school with a room by the fishermen association where art therapy lessons take place.  

On our return, heavy cargo ships along the opposite bay. We all sit silently. 

Since 1960, a market where the people of the Reconcavo sells what cultivates, and where people from Salvador come to buy. We walk around mountains of dry yellow shrimps, red dried shrimps, orange dry shrimp for the vatapas, pasties acarajes etc. Bottles and bottles of dendé oil, hanging from wooden shelves in multiple layers. 

We buy dry palm, coloured textiles. Gaia buys lotions: Alfazema como purificadora, harmonizadora – for the present tomorrow she says.

Church sitting in the Itapagipe bay that until the XXc was not part of the city of Salvador. Symbol of the luso-brazilian history of Salvador and the afro-Brazilian syncretism. A piece of Portugal in Bahia – a white church with its rococo façade, surrounded by palm trees and colourful fitinhas. Bahia for many is a fitinha do Bomfim tied to one’s hand. Originated in the early XIX century, they were as long as the right arm of the statue of the senhor do Bomfim: 47cm and made in cotton (today polyester and x cm long). Growing up and then living in São Paulo I had always one around my wrist, after 3 knots and waiting for it to fade.

We tie our fitinhas, head next door to a candomblé shop and buy soaps for cleansing.

Capoeira and Candomblé songs, for so much time persecuted, and resisted through codes – as the white flag and signaled a terreiro. If in Bahia there are more than 365 churches – still counting, in the metropolitan area of Salvador there are more than 1200 candomblé terreiros. An entrance that reminds me of home. Banana trees, palms, a white courtyard, people walking around with white linen clothes, with colares de contas and the smell of goiaba, mango, banana, papaia – they will later sing and dance for the ritual of the day.  We are welcome warmly by Iakerere Sandra Bispo de Iyemoja – the priestess below Baba Pescê. I can see Iemanjá in you she says – I will never forget that face expression, will never forget her eyes looking at me. 

We walk through the house of the terreiro, all white and all open – its doors and windows, paper fitinhas everywhere. We are taken to the sweet water fountain of Oxun that still today is used to do all the cleaning. Miraculously not polluted by the river that was canalised just below – now road Av Vasco da Gama. We leave with contas – me with Oxum and Iemanjá. 

Interior contour of the Baia de Todos-os-Santos, a fertile land of former sugar engenhos and fazendas. Smooth hills, oil lines. Cachoeira heroica Monumento Nacional; heroic for its struggles and fights.

We take a boat down river. On one side the river’s mouth, encountering the sea of the Baia de todos os santos. On the other, a dam; strangled waters. The river, Paraguacu, which brought colonisation inland, and allowed transport of sugar and tobacco during the XVIII and XIX c. A ruinous iron bridge imported from England crosses the river. 

It is our last day, time to be grateful and say farewell. Time for our offering. Unsure of what to do we start weaving a palm net that we will later offer the Paraguacu river. We immerse and submerge ourselves in its waters, in the middle of the river while the tide is coming up. We swim, smile, laugh. We headed down towards Iemanja’s shrine; a place where sweet waters – Oxum – meets sea waters – Iemanjá. Place where presents are to be left. Gaia has bought yellow flowers – she offers hers. Unsure if proper, Felipe and I weave a ‘crown’ of palm fibres and yellow flowers. We offer it, bring it down to the water and see it being welcomed by the water currents. We all sit silently – I feel grateful, and emotional. 

We return to Cachoeira. We eat Maniçoba: guisado de folha de mandioca, triturada, em carnes fortes. A dream finally fulfilled. Later drive by Santo Amaro da Purificação at night. 

To finish a recipe – our daily food, Baia’s soul. And drums – more drums. Those that resemble Ponum of Saint Maarten, Bomba of Puerto Rico, Cake Dance of Grenadines, Gwo Ka of Guadeloupe and Martiniqe, Tambú in Curacao, Bèlè, quadrille and kumina in Jamaica, …bullerengue, currulao, cumbia, champeta ….

It is music, sound, drums, resonance, voices, collective – we sing, we dance, we. 

Moqueca; a recipe illustrated by Elena Landinez; Colombian living in Salvador, friend of Cibele and Gaia.