 |
| Obakoso Rehearsal - YK Photo |
Dripping in sweat, I’m lying flat on the floor with my arms
stretched out in front of me along with other students in a sort of prostration
to the drums. The heavy bass of the surdo drum vibrates through the floor and
through my being. It’s the end of an
Afro Brasilian dance class and my face hurts from smiling. As my forehead rests lightly against the
floor, I recollect my first encounters with this music, with these rhythms, a
style that I haven’t danced in many years.
I was living in Japan when Brasil gently collided into my
life. It was February and a colleague
had taken me to a carnaval celebration outside of Tokyo in Kawasaki-shi. There were several performances comprised of large
groups of women and men adorned in colorful sequins, feathers and beads. The entire room seemed to be spinning in a loud
boisterous eruption of rhythm. I was soon intertwined into a gorgeous texture
of sound that weaved a pulsating energy through the cavity of my chest. It was entirely intoxicating and it wasn’t
long before I too was jumping up and down, swaying side to side, laughing in
abandon and joining in a lyrical shout along w/ the crowd: “Água
água água
mineral, água mineral….você vai ficar legal!”
I wondered where this had been my entire life.
I was approached by several young men who, looking at me,
spoke to me in Portuguese. Looking at
them, I tried to communicate back in Japanese.
They were Brasilian born Japanese and Portuguese was their first
language. I explained that I spoke Japanese, but that English was my first
language, which made for quite a humorous moment of cross cultural confusion on
all sides.
I had no idea what profound impact that evening would have
on my life. It was the first time I
experienced live Brasilian music. It was one of my first experiences with the
music and dance of the African Diaspora. Throughout the rest of my time in
Japan, I found myself sort of immersed and embraced within a Brasilian ex-pat
community. This meant that I learned to dance Samba do pé and Afoxé. I learned to dearly love and appreciate the
roots of the music. I stumbled upon the life force known as Oxóssi as I learned
to make moqueca de peixe. I learned that
in fact everything tastes better when fried in that thick dark reddish dendê
oil. I would return home speaking almost as much Portuguese as I did Japanese.
 |
| Teaching dance workshops on a return trip to Japan |
That February outing in a suburb of Tokyo illuminated and altered
the trajectory of my life in many ways. I became impassioned to embark upon
piecing together the disparate parts of my identity as I came to recognize and
embrace the beauty and diversity of the African Diaspora in the Americas and
its artistic expression. I would eventually make several emotionally charged
trips to Brasil, Cuba and Haiti. I would find myself in a sort of spiritual
repatriation, walking with purpose on a journey that likely began lifetimes
ago. I would come to find solace through the voices that echo from beneath the
water, from behind the mirror…echoes reminding me that I’ll never again be
broken, even when illusion makes my surroundings appear as shattered.
This morning’s class was like a celebration, a reunion with
the infectious joy that ignites my heart.
Embedded in my muscle memory, the vernacular of movement held my body
like a glove. I think I genuinely laughed for the first time in a long time. I
was at a loss for words really, flooded and uplifted in gratitude and memory. I
was without a script. I really didn’t even follow the choreography, as it wasn’t
necessary.
Speechless.
This morning, I just danced from my heart.
 |
| Photo Inspiration - Omi Olorun |
