As taken from a recent posting the Hoya, one of many Georgetown’s student-run publication in an issue that came out in the past week:
It all starts with the commercials. At every interval between segments of your favorite telenovela on Globo, which has to be Brazil’s most popular television network, a round, almost cherubic face appears on the screen, emphatically singing the samba-enredo, or the annual theme song for a particular samba school. Over the next thirty seconds, you marvel at the stark contrast of his toothy, white grin and his dark, gleaming skin as his plump body expertly two-steps to the rhythm of the samba, all while continuing to sing the samba-enredo with unparalleled enhusiasm and almost religious fervor. The camera then smoothly transitions over to the radiant passistas, or Carnaval dancers, as they effortlessly samba in five-inch heels and show off for the camera, passionately pleading with their coy winks and swaying hips for the viewers to rally behind their school at this year’s competition at the world-famous Sambódromo da Marquês de Sapucaí. Though the clips may become a bit cheesy and repetitive after a while, they are essential for planting the seed of Carnaval into your mind.
And then, like dandelions in spring, you begin to realize how Carnaval is all around you. The time that you used to set aside for a slothful session of sunbathing is abruptly sharply interrupted by the thunder of the bateria, or drums, of samba schools practicing on the beach and appreciative squeals and singing of enraptured onlookers. Your leisurely weekend walks on Avenida Atlântica in Copacabana are punctuated by avid spokesmen for nearby churches, feverishly thrusting pamphlets into your hands that urge you turn your life over to the Lord as soon as possible (aka, before Carnaval); and when you walk by and see people drinking, dancing, and passing out condoms in the streets in broad daylight, the answer suddenly becomes clear.
It is all because Carnaval is a time to let go…of everything. Your worries, your time, and maybe even your morals. Your senses and your desires take over. You see, you taste, and most importantly, you feel. It is pure decadence. And when millions of Brazilians and foreigners are doing all of this feeling at the same time, all sorts of madness is bound to occur. It is because nothing matters anymore. You can drink until you fall over, kiss anyone who makes eye contact with you for more than five seconds, and be the person that you were always so afraid to be. Nobody cares. It is freedom.
However, knowing very well that too much freedom could prove to be somewhat disastrous for me, especially after already having spent the past three months on vacation in here in Rio de Janeiro, I decided to put a semblance of structure and purpose back into my life by perfecting my samba and joining a samba school. Since September I have been taking samba classes at my gym in the form of Samba Fit. My lovely professor, Carla Campos, the brain behind Samba Fit who has taught the class in various countries and has worked with many celebrities here in Brazil, helped me to transform from a blundering gringo that merely stumped out the counts of the music to what many have called a pretty decent passista all in the course of months. Once she told me that she had been named as the rainha de bateria, or Queen of the Drums, for the samba school GRES Unidos da Vila Rica in Copacabana, and that it was looking for people to parade on the last official day of Carnaval, I absolutely jumped at the opportunity.
During the months of January and February, I attended the weekly ensaios, or practices, on Copacabana beach. I won’t deny that I was extremely timid at first to dance in front of all the people that attended these events, especially because I was very self conscious of how I didn’t initially get all of the cues from the music and nor did I know the words to the songs that it seems that all Brazilians have stored in hearts. But, through making a point to frequent samba club, my feet started to loosen up and I gradually became more at ease. I even began to sing along. Each time that I went out to dance, I felt more and more prepared for Carnaval.
That notwithstanding, days before the parade, my nerves would strike as I anxiously thought about that fateful Tuesday evening when I would have to falar no pé—to speak on my feet, or simply, to samba—in front of dozens of strangers. And the fact that I wasn’t going to dance in the Sambódromo, but a rather small section of commercial strip in near Madureira, a neighborhood located in the northern zone of Rio de Janeiro, somewhat intensified the feeling because I knew that it would be a more intimate experience. Would they be able to tell that I wasn’t, indeed, Brazilian? Would they cover their mouths and giggle as I passed by?
Well, if they did, then I believe that was one of their rare cases where people were laughing with me and not at me because I was having one of the times of my life. Of course, as with any great event there had to be at least some drama. A half-hour before Vila Rica’s performance, it began to rain hard. Really, really hard. It continued for well over an hour. Yet even while cold and shivering, although the rain succeeded in preventing the first samba school from parading in time, it did not succeed in taking away our intensity. We came out fiery, chanting our samba-enredo and frenetically dancing to the bateria with all the energy that we could muster. A gust of energy blew in from somewhere, perhaps from deep within our hearts, as we smiled, frolicked, and appealed to the crowds and the judges. It all went by so quickly. What really took over twenty minutes passed by in what seemed like five. I came from it trembling with adrenaline. It was a rush like no other.
Now that I think about it, it would be accurate to describe the whole Carnaval experience as one big rush of energy, excitement, and emotion. It does so much for the people that partake it. For example, it is perhaps the only time when you can see people that live in favelas on TV for something other than crime, which is quite unfortunate once you realize that these residents are quite literally the hearts and souls of the entire celebration. Carnaval is the only time of the year when even the poorest of the poor can be looked on as kings and queens, even if only for a few days. I have felt extremely lucky to have the chance to bear witness to this: to live and breathe Carnaval, to live and breathe Brazil.
Some people say that being in Carnaval is pretty much a once in a lifetime experience for a foreigner, but once just isn’t enough for me. It can only get better every time. So, I’ve already resolved that I’m going to do all that I can to do it all over again because while I was in the parade, I did a samba that I’d never done before: one that truly came from within.
