Uma cerimonia de catinbó

Even as an outsider to the religion, I have no qualms about saying that it was the most powerful religious experience that I have ever witnessed.

Catinbó is one of the many religions that are practiced here in Brazil. Though known to be a predominantly Catholic country, for it was colonized by the Portuguese after all, I find it both very interesting and very refreshing to see so much religious tolerance in a part of the world where many people like to stick to the books, so to speak.

Though I’m afraid to try to assume complete authority over this religion that I am hardly familiar with, I believe that I learned enough to give you a basic idea of what it is and its history. Everything else, you can check out for yourself on Google. Catinbó shares many similarities with both the candomblé and Umbanda religions which have been here in Brazil since the 16th century, when African slaves were first brought by European settlers to work the land, though its roots can be traced all the way back to Africa. It is primarily a monotheistic religion, with the supreme being Olodumare (in the case of the ceremony that I went to, though He may be called by other names depending on the tradition) and other lesser entities, called orixá, whom embody various elements of nature. As its practice was initially banned by the Portuguese, who sought to convert the African slaves into good faith-abiding Catholics, the slaves, with their great ingenuity, devised a way to continue to practice their native religions through the guise of Catholicism. Through a process called syncretism, in which the African orixás are synchronized with well-known Catholic saints, such as Iemanjá with “Our Lady of the Seafaring” and Oxossi with Saint Sebastian, the religion remained intact and indeed flourished as time went on.

In the beginning of the ceremony, there was a sort of baptism that took place, in which a few people knelt before a figurine of Iemanjá as the second zeladora/mãe de santos, head priestess, performed a ritual over their heads with a lit candle whose flame never went out. Then, the batuque, or percussion music, begins as the filhos de santos, or children of the Saints, began to dance. As they danced, people began to sing in both Portuguese and the Yoruba language, words of praise to the particular orixás that were being worshiped at the time. Without any warning and hardly any other provocation other than the songs, the spirits would “descend” and then the filhos de santos would “incorporate” them. Once incorporated, they would then dance, shout, and perform gestures that are normally associated with that particular entity.

This part of ceremony is what candomblé is, rather notoriously, known for because you might see people falling to ground, dancing wildly, crying, or rolling their eyes to the backs of their heads: it is not for the faint of heart. I, however, wasn’t affected very much by this. As my family is Pentecostal, I’ve seen many a person fall to the ground, receive the Holy Ghost, speak in tongues, and the like. But I’ve never before seen anything like this. At the end of the ceremony, when good positive energy could be felt all around, the child-spirits descended and the filhos de santos began to well, act like children. To outsiders, it must have been crazy to see adults playing with stuffed animals, playing with their hair, whining in high-pitched voices, and jumping up and down, but I thought there couldn’t be a better way to end such an intense demonstration of faith, well except for the feast that was served later (which was by far the best-tasting food I’ve had thus far in Brazil, maybe because it was home-cooked by people that knew what they were doing). I always say that if you see a round, smiling Baiana dressed in a frilly white dress, then you know that a great meal is going to be served.

This ceremony definitely goes down as one of those things in life that I will never forget. The energy, the drums, the cries, the eyes, the clapping…it was kind of an out-of-body experience for me. I didn’t have to understand the Yoruba or even the Portuguese to know that what was unfolding before me was something very real and sacred. Religion isn’t something to be afraid of. Even if you don’t practice a particular religion, that does not impede you from participating in the overall experience and realizing that even if that religion and its beliefs are not exactly real to you, they are undeniably real to somebody else, and that is always to be respected. I feel very lucky to have had the opportunity to see the ceremony. I thank Professor Michael Ferreira (Georgetown University) and his family, for sharing this vital part of their lives with me.

(Below you will find some random pictures and videos of the ceremony)

Candomblé
Candomblé II