Lagos locals fear annual carnival's links to Brazilian past are being lost
Streets of Nigeria’s commercial hub to fill on Saturday for annual party – the legacy of slave descendants who returned to their ancestral homeland
A reveller at the Lagos carnival in 2010. Photograph: Akintunde Akinleye /Reuters
Monica Mark in Lagos
Friday 8 May 201508.50 EDTLast modified on Friday 8 May 201519.00 EDT
Before he died earlier this year, 86-year-old great-grandfather Mr Ibaru decided he had finally had enough of Lagos’ annual carnival. “It’s become boring,” grumbled the fine-boned man with a halo of white hair, tapping his cane impatiently. “When our forefathers used to do it – that was real dancing! And we had better costumes before.”
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A group take part in the Lagos carnival. Photograph: KeystoneUSA-ZUM/Rex
When Ibaru began sewing outfits for the parades seven decades ago, the festival was closer to its origins in 19th-century rural Brazil. The annual street party arrived in Lagos via freed slaves’ descendants who returned to their ancestral homeland, including Ibaru’s own grandmother. “On the streets everyone here spoke Portuguese and ate Brazilian food,” he recalled, sitting beneath a bronze plaque of an ox’s head – the symbol of the folk festival which was transplanted to
Nigeria.
On Saturday the streets of Nigeria’s commercial capital will fill for the annual Lagos carnival, the biggest and brightest in west Africa. Carnivals across the region are just one way in which tens of thousands of Brazilian – and to a lesser extent Cuban – repatriates left their mark on a crescent of
nationsstretching from
Sierra Leone to Nigeria. But in Lagos, some in the community fear fragile links to the past are in danger of being lost.
Brazil was the last country to abolish slavery, but had a thriving class of artisans, a jumble of those had worked their way to freedom, were of various mixed races, or were born free. Many began arriving to seek their fortunes in Nigeria at the turn of the 19th century; by 1880, almost a decade before Brazil abolished slavery, their numbers had swelled to almost one in 10 of Lagos’ approximately 40,000 inhabitants.
Outside Ibaru’s peeling yellow veranda in Lagos’ Campos district, a visitor might be forgiven for thinking they had stepped onto the streets of colonial-era Brazil: pastel-coloured houses in the distinctive Afro-Brazilian style dot the neighbourhood like bright sweets dropped amid the concrete and skyscrapers.
Mr Ibaru, pictured in Lagos before he died earlier this year, bemoaned the fact that young people were losing touch with their history. Photograph: Monica Mark for the Guardian
“Salvador, Peiro, Cruz, Veracruz, Ferreira, dos Santos,” said resident Graciano Martins, 65, rattling off the typically Brazilian surnames of his neighbours in the district also known as “popo aguda” – roughly translated as “the Brazilian quarters”.
“My parents used to talk about the food – they missed the food. Today we think of tomato, chilli and cassava as our own homegrown food, but it was [the returnees] that brought them here.” Unofficial national dishes such as eba – cassava mashed to a dough-like consistency – were adapted from the Americas, much like the English did with tea grown in India.
Those who returned came with skills and knowledge that helped make colonial
Lagos a buzzing melting pot and trade hub: the city was the second in the world to have street lamps, after London; a returnee who introduced piped water became one of the region’s richest men – the grand two-storey home where he lived known as Water House still stands among skyscrapers downtown; and novel ideas like Catholicism were introduced.
“There was a lot of prestige in coming back. They had money, but they would always be third- or even fourth-class citizens if they remained in Brazil,” said Sesu Tilley-Gyado, director of African Heritage Group, a foundation which last year exhibited rare photographs of Brazilian and Cuban returnees. They included an 1896 Time magazine cover showing “the league of Creole gentlemen” bedecked in Victorian-era finery.
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Drummers of the Brazilian Campos Carretta Carnival Association entertain crowds in Lagos. Photograph: Pius Utomi Ekpei/AFP/Getty Images
“They wanted to help build a new world, a new Lagos. Because they were coming with money and exposure to Europeans, but also, with African heritage, they were accepted by both sides. It’s similar to what’s going on now, with many from the diaspora coming back to try to contribute to the development of the motherland,” added Tilley-Gyado, whose great-great-uncle, Oshodi Tapa, made several trips to Cuba and Brazil at the behest of the indigenous royal family, beginning in the 1830s, to encourage skilled freedmen to repatriate.
But historical links are at risk of being erased. Preservation often falls to the wayside in a frantic megacity of 21m where
4,000 newcomers pour in every day, while some have changed their Lusophone names for fear of being labelled as descendants of slaves.
“They left us a beautiful heritage and we should be proud of it,” said Olusegun Faustinho Daniel, who heads the 50-odd members of a recently-formed union, the Nigerian Descendants of Brazilians, which wants the rundown Campos area to have protected status.
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Traditional dance groups march in the carnival in Lagos last year. Photograph: Anadolu Agency/Getty Images
“This entire area where they stationed the returnees was all swamp before,” he said, indicating the nearby lagoon after which the Portuguese christened the city. “But they were industrious. They said, ‘We can deal with this small thing.’ If they could do that, then we can protect what they left for us,” he continued, pointing out a nearby towering church built in their distinctive style.
Still, much of the job remains in the hands of a diminishing community of elders. One afternoon shortly before he died, Ibaru called in his 33-year-old niece. He first recounted a story of how he had once met a Brazilian tourist wandering the neighbourhood, then he asked his niece to recite the family lineage going back to Brazil. She fumbled through the list under his increasingly unimpressed gaze.
“Young people don’t have any sense of history,” he sighed, rolling his eyes when she eventually stuttered to a halt.
http://www.theguardian.com/world/20...val-forgotten-links-to-brazilian-past-nigeria