Barefoot in a church hall in Edinburgh’s west end, I am trying my best to appear invisible. I am standing on the edge of a circle and in the middle two toned, tanned Brazilian men are sparring with each other. One makes a graceful sweep through the air with his leg, barely missing his opponent’s face. The other retaliates by throwing himself headfirst into a cartwheel, legs flying over his partner ’s torso in a burst of muscle and raw adrenaline. On the opposite side of the circle, a man and a woman dressed in white are banging out frantic beats on African drums and tambourines. The people next to me are leaning forward to watch the fight, sucking in their breath as the moves get faster, more agile, more dangerous. As I watch the men in the middle ducking to the ground, jabbing at each other with elbows and knees, I feel my own legs wobbling at the thought of what is about to happen next. Once they have finished fighting, I am going to have to step into that circle.
No, I have not joined a gang, and this isn’t some kind of strange street-style rite of passage. I am one of the beginners at a meeting of Group Senzala Scotland, an Edinburgh-run capoeira club. Capoeira, for those not in the know, is a Brazilian martial art form that blends acrobatics and dance with pounding African rhythms. It’s what the two men in red and white are doing in the
BBC link, shot on a London rooftop. A Nokia advert also featured two graceful capoeiristas play-fighting on a beach and last year, both Ocean’s Twelve and Meet the Fockers included capoeira scenes.
Capoeira, like its country of origin, is extremely hot right now. Its popularity in Europe is at an all-time high, with more clubs than ever before, and Scotland hasn’t missed out on the trend.
“Two years ago, nobody in Edinburgh even knew what capoeira meant,” says Carlos Figueira, who started learning when he was six years old. Born in Rio de Janeiro, he moved to Edinburgh when he was nine, and is one of Group Senzala’s longest-standing members. “Now new members join us all the time. In the last year or so things have really taken off.”
Pedro Gatuno, who runs Group Senzala and also hails from Rio, thinks it’s because capoeira is so different to anything people may have tried before.
“It’s really difficult to put a label on it. Part of it is fighting, part of it is artistic expression. It appeals to some for the music and others for the fitness element. The fact that Brazil is such a fashionable destination at the moment has also helped a lot.” Gatuno’s classes at Dance Base sell out within days and demand for beginners’ lessons is so high he plans to expand into new premises and introduce children-only workshops in the summer.
Capoeira began in Brazil more than 500 years ago, when African slaves developed moves to fight back against their oppressors. Some managed to escape their masters and fled to the countryside where they lived in small villages known as quilombos. Within these makeshift communities, the African slaves ate, danced and sang together, gathering in a roda, or circle, and making music by beating out rhythms on the berimbau — a hollow gourd with a giant string bow attached — and the atabaque — a large, tall drum.
Realising they needed to protect themselves against attack from armed Dutch and Portuguese colonialists, the slaves developed a rudimentary fighting style — capoeira. With no weapons, the slaves relied on their hands and feet for defence.
After slavery was abolished, many Africans moved to Salvador da Bahia where street gangs and criminals gave capoeira a bad name. It was banned in Brazil in 1892 and forced to move underground and evolve, with the moves disguised as dancing.The ban was eventually lifted in the 1920s and by 1930, Brazil opened its first capoeira school. Now there are clubs all over the world. It continues to evolve and the head-spinning moves and kicks form the basis of break-dancing.
For a barefoot beginner like myself, watching today’s capoeira experts mixing well-oiled, gravity-cheating, silent cartwheels and backflips with powerful kicks and lunges leaves me slack-jawed in admiration.
When performed properly, capoeiristas weave in and out of each other’s movements with the strength of a gymnast and the grace of a ballet dancer. They shouldn’t actually fight; the idea is to “play” with the opponent, trying to outwit them and predict their next move.
The fight I have been watching comes to an end and the players step aside, sweat dribbling off their lean muscles. (Conversations in the girl’s changing room reveal that tanned Brazilian instructors and their lean muscles are a big part of the appeal, but officially, we’re all here to learn a new art form.) Somebody on the edge of the roda stretches out his hand towards me. He is inviting me to have a jogo, or game. I make a slightly clumsy cartwheel into the middle and we’re off. It’s absolutely terrifying, but I pull off a few very simple kicks and manage to squat down every time a bare foot flies in my direction. Two minutes later, I’m buzzing with pride as I take my place again at the edge of the circle.
“Once you’ve been into the roda a few times, you get addicted,” says Rosie Taylor, who has been coming to capoeira for more than two years. The 25-year-old pilates instructor attends classes four times a week, and at Christmas, travelled to Rio to train for a month with Mestre Gato, an internationally respected capoeira teacher, and Gatuno’s father.
When Taylor describes the rush of adrenaline she gets before stepping into the roda, I tell her I feel nothing but raw fear.
“But you can’t let it intimidate you,” chips in Figueira, who reckons a lot of Scottish people are put off by the idea of performing in front of the group. “You can’t think about what you are, you have to think about what you will become.”
I have to admit that the group is very welcoming to new recruits, and my roda partner was deliberately gentle.
“You don’t want beginners going away feeling really annoyed that they can’t do it straight away,” says Gatuno. “It takes a long time to learn. I always try and teach novices a simple move so they feel they are making progress.”
Clova Jurk is one of the beginners at the Dance Base class I have been attending for the last eight weeks. Like me, she left her first class with blistered feet and aching muscles.
“I really hurt after the first class and found it pretty difficult. I wasn’t very co-ordinated but it definitely gets easier with time,” says the 22-year-old, who works as a diver at Deep Sea World. She decided to try capoeira after seeing the BBC advert.
“I had tried lots of dance classes such as salsa, jive and Highland dancing but I liked the idea that this was totally different. In other dances, you learn choreographed moves with a partner, but with capoeira you make up your own style and go at your own pace.”
By the end of class, the soles of my feet feel red raw. I know I will have to attend for a few years before I can achieve the acrobatic arcs and gymnastic precision of the pros, but I definitely feel I have been bitten by the capoeira bug.
I ask Gatuno what other Senzala meetings I can attend to brush up in between my lessons. Taylor gives me a knowing smile. “If I miss a class now, I feel like I’m going crazy. Coming along and playing is like my therapy. Capoeira feeds my soul. I’d go so far as saying I actually couldn’t live without it.”
Capoeira classes take place in Albion Street, Glasgow, and at Dance Base and Walpole Hall, Edinburgh. For details visit www.senzalascotland.com, or contact Pedro Gatuno on 07951 716 540 or at gatunocapoeira@hotmail.com
