Boxed out!

The last time I got braid extensions, I cried!

I was 18, about to go to Uni, and I wanted a hairstyle I could manage without the help of my Gran. So why the tears? Well, (and I still feel pathetic admitting it, but) it was because my Mum and Granma decided to go Bad Cop/Bad Cop on me and ridicule my choice of hairstyle!

They made it very clear that no self-respecting, style-conscious young woman would be seen dead in the outdated, childish style of braids I wanted.  You see I wanted single, not too thick, box braids à la Brandy back in day. Unfortunately my mum and gran insisted on canerow braids à la Alicia Keys. Nothing wrong with that style but NOT want I wanted.  According to them my hair was way too thick for box braids, I have to add too much synthetic hair to my own and I'd end up looking stupid. Just the kinda encouragement you need for when you're about to move away from home!  The humiliation and frustration of supposedly being an adult and not being allowed a say on how I looked broke me that day, hence the waterworks.

                    

                        Brandy circa sometime in the 1990's -
                        What I wanted, minus the burnt ends   

 The style I was strong armed into getting -
Alicia Keys.

 

I hated the braids. They were thick, heavy and I couldn't style them the way I wanted to.  Not surprisingly they only lasted 2 weeks before I took them out and swore never to go there again!


Fast forward 11 years and....I finally went back there, a month ago. As the Queen of my Samba School (EXCITING HUH!! But more about that in a later post) I was having the most amazingly, beautiful costume made for me for Notting Hill Carnival.  The designer wanted big, long hair to go with his eye popping creation!  Hmmmm, up cropped dilemma one. If you've read my Phony or not to phony post, you'll know I prefer not wear hair pieces when I dance, and as you're now fully aware, the last time I had any hair like appendages attached to my own, the experience is not littered with fond memories.  What, to, do?

Do as you're told and OBEY, that's what!

You only get to be the Queen of my Samba school once and Notting Hill is our biggest event, so you goes hard, or you damn well goes home! Besides, I fancied a change, and bum length box braids were one hell of a change!

Reflections of a "Gringa Passista"

Hi gang.


I started writing this to you a right after the PARADE OF MY LIFETIME. But then life got in the way, Rio de Janeiro turned CRAZY in anticipation of the World Cup, and so it's only now that I'm sharing this with you. On my last night in Rio*.

On THE NIGHT! photo courtesy of Emily Ainsworth

Arriving here back in October, my mission was clear - to live the life of a Passista (samba dancer). If I didn't get in to parade with a samba school from the Grupo Especial (Special Group), I would at least go to their rehearsals and try to improve to increase my chances of one day being accepted. My ambitions were lofty, but the stars aligned and Unidos da Vila Isabel (my first choice) accepted me, and I started to live and love it. In fact, it's a Saturday night, two and a half months have passed, and I'm still getting my head around the fact that I don't need to start gathering my Show Things together for another night of sambão at the Vila Isabel quadra.

I know what you all want to know: how was the parade? How was it? You started learning samba when you were 19 and 10 years later you're parading with a samba school in the SPECIAL GROUP in Rio de Janeiro's SAMBADROME! Was it amazing? Was it? WAS IT???


In a word... No.

But, would I do it all over again?
In a freakin heartbeat.

Wait, wut?

The Chronicles of a “Gringa” Passista ptII

Vila Isabel in the Sambadrome from 2012

Guys, I am exhausted.

These past couple of weeks, I have mostly been not sleeping.

I am teaching English here in Rio, which I enjoy very much, but irregular working hours to coincide with students' regular working hours means lots of travelling, useless hours missing from my day and very little time for effective daytime napping.

But mostly to blame is samba. Carnaval is soon approaching and boy don't we know it. Before Christmas, rehearsals were Wednesday and Saturdays. Now there has now been a Sunday rehearsal added into the mix. Last week, Tuesday evening was for rehearsing in Sapucai, aka the Sambadrome aka the passarela (catwalk). The hallowed Avenida that sambistas sing about all year round in the run up to this one time of year they are able to show the world what they've got. They are able to be whoever they want to be. The Avenida is where dreams are made, and in my case, come true.

Edson, the Director of the Passistas 

So one Sunday after a street rehearsal (my favourite kind), the Director Edson (left) told us all we needed to be at the Sambadrome at 19:00 in our blue and white to practice with the bateria (drumsssss). I don't know if you know, but dancing with a bateria is maybe one of my favourite things to do in the whole world. And I was about to practice with this school I loved, on the same ground I've seen from the stands and on YouTube and on pirate Carnaval DVDs. And when I stepped onto it in my heels, I felt overcome with emotion and pride.

Fancy Feet

Fresh from the Quadra (base) of Vila Isabel samba school yesterday night (25th January), here she is, Miss Karla-Jayne Thomas working her magic.

Video by Orquidea Lima Felgueiras

Very, very proud girl! Wish I could be there to watch you at Carnaval!


Kanika xx

Phony or not to phony?

 To phony or not to phony?  This is a question that as a part time samba dancer I've asked myself several times.

Dunno what I'm on about. I’ll show you.  What do these beautiful Brazilian passistas have in common?

Lovely, lovely passistas (blackwomenofbrazil.com)

They’re all wearing itsy bitsy shiny bikinis, have the same megawatt smiles, but hang on one cotton picking minute! You there! I say, Miss Blue there’s something different about you! Its....its.....Bingo! It’s the hair. You‘re not sporting the same luscious hair as the others.  

For many passistas ‘Megahair': long, flowing, ultra feminine hair, usually loosely curled, is part of the look and hair flicking, a compulsory part of any self respecting mulata’s choreography. You don’t often see passistas sporting natural afro’s like Clara Paixao, who I featured last month in Carnaval carry on. Those who don’t naturally possess Megahair, fake it, turning to Brazilian blow outs, weaves, wigs, extensions and straighteners, and then, there’s the phony pony. 

Being the centre of the samba world, Brazil dictates samba fashion.  So if the samba gods decree female dancers be decked with flowing manes of hair, then so it shall be, and most female dancers obey this command. But not I. 

When I dance, I never straighten my hair or never wear it out.  I have my natural hair in protective styles like twists, tied back or pinned out of the way (like below mini twists, pinned back), and here’s why.

Me at Coburg Samba Festival 2012, Germany 
(Noriega Photographics)

1.     It’s easy ‘n’ fuss free...ish.

2.   When you samba you sweat! You could be wearing a samba bikini outdoors in 7˚C London (yes I’ve done that before), and after a couple of minutes you're perspiring in places you never knew had sweat glands.  Think about that next time you want to hug up close to a passista 'n' get your picture, mwhaha! Freshly straightened hair wouldn’t stand a chance, sweating out sooner than you can say ‘afro’.  

3.   Samba dancers wear elaborate headdresses that are secured tightly onto our heads.  They might look stunning, but after a while your skull feels like it’s being crushed and your hair’s the only thing providing any cushioning.  Us passista’s have to suffer a little for our art!