A well worn snakeskin and folded Brazilian flag lay nestled aside a large mound of wild tobacco on a brilliant, red silk cloth which is laid on the wicker floor. Pairs of hands hover over the pile, breaking up the tobacco leaves which smell sweet of earth; kind of like moist dirt and chocolate.
An indigenous man with long black hair and a crown of blue feathers strokes his long stringy beard and mustache, deep in thought. He wears beads of wood and seeds around his neck and begins to split slivers of wood with a machete to prepare a fire for the ritual.
Another man wearing red feathers lights a stick of incense and the rich, delicious smoke permeates the small room. An intimate crowd of sixteen people sit on the floor around the red cloth and the growing pile of fire wood.
We take turns breaking up the tobacco
It is my first day back in Rio de Janeiro since the completion of the FlutuArte project last summer. My plane touched down this morning and my friend Perola greeted me with hug that had grown with interest every day we spent apart. We had a lunch and caught up on each other’s lives and then decided to come to this place where indigenous Brazilians are living in Praça da Bandeira, Rio de Janeiro. They live simply in tents inside this massive gorgeous building from the 1700’s with tremendous ceilings. This building serves as living space, community space, and a place for teaching and learning ritual and other indigenous practices.
They have lived in this building for the last ten years and now with the approaching World Cup in 2014 and the Olympics in 2016 they have been given an eviction notice. The government wants to tear down the historical building to replace it, and them, with a parking lot to facilitate the impending crowds. Deplorable.
The indigenous man speaks with a bold tone and says that through this ritual we will connect to the great spirit and to the seven directions of the universe. He lights the fire. Placing a large metal pot on the burgeoning flames he explains that he is making the substance Rapé, a very fine powder of tobacco (basically snuff) which is meant to cleanse your perception, stimulate your mind and center your thoughts. He puts handfuls of the tobacco into the pot and cooks it until it’s crunchy and dry. Then he drops the tobacco into a large vat and uses the blunted end of a large stick to crush and grind it over and over again until he is left with a very fine, deep brown powder.
Woman administering Rapé by blowing it up the nostrils
A woman fills a vial with the powder and brings it to me. She reveals a contraption made up of two tubes and string that is used to blow the powder up the nose. She instructs me to close my throat and breathe in when she blows into the tube. “Seems like it could hurt.” I think.
She scoops a copious amount of the power into one of the tubes. I plug one nostril and close my eyes. She puts one tube into my open nostril and blows. I feel the rush of stinging powder that hits me intensely between the eyebrows setting my nasal passage on fire. It is so overwhelming that I can do nothing but sit there, with my eyes clenched closed, waiting for the awful sensation to pass. Burning. Stinging. Bitter. Finally it does and I peek out from inside my eyelids. The woman is still there and waiting to do the other side. I wait a moment, loathing the idea of having wild tobacco powder blown up my other nostril. But I need to finish the job or it wont be even so we do the other side and it’s no better than the first time and at the end of it all my eyes are running like a waterfall and I can taste the bitter powder in the back of my throat. My new clarity tells me that I don’t need to try Rapé again for awhile.
I am very happy to be back in Rio and looking forward to spending more time with artists, fishermen and shaman. Tomorrow Perola and I will source materials and begin to plan for our upcoming interactive street art project in NYC called 13 portals. We have a lot of painting to do.
I will write more on my recent time in Haiti soon.
If you are interested in learning more about this group of indigenous people, or to help them fight for their home visit: Aldeia Maracanå
The shaman gives me a henna-style tattoo