The Afro-Brazilian martial art capoeira has undergone a remarkable process of globalisation since the 1970s, generating a substantial – though uneven – body of literature. Scholars so far have focused almost exclusively on developments in the US and Europe. Celina de Sá offers the first in-depth study of capoeira in an African context. This is particularly commendable given the African roots of capoeira. The author, the daughter of a Brazilian capoeira master based in California and an experienced practitioner herself, embodies the transnational trajectory of the art form. By combining insider knowledge with extensive fieldwork in Senegal and The Gambia, she has produced a rigorous and insightful study that illuminates capoeira’s ‘return’ to West Africa.
The opening chapters deliver a nuanced analysis of capoeira practice in Senegal, focused on Afreecapoeira, the first group in the country. Although Moctar Ndiaye, its founder from Gorée Island, initially took workshops with a master from Senzala, Afreecapoeira subsequently developed without direct links to one Brazilian group, therefore representing, in the author’s definition, a ‘transnational capoeira’, in contrast to ‘diasporic capoeira’, which refers to schools embedded in Brazilian organizations (41).
De Sá’s ethnographic approach reveals numerous contradictions and ambiguities in the practice of capoeira in West Africa. Despite the widespread perception among practitioners that capoeira originated in Africa, it is not easily accepted by many Senegalese. It can be seen, for instance, as an effeminate or exhibitionist performance, conflicting with Islamic norms of modesty. Capoeira’s spirituality can also provoke fear of cultivating idols.
Through short biographies of core protagonists, the author uncovers unexpected aspects of capoeira’s ‘return’ to Africa. While some of Moctar’s students are Senegalese, most are foreigners, mainly from other Francophone or Lusophone West African countries (such as nearby Guinea Bissau), or white Europeans. Others were born in Senegal, but to foreign parents, which means they often don’t speak Wolof and struggle to be accepted in mainstream society. Many are or have been students at the Cheikh Anta Diop University. What unites practitioners is that capoeira provides a safe space of social interaction where they avoid being discriminated as a ñak (derrogatory Wolof designation for African foreigner). The historical role of Dakar as a colonial capital further compounds ethnic distinctions, combining these with a feeling of superiority over provincials.
Remarkable are the episodes of how capoeiristas adapted local materials, for example making berimbau with local kinkeliba wood, or the fascinating story of how Guinea-Bissauan braiding technique started to be used for grading belts. Here, I would have loved to learn more about how capoeira music is reappropriated, a topic the author explores only occasionally (128).
A central analytical thread is the examination of the persistence of colonial and postcolonial logics within capoeira communities, particularly evident during workshops led by Brazilian masters and their European students, which often resemble forms of ‘roots tourism’. Through the detailed examination of events in Dakar and The Gambia, de Sá highlights the tension between capoeiristas’ claims to a heritage rooted in Black resistance to white oppression and the observable reality in which white practitioners frequently occupy positions of authority, marginalising African participants. Racial hierarchies are thus reproduced within allegedly egalitarian spaces. She calls this behaviour ‘diasporic chauvinism’.
Some readers, particularly those sceptical of decolonial frameworks, may find certain theoretical claims open to debate. In my view, Quijano’s concept of ‘coloniality’ – extensively used by the author – doesn’t contribute to understand the complex history of Islam before, during and after colonialism. Moreover, chapter 4 on spirituality contains several inaccuracies, such as the claim that Muslim Senegambians were at the heart of the Malê Revolt in Bahia (149), or the idea that the etymology of Mandinga pouches is enough to prove that ‘mandinga in capoeira is an embodied and performed iteration of the same divine warrior magic as Muslim amulets’ (166).
From the outset, de Sá conceptualises capoeira as a ‘Black performance’. I don’t want to question the African origins or the art, for which plenty of historical evidence exists, but it’s important to register the prominence of Brazilian nationalist narratives, which, despite any historical evidence, continue to have widespread support among practitioners. Furthermore, to what extent can capoeira still be understood exclusively within a Black performative framework today? Is it not rather a global performance of an originally Black martial art? A comparative perspective drawing on other martial arts, I believe, could further illuminate these issues. If Steven Seagal could run an aikido dojo in Japan, and Brazilian sensei teach BJJ around the world, why should a white mestre not teach the foundations of capoeira Angola in West Africa, where capoeira was unknown until recently?
As de Sá convincingly demonstrates, the manner in which such exchanges happened is of critical importance – in this case, the systematic exclusion of Africans from all positions of power during the workshops and its broadcast on TV. In Brazil, many black masters teach white students, and many white masters teach black students. This seems so normal in Brazil that little research has gone into this question. Celina’s book may well change that. A minor but notable limitation of the book is the omission of page numbers in most references, which hinders precise engagement with the author’s sources. Notwithstanding these minor points, this is a thoroughly researched and pioneering contribution to the field which capoeira scholars and all readers concerned with diasporic relations should read.
