With time to kill before my first ever Capoeira class at Cambridge Dance Complex, I wandered around 'da square in search of some sustinence for my growling belly. I spotted a bright yellow advertisement for a weekly Farmer's Market nearby. So I frolicked in hopes of finding some local, fresh, pesticide and hormone free deliciousness. Upon further frolicking I landed near one of the last remaining stands at the market and met Farmer Al, a small Jamaican man, whose crow claws around the eyes suggests a lifetime of laughs, sprinkled with tears. He smiled those big "Caribbean smiles" you see in the Jamaica commercials. He spoke to me like an old friend and offered advice and funny jokes. "Your passport to the world is your knowledge, young lady." Along with boxes of lettuce, fresh garlic and thyme for sale, Farmer Al also had copies of his book. "Farmer Al's Seeds of Wisdom". We chatted for a while and before I left Farmer Al handed me a flower and a copy of his book, "To Marly, best wishes. Farmer Al '06", he signed. When I tried to object on account of my brokeness, he wouldn't hear of it and insisted that all I owed him was to do well in life.

Back at Dance Complex, I walked into the Capoiera class in Studio 2. After the warm up, the instructor took aside the virgins and showed us the basic steps, a kick and a duck. The dance itself was fierce and beautiful all at once. The Afro-Brazilian bass beats were reminscent of Djembe drumming in West African music and yet strangely similar to Haitian voodoo music. At the end of the class, everyone got into a circle. The mestre, or master, a stocky Brazilian man who spoke no English, started beating a pandiero and singing in Portugese. A call and response song, we all repeated as best we could and tried not to anger Mestre Chuvisco who insisted that everyone sing with as much energy as they could. The energy of the spectators are what propel the fighters into the circle. Thus began a ritual where fighters take turns in the circle, battling for style and skill. The foreign chanting of voices, the pandiero and the graceful yet powerful combating of the Capoeiraistas transferred me to another time and place -where slaves practiced a deadly martial art and masked it as dancing to deceive their masters. I felt like a spectator spying on an ancient ritual.

I guess sometimes it trips me out how connected all this shit really is. How slave rebellions weren't really that long ago. How they continue to occur on a small scale in every ghetto, every city. How an art form used to liberate slaves in Brazil over 200 years ago is still practiced and respected and passed through generations. How the music to this Brazilian rebellious art form is somehow connected to a Haitian rebellious art form. How African call and response culture, religion and drum beats travelled, battled and eventually fused to become Afro-Brazilian call and response culture, religion and drum beats. How old the concept of battling really is. And how a little old man with a toothy smile can know exactly what to say to liberate a stressed out young vessel from a hectic day.