The FIrst batizado

The First Batizado

The year that saw Kiyan Prince stabbed, the year that saw a few people I look up to leave the dance and all of a sudden I am in front of not one but two Capoeira legends. 

     My mother had a spiritual side to her so maybe subconsciously she painted it white to give us the impression of bright hope. By this time she was deep into studying other religions. Due to the hurt she endured as a teenager, she vowed to give me a better future. Her faith in herself was palpable yet it took me more than ten years to realise she had suffered from imposter syndrome. She was the educated one who did jobs that didn’t match her intellect. 

     As customary for somebody like my mother, the kitchen had different food types around. Despite her imposter syndrome, she never felt doubt about her cooking skills. Cooking was like a tool for her. A form of story telling that heeled every time she finished cooking. Experimenting with different recipes, like the scientist she was at heart. She actually gave up on a career in biomedical research due to the pressure of raising me.  

     I, on the other hand, was a hyper active teenager who can class myself as a true martial arts addict. No matter how cheesy the film was, I watched them all. My heroes were all martial artists. I was never bullied in school however the films that got me through when I felt overwhelmed was Jackie Chan’s First Strike, The Kick Boxer with Jean Claude Van Damme, Dragon: A Bruce Lee story and The Rush Hour films. Without martial arts, I wouldn't know where I would be. The nerdiest in school, yet the most agile and the one fearless enough but controlled enough to face bullies without the need to get angry. It didn’t help that my mother instilled Marcus Garvey’s history into my psyche. 

     My cousin had toys laying around the sitting room and his obsession with flags led him to draw a collage of the world's flags. His autism gave him a razor sharp focus when it came to his hobbies. Toys that weren’t just played with but used to experiment his stories. My aunt never doubted him and in the face of recalcitrance she preserved to fight for my cousin. That was her sole focus. 

     I was at a weird time in my life. My love of Capoeira was obvious to my friends however I knew there was something missing. I knew that I had to overcome something. My mother’s faith and my aunt's perseverance was a bedrock for the house so I felt safe but I also needed to be uncomfortable to get to the next level of my life. My self doubt was known among some of the teachers, mostly black teachers. 

     By this time, I was facing my first year of GCSE’s. My year nine grades were average at best and I hate the prospect of doing my GCSEs. My love for Capoeira overshadowed my dislike for academics, especially mathematics. Ironically, my math teacher knew that I had confidence problems. She always said, “Omar. You have it, however you have to fill in the gaps.” She came from St Lucia which developed a kinship for my Jamaican family. 

     When I opened my math results, I was not happy but not surprised. Ms Nelly knew what to say. “You just need to work really hard next time.” No condemnation, just encouragement. 

     Ms Nelson knew there were bigger fights for black boys like me. The death of Kiyan Prince made a huge impact on the community. The pain that parents carry as a result of the paranoia, wondering if their own children are going to get stabbed. Even though the times were uncertain, the faith that we had as a community helped us weave through these troubling times for boys like me. It wasn’t a matter of can I, it was a matter of I need to reach higher or I will get sucked in. Subconsciously, that felt like the only job for all of us as students. 

     My room faced the football pitch. The only place in the area that saw local youth get together to play football, children who had needed time to play after school and the few kids who showed potential for football. Some of the youth showed signs of criminality early on. Ironically, they couldn’t fight their way I could yet their mouths were wide open. It hurts me that the kids whom I saw a potential in were too distracted to focus on their gifts. One of them danced with the ball. Despite his height, he was able to dribble around the biggest teenagers and adults. 

     The drug dealer a few doors down was also looking for potential. He had a charming disposition. He had a large stature and a big stomach that protruded. He had financial means but he never looked after himself. He smiled at my mother and treated me like I was part of the family. It was also known that he was a drug dealer. 

    The junkies never bought directly but it was obvious the house was his headquarters. I always assumed he needed new recruits and maybe his charm towards my family was a way to butter up a bridge for me to join. I had no academic confidence but if my family was weak in their resolve, I could have easily given this man my loyalty. I simply was too proud and happy to join the drugs business.

     Unfortunately, some of the footballers fell into that trap. One of them, a highly intelligent but impulsive boy, would eventually contract HIV and spend time in prison for burglary. Another would scout the area looking for opportunities to either rob, plead or threaten for money. There were no mentors in the area and the men went to work however there was a lack of activities that developed our emotional resilience. It was like they were destined to a life of crime and the thought of anything else was too far to reach. 

       My idols all had emotional resilience. Action men, martial arts icons and Lenny Kravits. My mother exposed me to a lot of culture despite her stresses being a single mother. She didn’t want me to get hurt so I learnt how to fight with my mind and get up when I get down. My peers didn't have that. The subtext of their lives; searching for that role model. 

     One boy stood out. Jerome. His mother exposed him to dealers from a young. Jerome had a talent for all things Parkour however he wasn’t given that opportunity to pursue it. His father walked with his pants under his butt and his cousin was a domestic abuse victim. No doubt from a young age, he was exposed to all things crime. My household knew it and people closest to him knew it.       

     I had no pictures on my wall however the only emblems I had were the Berimbau that was gifted to me by master Poncianinho. The Berimbau is the central instrument in Capoeira that has a twangy sound as if it is beaconing the masses. The instrument was as respected as a parent in the Capoeira orchestral family. The level of respect it commands makes us nervous to even break the instrument. The twangy sounds that sound like an echo from over the ice mountains that calls dancers to attention. 

     My uniform was bright white. Standing on the street in front of the Dance Attic. The gray building that looked like a government building from the outside until you see a few rainbow colour dancers, some dancers dressed like they came out of a Nike advert and the odd celebrity. This particular time, I was on my own. The isolated feeling. The only dancer on a street with casual passer-bys who walk gloomly passed the building I call a town institution. 

     I walked into the reception area. 

     “Hello Richard! 

     “Hey Omar! The seasoned receptionist retorted as he lay back on his chair like he was at home. A father figure, Richard, looked over me. 

     All corners were packed with students, some from other Capoeira schools. Capoeira Axe, a group that was known for their high acrobatic style of play. If my memory serves me right, there was only one student from that group. Mostly wearing white. Some wore casual clothes which made them stand out. Mestre Poncianinho looked more excited than usual as he walked along the packed hall room. I instantly knew something special was on the horizon. 

     The class began with the sounds of old Capoeira music. Mestre Poncianinho stood in front and we all looked to him for our next instruction. We started with the Ginga. A move where we sway side to side. A sway to the right would lead to your left arm in front of the face and the left leg behind the body as your right arms falls behind in an exaggerated walking motion. Then a sway to the left is the reverse to the sway to the right.

     Later in the class, we all congregate into a circle, the roda. In Brazilian Portuguese, the roda means circle. The dancer clap loudly as the music is played. In front of the circle, the bateria. An orchestra of two berimbaus with twangy sounds, an african drum and a cow bell. I didn’t dance, however I clapped and watched as two capoeira dancers cartwheel into the circle.The sway to the sounds of the music, kick with rhythm by spinning as the legs fly over each other’s head. 

     I observed how they expressed themselves. The arms raised up like a plea for mercy yet the kicks swung in like a ferocious surprise to the excitement of the observers. Even the colours of their uniforms were so different and even though this is not a big deal, it felt like a big deal because it signified just how different the other groups were. 

     Some Capoeira dancers danced with high energy and acrobatics whilst some danced with subtle strategic tactics that can help a fighter gain the upper advantage. My style was a mix of both but being young and impressionable, I was more focused on the acrobatics. The story was behind me. Later I came to realise that was the wrong attitude.

     The next class was on Sunday morning. Sunday morning in Fulham is normally fairly quiet however the Dance Attic is normally busy. The elderly couples who stroll by the church in contrast with fledgling artists in colourful attire, preparing for training. The nervous children, dressed in bright pink, preparing for ballet and the odd celebrity from Strictly Come Dancing standing by the entrance talking flippantly as if they do not realise that passers-by are gawping at them. The only man who seems to not be affected by the effects of the entertainment industry is the unassuming owner of the Dance Attic, Andrew. 

     A former member of the army who saw an opportunity and turned the Dance Attic into a nationally recognised studios for any budding star and established celebrities. He is what I would call an “artists entrepreneur”. He did not just see a business opportunity, he knew the mindset of an artist. He knew what celebrity life can be like and what it can do to the mental health of artists. Like a guru, if an artist had any doubts about themselves, he knew what to say instantly and sometimes poetically. Unaffected, he can talk about my future and within a few minutes can mention a celebrity as if he is buying a pint of milk. Tall and not imposing, his demeanor was that of a wise grandfather rather than a sharp suited businessman.

     The class was exciting. I was high on all things martial arts. Without knowing the true meaning yet living the life that helped me develop emotional resilience, I was ready for anything. By this time, my Capoeira was focused on learning how to do flashy moves. By that time, my Master was a 24-year-old athlete in his Capoeira. His acrobatics could have given him a chance at Gymnastics had he focused more on that. His athleticism was near Olympic level and to a young teenager like me, this was like my own slice of manna. The living embodiment of the role models that I looked up to in the action films. If I doubted myself in school, all doubts wilted away the moment I entered the Capoeira class.

     The best student was a boy called Thiago. Tall and slim like a runway model and Capoeira that combined elegantly executed acrobatics with the aggression of a boxer. At school, Thiago would defend the younger school children from bullies. He was elegant in the way he cursed the bullies like the way he danced Capoeira. He had no doubts about himself even when things seemed uncertain. I am proud to say Thiago was one of the first capoeira dancers I tried to emulate. The moment I saw him perform a one-legged backflip is the moment I knew where I was and who I wanted to be.

     Like religion, the lingo in Capoeira is tantamount to spirituality. Candomble, a religion practiced in West Africa, brought to Brazil by slaves celebrated gods. The meaning is dance in honour of the gods. Despite the scattered nature in how old Capoeira records were kept, the religion was practiced in a casserole of other cultural practices to heal those practicing.     

The slaves believed in old We call dedicated students of masters disciples and Thiago fit that bill. He was the most athletic and most active. He taught Capoeira in schools and conducted the music. Alongside him was the short and stocky Pelado who unlike Thiago, was more aggressive in his game. Like a MMA fighter, he had no problem tripping a fighter up and wrestling him to the ground to the chagrin of Mestre Poncianinho. 

     After the class, Master Poncianinho took me to a discrete part of the studio and told me, “Omar, you are welcome to come to the batizado.”

      I felt brotherly support from that gesture. Batizado is a very important event for some groups. Like an initiation, it marks progress in a young Capoeira dancer’s life. During this time in my life, I witnessed fellow students delve into a life of crime, some ended up serving prison time a few years later. The prospects for a number of the students were not great. The statistics in terms of our GCSE’s were not high despite the fact that we were tipped to be better than the year before which ironically was better than the oldest year in the school which is Thiago’s year. 

     I don’t know if Master Poncianinho knew that connection, however both me and Thiago’s life was like a mirror. We both felt that Capoeira was important in our lives, we both are brown boys, tall, slim and witnessing people in our year get up to trouble. Two years apart but similar story. 

     My mother was excited about my first Batizado. She knew what it meant, in a time when boys were looking for meaning, I am about to find new meaning through a Capoeira tradition that traces its roots back to the slaves of Brazil. Like a vicarious kinship, the Batizado is a validation of your progress in some groups, for others not so much. When some aspects of Brazilian society looked down on African men, Capoeira made them feel like Kings. The movements were like a religion to some of the old timers. The only escape and for others their only job. To be a part of this narrative was a whole new world for me and my mother. 

     In preparation for my batizado, I trained drills and conditioning that prepares the body for the physicality of the event. I knew the event attracted different masters from around the world so some may play with high levels of athleticism however when it was announced that the old timers  were attending. It brought a new meaning to the event. 

     Mestre Brasilia and Mestre Zé Antonio. Mestre Brasilia was an older and world-renowned master who taught Capoeira all over the world. He taught sessions to the Brazilian army and taught future Capoeira legends. A tall brown skin man whose Capoeira lineage can be connected to a slave called Bendeto. Approximately four generations connected from the slave who also practiced Capoeira. 

Mestre Brasilia’s lineage

• Mestre Brasilia

• Mestre Canjquinha

• Mestre Aberre

• Mestre Pastinha 

• Beneditto (a former slave)

     Mestre Ze Antonio was Master Ponciano’s father who himself was considered a legend in the game. Given the title of Grand Master, Mestre Ze Antonio has also taught future legends including his son. His school on a hill in Sao Paulo is a respected institution dating back to the 70’s. The playground  my own teacher began to flourish in. An elegant player who hardly did acrobatics but was an elegant dancer in his own way. You would never believe they were mostly above 50 and some way above 60 years of age.  

     These connections brought a new meaning to the word Batizado. This was now a venture into a new story for me. What hurt me was Thaigo’s absence. We both have these opportunities however distractions get in the way for him. The boy who literally flew like a butterfly, danced with grace and flipped as if he was at one with the air. The boy who stood up to bullies and gave me encouragement throughout my time in school. The boy who I had faith in but seem to not pencil in why I felt so off when he was mentioned. He had a lot of baggage and at that age, I assumed there was mishandled trauma. I would never know. 

     With all the fan fare, excitement and general angst that comes as a result of the excitement of a batizado, the location was not as exotic as Brazil, nor en vogue as the Dance Attic or as polished as Pineapple studios. It was in a functional recreation centre by a lake in Wandsworth. A huge space with different training rooms and gyms. The event was held in the main gym. Hard floor and enough space to house several FA cup football teams. This was my first time there. My mother paused to look at the space. This was her first time there. The other gym goers would never assume that they were walking among Capoeira royalty. Royalty who has seen social change in Brazil, the early days of Pele and the development of Capoeira throughout the world. The change that witnessed one of their disciples travel to America to teach Capoeira only to be hired by Namco to perform the body movements for the highly popular Playstation game character, Eddy Gordo in Tekken Three.

    We were early, so we got to see the masters arrive. As I expected, there was a number. All Brazilian but teach Capoeira around different parts of the world. It felt like the opening of a movie when I met them because they all had a swagger with them. A self-assurance only learnt from a life or martial arts and dance. All dressed in the group’s uniform. The shiny white colour with the logo of two Capoeira fighters dancing. One in handstand position, the other head holding the fighter’s leg. 

     Mestre Poncianinho walked in and the first thing he did was sit his phone on the table and played old school Bossa Nova tracks for the whole gym to hear. This was his way of showing off Capoeira culture but also his way of bringing in energy into the big spacious gym. A little slice of Brazil. His wife unpacked a crate full of acai drinks. 

     I stopped to pause as the piano player ran up and down the piano in fast succession. It was like I was in the room in a bar in a Sao Paulo enclave as I listened to the others talk and commune about their successes and failures. Every cadence sounds like a call to Brazil but the subtext throughout the songs sounded like a call to Africa. The yearning for a voice felt in the old Afro-Brazilian music. The faith to know that there is a voice but also to know that if not curated properly then it can be diluted at best and stolen at worst. 

     The history of Capoeira, like an epic that spans hundreds of years, is that of an art form considered dangerous enough to be made illegal by the Brazilian government. Moves that gave slaves a sense of freedom, gave the government a sense of danger. That voice passed down like a family tree. That voice who gave Mestre Bimba the impetus to demonstrate the usefulness of Capoeira thereby encouraging the government to make Capoeira legal. 

     The event started with an introduction from Mestre Poncianinho. He gathered all the students together and sat us down on the floor. We did not sit on chairs. Even though the floor was hard, we were trained dancers so this didn’t bother many of us.  

    Master Ponciano introduced the different masters to the sound of applause. If my memory serves me right, some masters may have danced a few flashy moves as their way of introducing themselves. One of them, Contra-Mestre Baiano, the tallest in the room, was known for his gymnastics skills. He can perform backflips higher than his own body height and still find the space to do a succession of more flips. Mestre Estrangeiro, who taught in France, was a legend himself. Mestre Gill was the dreadlocked Master who played like a snake but can surprise you with a few acrobatics himself. 

     All introductions done, went on to form little groups to begin classes with the masters.

     The day was bright sunny and the rays shined through the windows. My mother felt at home. As customary for her, she started to wonder around the area to look for new things and explore its meaning. Seeing her from the corner of my eye like a hawk. The protective shield I got as a result of being a fighter. The natural protector instincts that gave Thiago the disposition to stand up for a boy in school as the bully tried to have his way. 

     After the training, to my surprise Mestre Poncianinho stopped the event and gathered all the participants into a circle. He made a speech about me and encouraged me to get into the circle to the applause of the people. 

     “This is a special time as we have a boy who has trained hard. I want to congratulate Omar and give him the opportunity to receive his green belt,” Mestre Poncianinho enthusiastically said. I was nervous. He brought his father and Mestre Brasilia into the Roda and made me play both of them. 

     I felt like I transitioned into a new life. Batizado means baptism. The year that saw Kiyan Prince stabbed, the year that saw a few people I look up to leave the dance and all of a sudden I am in front of not one but two Capoeira legends. 

     Mestre Ze Antonio was the first to play. It felt like a film entrance. He walked slowly and crouched down as the songs started to play. He sang then the orchestra began to sing. Like a baptism, the songs had meaning and this meant to set the mood. Then we began to play. 

     We played slowly with a few ginga’s however due to his seniority, I did not want to do any flashy moves. We played not in fight mode but in story mode. Mestre Ze Antonio played like a leaf dancing in the wind. Like a scene in a martial arts movie where the student is supposed to learn from the experience and I mean life lessons. For the entirety of the game I played down myself to fit in; however later Ponciano told my mother ,”I love the fact that he did not disrespect the Masters by doing flashy moves, I know Bambu can do better than that.” 

     In perfect juxtaposition to this defining moment in my life, the sun was bright as ever and the light shone through the windows. After the game we shook hands and Mestre Ze Antonio walked out. Mestre Brasilia walks in. Like Mestre Ze Antonio, he too had grace. Like he had seen many seasons. We shake hands and play. He kicks like a man who wanted to teach me the power of anticipation. I was confused, despite the Master’s slow style, I was intimidated. I knew he was a legend but the legend moved slowly yet I was stumped. 

     After a few kicks we swayed side to side in anticipation for each other's surprise kick. Within the game I felt more comfortable. I noticed the change within myself from my first game ten minutes before. Like I came out of the water of baptism, I was a new man. A self-assured man who within a space of a few minutes became a more confident version of myself. I just needed those few moments to dance with legends to realise that.   

     After the game, Mestre Brasilia gave me my green belt. To the applause of my classmates I was now a graded dancer. I walked out of the circle with newfound confidence, ready to face the world with added recognition. My faith in Capoeira increased and my love for my fellow people also increased. I left having no disposition to hurt one another because I lived a new narrative. The opportunity to dance like a slave and learn the mindset towards freedom. Mestre Brasilia didn’t speak a word of English yet we spoke to one another like we were long lost relatives. 

     Later that day, my mother and I sat in the kitchen. My mother smiled as she looked at my  green belt. 

     “Mestre Brasilia can move like a young boy! 

     “Mum. He did the splits in the air! I retorted.

     I walked into my room. The room, unusually left neat, the sun beamed through the windows and the bed neatly laid. The wall that had no ornaments was to become the new home for my belt. The green belt meant more to me than any trophy I received in football and any kickboxing competition that I won. The belt held a multi generational meaning that would serve as an echo every time things got heavy for me.

     Two years later, March 2007. Kodjo Yenga, a former pupil of my school, was stabbed to death in Hammersmith. It was the first time I knew a victim of a newswide death of gang violence. For the first time, the school pupils gathered together and memorialised Kodjo. We talked about him in the hallways, we eulogised him in assembly. Despite our braggadocios disposition, we were all scared. Not knowing when our time was next. 

     I remember walking home looking over my shoulder. If I saw another set of boys in hoodies, I immediately grip my keys just in case. I remember the fear others carried and the way we looked at each other. The animosity and the senseless apprehension was palpable. The hurt we all felt as we tried to do our school work. The music that brought us closer together as we found ways to deal with the loss. We were able to create new meanings for us all as school kids.   

     My mother and I spoke about Kodjo and what this meant to me. We wondered whether our school was the target or whether this was gang related. My mother corresponded with other parents and shared in the hurt and doubts they faced. Their appreciation for one another was visible. One parent, uttered the need for martial arts training, other parents spoke about taking their kids out of the school and leaving London. My mother didn’t think about any of that. She knew I could handle myself and the Capoeira was my escape so she knew I wouldn’t be affected as some of the other kids. A few pupils resorted to petty crimes and some ended up joining gangs as a means for safety.  

     I returned to my room later that day and looked at the green belt. All the fears I had wilted away as I pondered the meaning. A boy died. A boy I knew. I was thinking of the person he could have become. I felt the hurt however I also felt the process of healing as I looked at my own progress. The contrast between me and other boys who didn’t have that extra armour to fight the forces of opposition, anger and gang violence.

     I realised that from my Capoeira baptism to my church baptism. All events took place in contrast to tragedies that were also close to me. The meaning of baptism. An overcoming of tragedy and a rebirth of life that can bring more happiness to others. When moments get heavy for me, I can look back at these moments and go, I can still find my own way to create a new way of living. 

 Copyright © O-Cee-Dixon Records. 18/2/2025