The muscles of his thighs tense and release themselves...he bounces on the balls of his feet, a slow bobbing motion that sets his short crown of dreadlocks in motion. On his haunches, he seems more compact, less gangly than he would when standing up. Beads of prespiration line his upper lip and his fingers shake ever so slightly, as the rhythm of the instruments pierce his soul.
"Angola ê ê,
Angola ê Angola
Onde eu vim
é de Angola ê ê,
onde eu vim
é de Angola iaia"
Its the song of his ancestors, taking him beyond the padded floor of the ramshackle dojo to a place where dark skinned people swirled about in the dust, gyrating their hips and sweeping their feet, teeth flashing and sweat raining upon the light brown earth.
Across from him squats another man, older, lighter skinned, balding. He has gnarled knots for knuckles and jutting branches for arms. Sinew stretches beneath the glistening skin, as he balances him self more comfortably. He stares at the floor beneath him, as if lost in thought, and his jaw moves beneath his heavily bearded face. The youth opposite him flashes a glance upwards, to catch any message that might escape his teachers lips, but no sound is forthcoming.
"ANGOLA Ê Ê,
ANGOLA Ê ANGOLA"
The old man streches out his right hand offering it to him, but he pulls back at the last instant. The old mans cunning was boundless, and many a student had gone home with a sore forehead, after handshake turned to headbutt.The old mans hand is unwavering, but a slight smile begings to spread on his face. The youth grins widely and grasps his teachers hand , which then moves to the ground,up to his heart and extends to wards the circle at the head of which they squat.
"Vou me embora
pra Angola ê ê
Capoeira de angola
vai vadiar"
Muscles rippling beneath his taunt skin, the old man launches into the circle. The youth, taken aback by the gracefullness of the movement, watches in awe, for a few moments. The old man stops mid handstand, his spindy legs waving about in the air, like an upturned crab, he cocks his head vaguely to the student to come join him. The youth, awakened from his split second reverie, shakes his head, short crown of locks all in motion once again, and cartwheels into the circle.
"Ô puxa puxa,
l eva leva
Eu quero jogar
e vadiar "
In a village far away, nestled in a deep green valley, thats rapidly turning brown, as their winter approaches, in another time, two dancers spin and cartwheel on the earth. Somersaults and fanatstic aerial movements earn them the ooh's and ahhs of the admiring crowd. Young men and women make sudden involuntary jerks of excitement at near misses,so engrossed in the performance.
The two men fly in the air, smiles on their faces, as they effortlessly dodge feigned blows and kicks, leaving wildly clashing patterns on the dusty ground. Its a time of laughter and excitement, a time of freedom and expression.

"ANGOLA Ê Ê,
ANGOLA Ê ANGOLA "

The music picks up the pace the dancers become more frenzied, twirling and spinning, faster and faster. The oldman is the first to feel it. He likes to call it the "whiteout", where he's nestled in a world of whiteness,"like being in the clouds", he mumbles. The youth feels it shortly after, his gasp is stifled as his mind fights to comprehend the new sensation. "ahhhh" is all that comes to mind, and he imagines, out of vagary, of keeping his finger pressed down on the keyboard of his computer and letting the 'h' of 'ah" run acrooss the screen, to infinity; maybe that would prolong the feeling.But its already over and as his feet hit the ground,he feels the old mans embrace. The game is over, the music ceased. One of the singers drones the last word of the song as he walks away to place the pandeiro back on the bench...
"Capoeira é mandingueiro
Capoeira é malandragem "