Neguinho Babaçu – Tribo de Jah

 

 

That day, the sky dawned cloudy with splashes of distant lights at the end of the horizon, cut by several seas and oceans of babaçu palm trees. A large green sheet over the land blessed by God and despised by men in maintaining the sustainable biome, the inexhaustible panorama of nature facing the sky is born.

 

It is there, in Cururupu, a small city in Maranhão, where the cururu toad radiated in the lagoons with nocturnal melodies, and the current government's disregard for the good management of a municipality where La Ravardière once stepped on the arid soil. Emerging from the astonishing hopelessness of the eyes that sailed to the heavens in the distance, one could see the happiness dressed in the falseness of the people. From the carelessness and moralistic insensitivity in a single and nebulous cloud, the journey sparks like a train that never leaves its place now immersed in the pacifism of a hard-working people. Once, the fruit of a service given by nature and maintained by God.

 

All of this is a step in our politics, with excellent elections, rules and laws that, at election time, drive a hundred-real bill crazy for that little worker and citizen. And here is the Brazilian land overcrowded with cities of this delicate kind, where money makes the difference between classes and imposes power. And in this ship, go thousands of illiterate blind people who see a promising change in each dawn for their children and godchildren. The cradle of health and education are mangoes that fall from the tree due to the unpreparedness for the future and poverty of the land of Maranhão.

 

It is important to emphasize that public spaces look more like those miserable cities in Africa, where garbage accumulates on the streets and avenues and animals take over the city center in an endless expanse. Boys and boys pave the streets of the miserable city center that some people in Cururupu have adopted as their nickname: “Sonrisal.” With just a drop of rainwater, it dissolves and creates craters similar to those on Mars and the Moon.

 

Thus, Cururupu is centered on the coastal area of ​​Maranhão, and its first inhabitants were the Tupinambá Indians who disappeared from the large village due to conflicts, domination and wars. With colonialism, they came to the large farms with the enslavement of the African people from the Douro Coast and Dahomey in Guinea.

 

Other landmarks of the city include tourist attractions such as the Floresta dos Guarás, Reentrâncias Maranhenses and the natural attractions of the Parque Estadual Marinho do Parcel do Manuel Luís, covering 45,937.9 hectares, 50 miles from Lençóis Island, with a white sand mantle and countless landscapes that dazzle the eyes with their enigmatic and seductive beauty.

 

It is worth remembering that, with its 640 km of coastline, Maranhão has the largest area of ​​mangroves in Brazil. And flowing with the irregular design of this coastline, it forms the Reentrâncias Maranhenses, an area of ​​12 thousand square kilometers, between the Baía de São Marcos, in Alcântara, and the mouth of the Gurupi River, on the border with Pará.

 

Logically, the region cut out by bays, islands, dunes, coves, islands, lagoons and extensive mangrove forests, was declared of global interest by the Ramsar Convention, held in Iran in 1971, due to the importance of wetlands for the balance of the climate on the planet. And later, twenty years later, in 1991, it was transformed into an environmental protection area.

 

In fact, Maranhão has a continent of blacks in its largest scope, the result of a centuries-old position of slavery that makes culture its enormous value. Despite the racist classes, blacks live isolated, with a low level of education and a per capita income of no value. It is well known that prejudice is still the greatest contribution against dark and African skin, but the Afro-Brazilian situation creates a barrier where the mythology of color does not exist.

 

The peaceful city of Cururupu is bathed by the waters of the Caribbean, where the waves of Jamaica invade with musicality, and sound like great ships throughout the city. And reggae with its powerful radios sounds throughout the South Atlantic. As a trophy and much exultation, comes the bar “Pantera Negra” that rocks the city with the Tribo de Jah, in addition to other “stones of responsibility”. On the other hand, there is a lot of roots reggae music on Rua do Pinche.

 

Far from the center of the city of Cururupu, in a rural location only fifteen kilometers away, lived with his mother, the peasant Maria José. Little Josivaldo, only twelve years old, with black skin, known by the nickname “Neguinho Babaçu”. He was a skillful, smart boy and a good son. Because it was the only sound of his mother's voice that whistled in the forest with Babaçu. Helping his poor mother with her daily chores, Neguinho Babaçu or Baba would crack more than ten kilos of almonds after collecting the coconuts on Monday mornings. The sale was guaranteed and the money would land in the hands of the little boy who brought the small weekly groceries.

 

It is worth noting that the small family belonged to a Quilombola family with several family traits, resulting from ancient quilombola communities. It is known that the communities with enslaved Africans and descendants of Mrs. Maria José fought for freedom and other living conditions. It is worth mentioning that in that community lived several white and free men, in addition to indigenous people.

It is worth noting that Mrs. Maria José's family had been victims of several acts of violence by government decrees, in addition to suffering in the small society, the harsh prejudice of being black.

 

Neguinho Baba overcame the disposition to overcome the incredible obstacles that hold back financially weakened people with pride, being a tiny head of the household, maintaining the acts of bankruptcy with the sweat dripping down his simple face. The boy was even able to buy a small Chinese battery-powered radio from the street vendors' stalls in downtown Cururupu. And with the sound broadcast in the mornings by Rádio Mirante, reggae spread throughout the capoeirão with a very strong reign, acclaiming the sweetest melodies, the sound with the best stones of the reggae mass.

 

One morning, the neighbor's son named Francisco, who enjoyed a very long friendship with Neguinho Babaçu, sought him out. He asked the following:

 

-Dona Maria José! Baba is there. Do I want to talk to him?

 

She promptly answered:

 

-No, my son. He went to capoeirão early. What do you want with him?

 

-I wanted to borrow his battery-powered radio.

 

Maria José added:

 

-Francisco, he has the radio.

 

-Thank you, Dona Maria José. I'll go to where Baba is. I know he's in that dense forest with the green beetle.

 

Minutes pass, and Francisco finds Neguinho Baba under a palm tree, cracking open a coconut with a sharp axe, singing along to the melody “Guerreiros Regueiros” by the Maranhão band Tribo de Jah. Moments later, Francisco appears under a bush of São Caetano melons and exclaims:

 

-What’s up, man? Enjoying this rock, huh? I also love Tribo. If I could, I wouldn’t miss any of their shows. This reggae sounds like you.

 

He greets Francisco in surprise.

 

-What’s up, ugly guy? Where are you coming from, Francisco?

 

-From your house, Mané. I came to borrow the radio. Can you lend it to me until Friday? I’ll give it back to you then. Maybe I’ll buy mine on Saturday, depending on how much change I get. I didn’t sell all the liters of olive oil.

 

-You can take it, Chico. What’s mine is yours, no problem. In the evening, I'm going to stop by your house to arrange to go to Patrícia's house. Her father bought a brand new DVD by Silva. And he also gave her a CD by Tribo de Jah as a birthday present.

 

-Man! It's awesome! Oh my! I'm going to dance to some really cool reggae. The girl is dying to learn how to dance with me. So what? Sílvia is going to show her face too, when I get there. I just know when Tribo starts playing, I'm going to go crazy and dance to Bessa. This rock is going to rock me to death. It shakes everything inside me.

 

Said Francisco, sitting on the back of a fallen palm tree.

 

-That's right. The brick is hot and safe, put something in it. And Júlia? What do you think?

 

-She doesn't know how to break. And she's also never learned how to score, and each brick is a big rock. But she's a sensual girl, maybe the best cool record around here.

 

- I'm not really sure, but Gina do Gadelha is a cool chick, she knows how to dance a rock really well. I'm always on her score. And I look stylish when she dances with me.

 

- Nigga, you're really a jerk. You want to get on the dance floor to dance with the girl.

 

- See Francisco. I'll go there. But her brother can't, he's ruining the music. I get upset when that happens, let it go, okay?

 

- True. He likes to stamp, he looks like a big mouth, a real scissors.

 

- You know... My biggest wish is to play some beats at the Black Panther nightclub on a Friday. If I had the means, I'd go there to show how to dance a rock really well. I'd make the whole Regueira nation in the ballroom jealous. Ah Ah Ah.

 

- You hit it really well when you play a rock from the past. So, I'll see you there, my friend.

 

Without delay, the friend left. A few months passed, the days were transferred with the sunrise and radical changes. And translating new destinations with the daily drop in babassu nuts in the market. And on this day, still without having breakfast, Nego Baba was breaking the nuts when Francisco approached his friend and said:

 

- Do you know that the price per kilo of babassu poop has gone down?

 

- No. I don't know. Tell me?

 

- Mr. Raimundo, owner of the store in the city of Cururupu, where I sell babassu poop and olive oil. He said that three ships arrived in Rio de Janeiro from the Philippines and Thailand loaded with vegetable oil for Gessy Lever to make shampoos and soaps. I was upset about that. Thailand exploits the labor of monkeys, a tremendous cruelty. The monkeys climb the palm trees and knock down the poop and even help to break it down. He said that Thailand belongs to the “Asian Tiger” countries as the third largest international producer of vegetable oil. And the monkeys collect and break the poop. It is total exploitation, selling the oil very cheaply and ends up with a drop in Brazil of more than 40%. And no one boycotts it. Mr. Raimundo said that the largest international producer of babassu oil is the state of Maranhão, with more than 500 women extracting babassu poop. Women without income, without school, without husbands, without homes, without clothes, without property, only with their souls.

 

The Babaçu boy says:

 

-Mr. Raimundo knows a lot about things. But it's all sad. Using monkeys as labor is a dirty trick. That's why they get cheap oil. The government doesn't even care about that, it's interested in selling it to foreign markets. Because of this purchase down there, the price of almonds will fall. It's a huge injustice. My mother and I are going to suffer a lot with the drop in prices.

 

Francisco says to his friend:

 

-Nego Baba! I'm leaving. I'm going to Jamaica on the Island of Love.

 

-Is that right? Tell me the truth?

 

-Yes. It's true. My aunt, who lives in the neighborhood of Alemanha, in São Luís, invited my mother to live with her. And I'm going too. Don't be sad, Neguinho Babaçu. From there, I'll send you my news. I also cry about leaving my best friend and my memories. My mother is already old and to this day, she hasn't been able to retire from the Federal government. Despite being a poop-breaker, this was her only luck, having many palm trees given to her by the Lord Jesus for free.

 

Silent, Nego Baba shed the colorless drops that measure the cord of friendship, rubbing his eyes with his right hand, which kept forming huge lakes. Unable to accept the shedding of tears, Francisco hugs her and says:

 

-Nego! I will never forget you. You are my best friend. Wherever I am, I will think of you as my brother. Here, we cannot be anyone. We are humiliated by our skin color. It is not our fault that our skin tone is this color. The babassu coconut is running out and the rich are buying up all the land to plant eucalyptus trees and create seas of soybean plantations. Staying here means dying of hunger and not having a penny to buy medicine, like cibalena. There, I will study and work and enjoy reggae music on the weekend. I promise I will forget about you.

 

Still crying over the surprising news, Nego Babaçu lifted his torn shirt and wiped his tear-stained face, and said:

 

-Okay, I understand all of this. My situation is more difficult, and my skin color doesn't allow me to be free, wherever I go, I hear a lot of teasing and mockery. I just want to ask you one thing...

 

-Speak, Nego. Don't be like that.

 

-If you see Fause Beydoun from Tribo de Jah, don't forget to ask him if he received the letters I sent to the Reggae Radio Program on Rádio Mirante? Please, I beg you, do that. He never answered my letters.

 

-I won't forget. He never answered your letters on the air of the program and he never even said hello to our people in Cururupu. If it depends on me, I'll help you become a great DJ. Here's my aunt's address in São Luís. Keep it in a safe place, maybe one day you'll need it. Goodbye, friend! And know that I will carry in my heart all our memories. You are my friend.

 

-Francisco, I will remember you every day, and when I hear the stones. I will feel you here in my chest, friend. Believe me! Please don't cry!

 

Melancholy and depression spread in the middle of the coconut forest, and the days were consumed by the boy from the Cururupu capoeirão. Just like the lyrics of the reggae boy sent to Rádio Mirante 96.1, in São Luís, on the Rádio Reggae program of Fause Beydoun (vocalist) of Tribo de Jah, there was never a response.

 

It is known that this is the largest and only Brazilian reggae band that originated in the Maranhão School for the Blind. And in the most interconnected of destinies, the four members who are blind and one has only partial vision spread true reggae throughout Maranhão with their ballads.

 

Letter sent by Neguinho Babaçu to the vocalist Fause Beydoun

 

"Cururupu, November 14, 2005

 

For the Rádio Reggae Program

From Rádio Mirante,

 

To my friend Fause from Tribo de Jah

 

How are you, Fause? This is the third letter I've sent. I live in the countryside of Cururupu and every day I listen to your Rádio Reggae program. With the sale of coconuts, I bought a battery-powered radio. That's the only way I never miss a program. Here I'm the biggest fan and the girls admire me a lot, you know?

 

Look, I'm a boy who works cracking coconuts to help my mother, who earns little. And I also crack coconuts to make a living. I love your songs, because I want to meet you and the Tribo de Jah Band. Here in Cururupu, only your reggae is played, and I also like the Guerreiros Regueiros beat, it's awesome.

I've never been to the Island, but I know all the rock formations, radio stations and radio stations like Itamaraty and others. Fause, your songs give me strength, peace and clarify many truths. When I grow up, I'm going to be a DJ and I'd like you to help me. I'm poor, I can't afford a soundboard. When I set up my radio station on the Island, I'm going to call it Upaon-Açu. I'm going to build the biggest sound wall in Maranhão, and right now, I can't afford it, but in the future, I can play for you.

Here I end, hoping you say hello to me and all the regueiros of Cururupu. Don't forget to say Neguinho Babaçu or Nego Baba.

Also, say hello to my friend Francisco, Gina, Júlia and Patrícia, they're listening.

See you later,

Sign in

Nego Baba”

 

The leaves of the dawn built new horizons, masterfully storing memories in the vaults of the ears of the wisdom of the times. The boy, already sixteen years old, one day woke his mother up with the noise of two tractors invading the small hut made of straw and mud walls.

 

In a hurry, they heard on that malicious and ill-intentioned morning, the court order issued by the court of the first district of Cururupu was in the hands of the Court Officer, accompanied by forty heavily armed police officers to leave the place. Two Caterpillar D8 crawler tractors, wielding a chain, knocked down the small straw house and other fruit trees behind the house.

 

Neguinho Babaçu hugs his mother, begging:

 

-Mom, don't cry for the blood of Our Lord, our savior.

 

The woman, in tears, says:

 

-My house and my fruit trees being dragged by these machines, hurt my heart. A bunch of police officers treating me like a bandit, an outlaw. My son, I can't stand all this. This cruel demolition stains my soul.

 

-Mom, no one is on our side to order this order to be suspended. I never knew about this Expropriation Action against you. This man never came here to summon you.

 

The court officer clarifies that a large farmer from the city of Balsas had bought the land, and went to court to request the demolition and investiture of the new owner on the land. The court officer adds that the summons of the squatters had been published by notice in the Maranhão newspaper and the case was judged as the squatters in default. And that the sentence will have to be carried out one way or another.

 

Dona Maria José, shedding tears, states:

 

-Mr. Bailiff, you never came to my house and never mentioned this expropriation action to me. You say you published it in the newspaper. We, from the interior of Cururupu, never receive newspapers or any other means of news. This is all your trickery and fraud.

 

Neguinho Babaçu, shouts at the two machine operators not to demolish his house.

 

-Please, you tractor drivers! Don't leave my mother homeless to sleep. Where are we going to sleep tonight? Stop this ungrateful demolition! You are making my mother suffer. Please don't turn on those machines. Our house is the only place where we have dignity. Mom, I don't understand why life is so hard for us, so difficult to resolve things. Don't cry, Mom.

 

In tears, the boy hugged his mother, packed a suitcase with the only pieces of clothing, and set out to mark the cruel and stinking ground of greed of those who enrich themselves with the rottenness of earthly Justice. And they build the incorporations of investments that yield more money than sheltering the disgusting rag of society – BLACK. Thus, they understand and tear apart the freedom of this color that the universal collectivity translates into the most bestial classification of rights, where the air that exhales in the human body has never divided men.

 

The small, worn-out family breaks the tracks of quick steps towards the new city, towards the adolescent life intoxicated by the fatality that crosses and chews the hours with time. Halfway along the road towards the municipality of Cururupu, they meet a lady who opens the red bed of kindness that beats in her chest, taking the elderly woman and the black boy to live in her house.

 

The days pass, and the boy talks to his mother, saying:

 

-Mom! I have to travel to São Luís do Maranhão and bring you money. I don't know what you're going to do. But all you know is how to do is break down babassu nuts. There are no palm trees here in the city, much less jobs. Everything you buy is with money, and without it, you can't live. We've never felt so much poverty and destruction in our lives. I have to work, and I'm going to Francisco. As soon as I get there, I'll work bringing money.

 

-May God hear you, my son. Always be obedient. Don't drink or smoke and don't get lost in the life that presents itself. Run away from bad friends and God will always open a door for you.

 

-Mom! I won't cry. But inside me a well of tears gushes. And my love is all I have inside you. I will do everything for you. Being on the Island, it will be easier for me to talk to Fause of the Tribe. And I'm sure he will help me. I dream about this a lot. I'm going to Cujupe and from the port of Cujupe I'll take a ferry boat to the bay of São Marcos on the Island of Love. Don't cry, mom, just wait for me.

 

-May God hear you! And may your wishes come true and make you a good man.

 

-Bless you, mom! Don't cry, mom, because I'll cry too.

 

-May God make you happy!

 

Arriving in the Reggae Capital, the boy arrived at the neighborhood of Alemanha, where he met his great friend Francisco, who welcomed him with a stone from the Tribe of Jah – Regueiros Guerreiros. He said to his friend:

 

-Now, you're going to work with me. It's going to be great. Look! I'm a parking attendant downtown and I'm a union member. Currently, I make a good amount of money per day. And I'm also a member of the Union of Autonomous Vehicle Washers and Guards of São Luís. This weekend, we're going to enjoy some reggae at Itamaraty.

 

-Wow! You really haven't changed. It's the same Francisco. Dude, they used two tractors with chains, knocked down our house and threw away our beds. It's all over, I don't know how that happened.

 

Without delay, after more than two months, Neguinho Babaçu had already made eight trips to Cururupu, taking money to his mother. On Monday morning, while Nego Baba was washing a car and listening to reggae music, his friend Francisco shouted:

 

-Nego Baba! Nego Baba! Look. It's Fause from Tribo de Jah. He's going to pass right by us.

 

-Yes. My God! It can't be! It's really him!

 

In a magical move, Nego Baba shouted:

 

-Fause, it's me. Neguinho Babaçu. Hey Fause, please, it's me, Neguinho Babaçu!

 

A crowd surrounded the lead singer of Banda Tribo de Jah, accompanied by keyboardist Frazão, José Orlando – lead singer and percussionist, Aquiles Rabelo and João Rodrigues – drums, and again, the boy shouted:

 

-Hey Fause! It's me, Neguinho Babaçu.

 

There, above, the reggae star and other members of the band looked at the back of the crowd to hear the boy from Cururupu shout. At that moment, Fause opened his arms among the crowd and went to hug the boy who had sent several letters when he had a Reggae Radio program on Rádio Mirante.

 

-Fause, weren't you the one who hosted Reggae Radio? Do you still remember me? I'm Nego Baba from Cururupu, Neguinho Babaçu.

 

Hugging the boy, Fause said, smiling:

 

-Of course I remember. I didn't say hello on the air, because my program was recorded. I read and saved all of your letters, which touched me deeply. Our commitments with shows and trips have kept us away from the Island, even though we are doing international shows and time is short. I'll leave my phone number and personal address, contact my advisor immediately. It's a commitment from me and Tribo de Jah to make your dream come true. Don't worry, I'll do what you asked. It's an honor to be able to meet you here in the Capital of Reggae.

 

Smiling, Neguinho Babaçu was happy with everything that was happening and his friend Francisco confirmed what he had said before.

 

One morning, the two, coming from a night out, were surprised by a police car that stopped in front of them. Armed police officers shot at them both. Chico hurried his steps and bent his body next to a tree, so as not to be hit by the shots, running away. From a distance, Francisco, crying for his only friend, watched the cruelty with which the police officers pinned him against the wall.

 

A police officer asked with his gun pointed:

 

-Speak, you dirty black man! Where are you from? Where are the things? Son of a bitch!

 

-Sir, I don't know anything. I came from a reggae party here in the João Paulo neighborhood. I'm innocent.

 

-Fuck! You're lying. Tell me the truth. Where did you throw the cigarette from the contraband? Where are the notes and the scale? Tell me right now. Black bandit, where does that strong smell of drugs come from?

 

Holding the gun to his head, he receives a kick in the pelvic region.

 

-Sir, I don't smoke or drink, I don't know anything, I'm innocent. I didn't do anything. For the love of God! Let me go.

 

-The innocent are in heaven. Come on, black man! Tell the truth. Every hoodlum is a bandit, a scoundrel, a bum and smokes marijuana. So, you're not going to tell me anything, are you black man?

 

Wielding a huge kick between the legs, and falling in pain and groaning loudly, one of the police officers hit Nego Baba on the head with a gun butt, exploding the innocent blood of the soul that bounced in the longitude of dreams in which life, sometimes, is a disgrace. And power is the rottenness of organized powers titled with faith. Soon, the executioners took the dreamer's body and took it to another unknown universe, with three shots to the head of Neguinho Babaçu. Thrown in a ditch on the street of Ilha do Amor, where the headlines do not write and the journalists go blind. There, the immaculate soul slept among the deep sewage of the dreamer's life.

 

That morning, Francisco could no longer walk, there he fell asleep with the bullet mark on his left leg. After a few weeks, Francisco sought the advice of Tribo de Jah and reported what had happened to him and his friend Neguinho Babaçu. After a Tribo de Jah show in Cape Verde, Africa, Fause Beydoun found out about it through his publicist and spent several hours crying. As an eternal gift, Fause Beydoun composed the melody Neguinho Babaçu.

 

Lyrics: Neguinho Babaçu

 

"This is just a casual story that has been kept in my memory

And that is intertwined with the history of reggae in Maranhão

One day, a boy sent a very interesting letter

To the Rádio reggae program, on Rádio Mirante

A very intelligent boy, a very cool letter

He said he never missed a single program

He lived with his mother who earned very little

Because she lived in the countryside and was a coconut breaker

Somewhere in the lowlands near Cururupu

That's why people called him Neguinho Babaçu

He said he knew the stones and the names of the famous singers

The beasts of reggae and the best radio stations in Maranhão

He wanted an opportunity, his dream was to be a DJ on the Island

Despite his age, he already had a battery-powered radio

He asked that a melody be released with his name, Neguinho Babaçu's melody

And that if he had a radio station it would be called sonzão Upaon-Açu

Homage to Ilha Regueira, the capital of reggae in Brazilian Jamaica

 

Nego baba, nego

Neguinho babaçu

I wanted to be a DJ on the Island of Upaon-Açu

 

A country boy's dream

To follow his destiny, to have his worth

A boy's dream who revealed himself

By force of fate, he soon transformed himself

A good deal of time passed and one day

Walking through the streets of downtown, I don't remember exactly where I was going

A young man stopped me and asked if I was the one who did

The Rádio Reggae program that he always liked

He wanted me to say hello

To him and all the young people there in the area

He said he had been listening to the program since he was a boy

And that he had once sent a letter to my destination

But he had come to work in the capital

Because his mother was very ill

And since he didn't have a steady job

He was working a job nearby

Washing cars and taking a few bucks when he could

And that he was known there as Nego Baba

 

Nego baba, nego

Neguinho Babaçu

He wanted to be a DJ on Upaon-Açu Island

 

But after some time, strangely, no one saw Neguinho Babaçu anymore

A friend of his said that he thought a lot about going south

And that maybe he had gone because he had really disappeared

He was always a calm guy, a very nice person

A boy with principles, a capable guy

He had the biggest poster with the hotties

Great admiration, for the presence he had

And for how he knew how to dance reggae in the ballroom

But it was known that one day he was coming back from a sound and when he came back in a good mood

I don't know if in the João Paulo neighborhood or around Jordoa

He was approached by four armed men

Who got out of a car next to him

His friend, sensing the danger, flew away

But he still saw from a distance that he was being interrogated

They asked where he had come from

And said that he was a reggae player and that all reggae players were bandits

He took a few beatings, they wanted him to open the game

Deliver the thing quickly, don't play dumb

But he didn't know anything

He said he was being confused

Then he got hit with a gun butt

And they put him in the car

Heading for the unknown

 

Nego Baba, nego

Neguinho babaçu

He wanted to be a DJ on the Island

Of Upaon-Açu

Nego Baba. Nego

Neguinho Babaçu

Did he

Get lost on the Island

Or did he go south

 

A country boy's dream

Of following his destiny, having his worth

A boy's dream

Who transformed himself

By force of destiny

It didn't come true".