At the far end of a pedestrian lane paved in white tiles, a Beaux Arts villa called Casa de Francisca glows red and purple from within. Its tall second-storey windows are flung open to reveal hundreds of party-goers. A fusion of black, white, mixed, Indigenous, macho and gender-fluid people, the crowd bounce and shout out lyrics, white shirts billowing, trilbies toppling. Their eyes are on the DJ booth where Angola-born writer-musician Kalaf Epalanga is spinning kizomba — a sweeping genre embracing Afrobeats, Portuguese pop, fervent hip-hop and plaintive soul.
When Kalaf eases into a slower tempo, couples pair off in sweaty synchronicity, or make out under the tiered chandelier. Two tall mirrors on the stage reflect the scene back to me. Emerging from Angolan clubs in southwestern Africa during the war-torn s, kizomba culture has rippled through the Afro-Portuguese diaspora like waves across the Atlantic. The pair are clearly on to something. No one knows their story.
Kizomba celebrates. From the 16th century until — horrifyingly late for abolition — Brazil took in more enslaved people from Africa than any New World country. More than half of all Brazilians are Black or mixed race. Yet, they still largely live on the margins.
Megafauna sits on the ground floor of the rambling Edificio Copan, a storey S-shaped tower built in striking ribbed concrete by the late, great Brazilian architect Oscar Niemeyer in the s. The artists have chosen this landmark to lure their audience from the four corners of town. This quarter of the historic centre has suffered its share of neglect. He tells me to be vigilant, and to hide my phone in the streets from thieves on bikes. Still, he loves the kizomba vibe around Edificio Copan.
I see what he means over lunch at Z Deli, a leather-booth diner in a mid-century building near Edificio Copan. A minute walk away is the Jewish Museum, a former Byzantine-style synagogue opened in to exhibit Brazilian-Jewish artefacts.
