Anyone who passes by Parque metro station every day, near Marquês de Pombal, has no idea that the tiles tell the story of an African presence in Lisbon and Alentejo that dates back many centuries ago and is deeply rooted in our culture. African presence is well intertwined in the city, although hidden. This is why the Cultural and Youth Association Batoto Yetu created an african history project.
The story is told by Djuzé (also known as Lino Neves), one of those leaders of the association whose name means “our children” in Swahili. Djuzé is Portuguese, from “the island of Lisbon,” as he jokingly says in the Creole of Santiago, the island from which his parents came. They were a Cape Verdean couple who chose Lisbon to be their home.
Without losing his enthusiastic tone, he recounts every detail, and his pride as a son of Africans who exults in what his ancestors contributed to his city and beyond is evident. Djuzé is usually the one who guides the most curious (many Americans and Brazilians) on Saturdays, in a tour of this African Lisbon, guided by Batoto Yetu.
A visit to the Lisbon of “Preta Fernanda” and muamba ginguba
It’s one o’clock, everyone is hungry, and we weren’t even close to going to Travessa do Poço dos Negros to eat the cachupa scheduled at the end of the itinerary that day—one of many in the project. But if you listen attentively, you can hear the voice of the guide who was leading us through the city after the first tuk-tuk ride.
The first stop was in front of the Faculty of Medical Sciences building, at Campus dos Mártires da Pátria. In Djuzé’s hands, there was a script inspired by the “dancing fado” and more stories and names in his voice. First, Fernanda do Vale’s (or “Preta Fernanda”) story, a mixed-race woman born in Cape Verde in the late 19th century who lived in Portugal until 1927, an unmissable figure in Lisbon society at the time. “Preta Fernanda” became a symbol of the emancipation of black women, one of the strong and representative characters of this African Lisbon they told us about.
Next was Dr. Sousa Martins, a renowned surgeon whom many consider a “saint” to whom vows are made—as seen in his statue erected at the location where marble plaques and hundreds of wishes are left.
On the way to the second stop, a Kenyan who was part of the group, a companion of one of the tourists living in Lisbon for about six months, proudly stated that the official language of her country is primarily Swahili and then English. Zara had no idea how important Africans were in the past in this city, and the conversation flowed into this reflection: in Lisbon, the second most spoken language would be Creole, or Creoles, but these are not official languages in Guinea-Bissau or Cape Verde. “You guys have to work on that! In Kenya, we take it seriously, we fight for it, and Swahili is official,” she concluded.
Already in Mouraria, we walked to discover the birthplace of fado—which, in addition to being sung, was also danced. It has strong African roots and comes from the streets.
The last stop was in Santos, at Travessa do Poço dos Negros, to satisfy our damn hunger and curiosity to taste something different for most tourists. The restaurant offered African flavors from Cape Verde, Angola, and Guinea-Bissau, especially cachupa and muamba de ginguba (meat stew with peanut sauce and okra), along with the famous cafriela.
The Story That Never Goes Untold
We took advantage of the shared flavors to talk with Djuzé, who passionately told us about the guided tours and the various projects they develop. “Batoto Yetu has been doing this work for a while now.” It all started because they secured funding, initially from the Municipality of Oeiras, the High Commissioner for Migration, and currently from the Secretary of State for Equality and Migration.
“We have mummies of black people in Portugal, from the various migrations that passed through here, and more recently, with enslaved people. The more we know that we are part of this history, the more it enriches us all.”
Djuzé, Batoto Yetu
That’s where the idea of guided tours along various itineraries that showcase the history of African presence in Portugal emerged, from before the 14th century to the period of slavery. But Batoto Yetu’s project started earlier, with artistic work on the African origins of fado in the Congo region and North Africa.
“We know that fado is Lisbon’s own, but Lisbon had this component of several other peoples, and that’s where this cultural product originates. By doing that, we ended up becoming aware that these things already existed. We didn’t have this knowledge, and we gained it through academics. We realized that it made perfect sense to do guided tours of these spaces in Lisbon, in Loures, in the Sado Valley, about this issue of black presence in Portugal.”
Dejuze, Batoto Yetu
Isabel Castro Henriques, a technical consultant for the project, says that “this African presence is relevant because it is one of the oldest, most consistent, and enduring until today.” Currently, there are people who visit Largo de São Domingos as their ancestors did, but this presence continues in gastronomy, in dishes like cozido à portuguesa (Portuguese stew), and even in dance, literature, medicine, and scientific knowledge, which are not talked about as much.
Djuzé did not learn this in school; he was born on the “island of Lisbon.” “It delights me to know that there is always a bit of us in this history,” he confesses.
Faced with the challenges ahead in one of his life missions, Djuzé says that “working in the arts is not easy for anyone, especially in traditional African arts in Portugal, where we feel these difficulties even more. We lack specific support that allows us to create high-quality products, whether artistic or historical, so that we don’t work at an amateur level.”
He recalls that the school has already created quality products that could be replicated by other entities, associations, and civil society, and “that is already a value,” according to Djuzé. He says he has learned a lot from all the griôts (the storytellers in Africa) and now intends to pass on the testimony in the most professional and consistent manner.
“In the past, we find the solutions we need for the future, and we must overcome these social stigmas that mainly affect enslaved Africans.”
African Memory, now digital
The Batoto Yetu association recently created the Digital African Memory, where they provide various documents about the history of Africa that the general public is unaware of. These materials are available for university students or researchers.
“In this project, we saw that one thing led to another: the dances led us to ‘dance fado,’ ‘dance fado’ led us to the tours, and the tours brought us to digital memory. In reality, African history is very limited in the digital world. In a few years, maybe the history of peoples will be made through digital information, and there is a need to have it,” explains Djuzé.
The digital platform aims to make these stories available so that everyone can access them, study them, and artistically recreate and technically create more works from them. It can also leave a mark on education going forward. “The idea of having a digital library is so that, who knows, in the future, it can be used in schools as a supplementary tool for studying, getting to know others and ourselves better, to break down barriers, regain self-esteem, strength, and also open perspectives for other areas, such as having more African archaeologists.”
Djuzé mentions that when people are transported from one place to another, they don’t arrive empty-handed. He says, jokingly, that “we are avatars filled with scientific knowledge.”
From what the project has brought, there is a common conclusion: despite Portugal’s small geographic size, this is a global story because the narrative of the African diaspora is deeply connected to what happened here. There has been a lot of interest from Americans and Brazilians in getting to know it better.
But the biggest challenge now, according to the association’s leader, is to see the same interest among the local population, including the Afro-descendant community. For those working at Batoto Yetu, the Black community should be the first to know about this information, but the living conditions of the majority do not allow them to reserve space in their lives for these interests.
The place where life rafts are also created for the community
We visited one of the association’s headquarters in Caxias a few days after the guided tour. We discovered that, with a quarter of a century of existence, this organization, initially focused only on dance, has now become an important support center for migrants and the disadvantaged.
Photos: Líbia Florentino
There, Graciete was waiting for us, a skilled technician who provides guidance to those in need. Shyly, she only wanted to tell us the story that intertwines with the association’s story. Of Cape Verdean origin, Graciete works in the migrant integration office funded by the Institute of Employment and Vocational Training (IEFP) of Cascais and the High Commissioner for Migration. This is where she receives dozens of people per month to provide support to.
Here, they hold legal clarification sessions for those with legalization issues with the Immigration and Borders Service (SEF). They also discuss consumer rights for migrants, banking services, and even have a study support center for the younger ones. Dance classes were interrupted due to the pandemic and are still waiting to be resumed.
For Graciete, “the sessions with lawyers are essential because the law is constantly changing, and there are few institutions providing this type of support.”
Someone knocks on the door, interrupting us. “Hello, Nuno! How are you?”
The association’s technician had already shown us the offices when we arrived, and in one of them, we found Cécile, a young French woman working as an intern through the Erasmus program in cultural event management and administration. We approached her as soon as Graciete had to pause our conversation to meet someone named Nuno.
“Working in this association is great for continuing to work in the cultural field, as I had already done for two years in France. Diversity enriches us all; I deal with different languages. It’s a huge experience sharing when we organize performances. And all that linguistic diversity, for me, who doesn’t speak Portuguese, only English and Spanish, in addition to my mother tongue, is very enriching,” Cécile told us. She dreams, in the future, “who knows,” of being able to “take these artists to perform in France.”
There is a weekly English class given by a volunteer teacher that Cécile also helps organize with support materials received from Professor Flora, which she prints weekly to distribute in class. The project was initially aimed at teaching English to children but changed due to high demand. For Professor Flora, “this project is fantastic because it helps people develop their English skills to enter the job market,” which is not always an easy task for an immigrant.
We returned to the room where Graciete was talking with Nuno. He also decided to share his experience. “I came here to try to find work, and besides all the information about the procedures, they also provide us with moral support. I think this association helps us with social integration and prepares us for the challenges we face.”
There are many “Nunos” out there.
What Batoto Yetu proves today is that these stories of people who have chosen Lisbon as their home, or who were born here but have migrant parents or grandparents, result from the constant presence of other peoples in a destination that has been the gateway to the whole world for centuries. There is still much to tell and document about this place.
You can read this article in Criollo here or in Portuguese here.