A Dozen Kinds of Ass-Kicking

Capoeira class kicked my ass. At one point, I thought I wouldn't survive the full two hours. I thought my heart would literally explode inside my chest. But I did survive, with the guidance of a young woman who's been studying the art for 13 years. Afterwards, the mestre had me purchase proper capoeira clothes--the requisite yellow tee shirt and white pants. (Pants didn't fit when I got them home...Shirt was perfect.) As I wrote a check in wobbly, weak hand, he assessed my potential: I can see that you're strong (?!) and it helps that you've taken some capoeira before. Give me three months and I will make you good. Although I doubted the possibility of that--seeing as how I couldn't even make it through the whole warm up--his confidence boosted me.

I chatted with a man from Brazil who spoke no English. He told me he usually plays the acrobatic, battle-oriented Regional style. I asked him his name, and after telling me his real name, he told me his capoeira name*: Perigoso. Ai, tenho medo! I replied. He was surprised I spoke Portuguese, and took to teasing me about my Lisboeta accent: "Shhh shhhh shhhh," he said, imitating the way the Portuguese say the letter s.

*Capoeira nicknames are a Regional, but not an Angola, tradition. Thank the gods--I can only imagine that after that class, I'd be given the nickname vaca or something.