female travel

When I look back at the time I spent volunteering in Salvador da Bahia, Brazil in 2006, it seems so natural, so inevitable that I would end up in there at some point in my life. I often forget about what drew me to it in the first place: Banda Didá, an all female drumming ensemble that is based there. Before learning about that group, I hadn’t even heard of Salvador, an Afro-Brazilian city in the northeastern part of the country.

Music as it pertains to social movements or social justice has always been a topic of interest for me. When I came across a documentary called Girl Beat: Power of the Drum, I was automatically drawn by the synopsis. It highlighted the Banda Didá organization and the work it did to empower females of African descent in Salvador.

Banda Didá was powerful. I couldn’t believe this group of women whose hands and arms pounded out the rage of the remnants of European enslavement to the beats of West Africa. At the same time, their bodies moved fluidly and rhythmically and their faces beamed with pride in their heritage.

The documentary revealed another world, one that I had not yet been privy to, but in which I felt I likely belonged: Afro-Latin culture. In mainstream grade school education in the United States, the fact that Africans were enslaved in many other parts of the Americas is often ignored. The vivacious modern cultures of Latin America and the African influence on many of them is often overlooked. At that point in my life, I was vaguely aware of Afro-Latin America, but that was the first time I’d seen it so tangibly.

As the daughter of immigrants from a small West African country, I’d grown up on the periphery of belonging. I’d accepted that position at that point. But Salvador da Bahia seemed like a place where the distinct mix of cultures that went into my creation was very much the norm in a very visible way. And sure enough, it was.

There’s a bit of drumming at the beginning of this, but skip to 1:00 for the good stuff. Those drums are heavy, and these women make dancing with one attached to your hips look easy.

I saw Banda Didá for the first time in person just a few days after I arrived in Brazil. Every Tuesday night from August until Carnival, they have a big party in Pelourinho, Salvador’s historic center. They call it a “rehearsal” for Carnival and it’s an insanely fun night of government sanctioned partying. There are concerts, street food and drinks, and baterias (drumming ensembles) marching down the cobblestone streets.

A drum circle with an intrinsic sense of spirit and all kinds of soul.

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Earlier this week, I was flipping through the San Francisco Chronicle on my lunch break when an obituary caught my eye. Why am I talking about death in the week when I’m celebrating my birth? Well, hear me out.

This woman who’d died exactly a week after her 95th birthday was described as a “lifelong progressive, feminist and world traveler” — she sounded like a person I could’ve been friends with and a person who’d lived her life with purpose. Intrigued, I continued reading.

The obituary went on to say that after 40 years of homemaking and after her husband passed away, she started to fulfill her lifelong dream to travel the world. “At age 72, she she began a series of adventures around the globe, visiting 17 European countries, Mexico, South Africa, New Zealand, Argentina and both poles, and nearly two dozen states in 19 years.”

While I personally take a “travel while you’re young” approach, I love to hear about and know women who are a testament to the fact that age doesn’t have to prevent you from doing what you want to do.

My own mother is one of those women. At the age of 56, she has very recently begun a Peace Corps assignment in Namibia. A few people I talked to about it assumed that the Peace Corps was only for straight out of college young people. It’s not. To me, in a time when people haphazardly sign up to volunteer abroad, she is an ideal candidate — someone who had a Peace Corps teacher as a child, someone who grew up in an African country, and most importantly, someone who has lived.

A couple days ago, I entered the last year of my twenties. Amongst females I know who are around the same age, there seems to be a bit of a divide between those who’ve hit the 30 mark and those for whom it is rapidly approaching. Those who’ve reached 30 and beyond have told me they’ve realized it’s not as bad as they feared it would be and in a few cases, it turned out to be exactly the transition that they needed. With a few exceptions, the women I know who are under 30 are fearful about entering their next decade.

It’s such a big part of female culture in the United States to look at age beyond the 20s as just an ending rather than a transition that contains both endings and beginnings. And those beginnings and endings can be both good and bad. Sure, as we age, unwelcome changes begin to happen to our appearances. But also with living, truly living, you can acquire the perspective and self assurance that is required to feel good about yourself despite what you think others think about you.

And that is a major gift of living fully and getting older — the increased ability to know yourself and grow into yourself and love yourself as you are. This gift is available to everyone, but not everyone receives it. In order to receive it, you have to be open to it, be aware of it, want it, take the initiative to find it.

I’d like to end this post with a video I came across the other day about some fearlessly fashionable older women in New York who display their personalities and creativity through their outfits:

“Young women, you’re going to be an old woman some day. Don’t worry about it. Don’t sweat it. Don’t worry about getting older. Every era… it builds character.”

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Traveling solo now feels normal to me, but there are those rare occasions when loneliness consumes me on the road. The day I arrived in Oaxaca which I wrote about in my previous entry is one example. I sometimes fight the solitude rather than reveling in it and understanding that it’s only temporary. Sometimes I forget about all the people I’ll meet and the observations I am able to make because of the openness and quietness being alone provides.

My friend shared this video with me yesterday about learning how to be alone and making the best of solitude. It mostly refers to one’s regular environment, but it can all apply to traveling solo as well. If I’d had this video when I arrived in Oaxaca, it would’ve been the perfect antidote to the way I felt then. Of course, time and a change of attitude had the same effect. But I’m sure it won’t be last time I feel that way on a trip, looking back at the comfort and fun times of a group rather than looking forward to possibilities that await. When those times come, hopefully I’ll remember some of the words in this video, especially the most simple ones at the beginning of it, “be patient.”

Maybe this poem doesn’t really qualify as a song, but it’s close enough and it’s a beautiful little video:

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