Ben Johnson explains his first-hand experience of learning the exotic Brazilian martial art of Capoeria, an ancient fusion of dance and combat.

Ben Johnson explains his first-hand experience of learning the exotic Brazilian martial art of Capoeria, an ancient fusion of dance and combat.

The great thing about coming to University (aside from reverting back to a dream-like childhood state where everything from sleeping patterns to eating habits are dramatically altered, waking up at midday with beans down your chin) is the wide variety of martial arts you can study. If, like me, you have a penchant to ‘trying anything once’ (within reason, of course, I mean things like musical instruments, adventure slides, and flavours of crisps), the sports open day at any University is like a ceaseless buffet of wide-eyed bewilderment and excitement: “you mean I can actually, finally, learn how to hang glide?” I was lucky. Coming from a kung fu background and largely inexperienced in a multitude of forms, the list of exotic martial arts that I had always wanted to try was beguiling:

The fascination has never waned, despite the fact that over my increasing years I have since grown an extra three foot, become as S.P.L. as an IKEA worktop and as acrobatic as a slug. My kung fu training had enabled me to kick quite well, but it hadn’t quite prepared me for kicking while spinning on my head, something that I had always been meaning to practise. Capoeria is also something that I have always, always, wanted to be able to do, despite my lanky disadvantages. I signed up, and went along for a trial period.

I have to say at this stage that out of all the martial arts I could have studied, I had probably chosen the one with the least physical contact. In fact, those of you who are aware of the basic rudiments of Capoeria, you’ll know that there is never any physical contact. None at all. Which is strange, given its Afro-Brazilian roots that stem from slave farms in the 18^th century where the art’s combative edge was disguised into a special rhythmical dance put to live music. Learning Capoeria, for a teenager from Swindon, was like peering into an alien culture that had its own traditions, language and sound. The music is the most integral part of the ‘dance’: two competitors square off within what is called a roda (a circle of people), in linen pants and tight t-shirts, shake hands in a purely amicable and friendly manner, and wait for the band to strike up. Percussive, mostly, the band is called a bateria, featuring three berimbaus (a bow-looking single-stringed instrument), and a pandeiro (a hand drum, a bit like a bongo). The faster the band play, the faster the competitors dance. Fellow classmates in the roda are encouraged to chant along to the Capoeria rhythms, clap if needs be, and generally encourage the two practitioners. This relaxed, enthusiastic and positively beaming musical environment couldn’t be further removed from the conformities of other martial arts and their strict codes of practise, and this mentality drew me closer and closer, despite knowing full well that I would prove to be about as rhythmically challenged and athletically graceful as an elephant with four left feet.

Luckily, I talked a very good friend of mine to come along with me to the practise classes, something that was way beyond the call of most friendships given that we had only known each other for about two weeks. Perhaps Capoeria lessons would prove to be a great bonding session, either that or one of us would inadvertently injure ourselves and have the whole horrible incident hanging over us for the rest of our time at University. “So, Ben,” she would say, “do you remember when you took me to a Capoeria class and I broke my leg in eight different places?” I wore baggy pants, perhaps too baggy, and it wasn’t until I got there that I noticed a giant frayed hole in the crotch that displayed, in full view of an embarrassed class, the bright colour of my underpants. I promised myself I wouldn’t wear these pants again and started to warm up in the self-conscious manner of someone who has just farted in a lift full of complete strangers.

The clientele was a mixed bunch of well-toned gym-going blond girls in sports bras and hair pulled back, to buff-looking lads who clearly knew their way around a dance floor, to notably anti-social outcasts with holes in their trousers, the latter of which included myself. But the overall feeling was one of around 100 people of indeterminate ages coming together on a soggy Tuesday evening to try something different that they’d never had the opportunity to do before. Then there were the instructors, who seemed to all be cut from the same statue with almost identically-trimmed facial hair and the sort of effortlessly cool demeanour that makes you realise how hopelessly inadequate you are as a beginner in the eyes of the advanced.

The first lesson focused on the core starting block of any Capoeria encounter, the Ginga, which acts as your preliminary stance that leads into every move you make. A swaying, rocking motion made to the rhythm of the Capoeria music, the experts make the Ginga look both relaxed and focused, moving both legs and arms in a balletic graceful motion in tune to the beat of the drum. The hundred or so beginners, however, looked more like extras from a bad zombie film, robotically gesticulating with feet falling out of place in a positively hideous rendition. And they weren’t even playing the music yet. I looked around and realised that this was going to be a long evening.

Some acquired the basic rudiments of the Ginga quicker than others. I quickly noticed that, with most things that require the coordination of limbs in some way, that the more you think about it, the less natural the movements appear to be, until it feels like you’re moving someone else’s arms and not your own. My friend and I exulted in the slightly inflated knowledge that our Ginga was better than most of the others who were still tripping over their shoelaces, and felt confident enough to venture off and practise with other people around the hall. Somehow we both ended up being stuck with the one gent of advancing years who not only couldn’t perform the Ginga to any degree of confidence, but also appeared to have just discovered the use of his legs in other forms besides using them for walking. Soon after this we decided that it was probably best to remain slightly more reclusive.

One of my most prominent memories of my brief Capoeria training was one exercise that, allegedly, helped us to perform a back flip. I say ‘allegedly’ because I never once saw any of us complete one full back-flipping motion, aside from the senior instructors, who made it look like they got out of bed like that every morning. The secret to it is learning how to support your own weight. “You don’t need to be strong to perform Capoeria,” our instructor would boom, “excess muscle will slow you down.” The secret is to be supple, but not too bulky. I realised quickly that I didn’t really have any trouble supporting my own weight when it came to using my legs, but using my hands would prove a completely different story. In a movement which you could easily practice at home, and without a crowd of over a hundred seeing you sweating and groaning, we were told to form a popular yoga position in which you lie on your back and then raise yourself up off the floor using both hands and both feet. A simple enough process, and one which proves a certain level of agility, lulling you comfortably into a sense that basic gymnastic training is evidently quite easy, and that you’ll probably leave the hall when class is over walking on your fingertips and somersaulting down the stairs. This, I hasten to add, was not quite the case.

To eventually develop the movement into one fluid back-flipping motion, simply repeat the process by lifting your feet off the ground, returning to the crab position. Over time, this will build up enough upper body strength to support the weight of your legs and carry you over, back onto your feet.

Not that the instructors had any problem with such trivial exercises. Each training session would end in a roda-induced clap-a-long showdown, very buoyant and communal, with absolute beginners being encouraged to enter the Capoeria circle and Ginga with the masters. All extremely entertaining, if a little nerve-wracking, as I sat quite uncomfortably dreading that the next culprit would be me, and I would fall embarrassingly onto my face as those around me stared at the hole in my crotch.

I never did return to Capoeria lessons, but my brief fling with the sport was both an entertaining and educational one, and certainly not something that I regret. It is fantastic fun above all else, and although it will not provide you with the necessary self-defence training that you require, Capoeria is a fantastic art to develop suppleness, flexibility, and agility, and it is a great way to harness your body’s natural rhythm, an integral part of practicing any martial art.

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