Cape Verdean Batuque: The Great Rhythm of Resistance

A Circle of Memory: The Living Tradition in Lisbon’s Suburbs

The Origins of Cape Verdean Batuque: When Drums Became Bodies

Batuque emerged from an act of creative defiance. When Portuguese colonial authorities and the Catholic Church banned drums among enslaved Africans — viewing them as instruments of rebellion — the women of Santiago Island refused to be silenced. They discovered they could transform cloth bundles into percussion instruments, creating the tchabeta.

These women bound loincloths into tight bundles. Then held them between their thighs. And found they could produce a remarkable range of sounds depending on the fabric’s thickness and compression. After gruelling days in the fields, they would gather in circles, tapping out rhythms on these cloth drums while singing about births, deaths, hopes, and heartbreaks.

The ingenuity of this adaptation cannot be overstated. Denied instruments, these women transformed their own bodies into percussion sections. The ritual developed precise choreography: groups of women, known as batukadeiras, would gather in a terreru — a backyard or public square — arranging themselves in a circle for performances that could last hours.

The Complexity Hidden in Simplicity

The performance unfolds in two distinct movements. The first, called galion in Creole, features one performer executing polyrhythmic beats while others maintain a steady two-beat pattern. Then comes the crescendo — the second movement — when a dancer enters the circle and the rhythm intensifies into the da ku tornu, with its characteristic hip rotations that colonial authorities deemed dangerously sensual.

Unlike other Cape Verdean musical genres, batuque is uniquely polyrhythmic — technically, a three-beat rhythm layered over a two-beat pattern — following a call-and-response structure that allowed for improvisation and coded communication. The finaçon, performed at a session’s end, features improvised verses with satirical or advisory content — things that otherwise couldn’t be said openly.

Santiago Island: The Heartland of Batuque Culture

The Most African Island

Santiago Island carries the most profound African imprint in the Cape Verdean archipelago. By 1580, the island’s population consisted of 14,000 enslaved people and just 2,000 free inhabitants. The Portuguese had claimed these uninhabited volcanic islands in 1460, quickly establishing them as a crucial hub in the triangular slave trade between Africa, Europe, and the Americas.

The island’s mountainous interior became a sanctuary for those who escaped bondage. These escapees, known as rebelados, established autonomous communities modelled on West African societal structures, becoming the cradle of Badiu culture — the largest ethnic group of Cape Verde today.

In these isolated mountain communities, African traditions survived and evolved. Batuque served as entertainment, a form of coded communication, and a means of cultural preservation. Women could criticise oppressors, share news, offer advice, and maintain cultural bonds — all under the guise of performance.

Tarrafal: Where Tradition Survived Underground

In Tarrafal, a town in Santiago’s north that once housed a notorious concentration camp for political prisoners, batuque has particularly deep roots. During the Estado Novo dictatorship (1933-1974), colonial hostility toward batuque intensified dramatically. The practice was banned in urban centres by the 1950s, deemed too African and potentially subversive.

Yet the women of Tarrafal continued gathering in secret, preserving the tradition through the darkest years of colonial rule. The town — which today attracts visitors to its palm-fringed beaches — remains a batuque stronghold where groups like “Pó di Terra” have produced some of Cape Verde’s finest singers.

Maria, a batukadeira in her seventies who learned the tradition from her grandmother, recalls: “They called it savage. But it was our history, our way of remembering who we were when they tried to make us forget.”

The Language of Tradition and Resistance

The colonial authorities’ fear of batuque wasn’t unfounded. Through its lyrics and rhythms, women could express things that couldn’t be said directly. The tradition has always been about more than just the music — including dancing gestures and word meanings, as well as satires, complaints, and coded messages.

The dance itself became particularly controversial. Some scholars speculate that the hip movements may be related to fertility rituals, which were initially performed before weddings. Whether accurate or not, colonial and church authorities indeed viewed the dance as dangerously sensual and “inappropriately African”, using this as justification for suppression.

The Finaçon: Speaking Truth Through Song

The finaçon represents batuque’s most sacred element. This closing segment features improvised verses delivering advice, warnings, and social commentary. As Ntoni Denti d’Oru, one of the few male practitioners, explains, the finaçon allowed the batukadeiras to rest. At the same time, one woman would “dana língua”, dance with her tongue, weaving words into powerful narratives.

Nácia Gomi — considered the most creative of all finaderas — began performing at age 14 after being challenged by an elder. She became legendary for her ability to improvise verses that cut straight to uncomfortable truths, delivering counsel wrapped in metaphor and rhythm.

Post-Independence Revival and Modern Evolution:

From Suppression to Celebration

Cape Verde’s 1975 independence marked a turning point for batuque. The new government encouraged citizens to study the tradition, and politicians began hiring batukadeiras for conventions. What had been suppressed as “too African” was suddenly celebrated as authentically Cape Verdean.

The transformation wasn’t merely political — it was deeply personal for practitioners. Women who had practised in secret could now perform openly. Batuque moved from hidden terraces to public stages, from whispered sessions to amplified celebrations.

The Neo-Batuku Movement

The 1990s brought a creative revolution. Young composers like Orlando Pantera, Tcheka, and Vadú began researching traditional forms while creating neo-batuku—updating the genre with guitars and modern percussion while maintaining its essential polyrhythmic character.

Orlando Pantera, who died in 2001 before completing his creative vision, is credited with pioneering this transformation. His work influenced a generation of artists who saw batuque not as a relic but as living art. Artists such as Mayra Andrade, Lura, and Nancy Vieira introduced batuque to international audiences, incorporating it into contemporary compositions.

Today, new generations of batukadeiras have adapted pragmatically. Instead of cloth bundles, they use rolled plastic bags, which, when stacked correctly, produce an impressive tonal range. Some young men are also more and more often claiming space in what was once an exclusively female domain, using batuque to assert their African identity.

The Madonna Effect: Global Recognition

An Unexpected Ambassador

Batuque received unprecedented global attention in 2019 when Madonna, living in Lisbon while her son attended a soccer academy, encountered the Orquestra Batukadeiras. The pop star described being “mesmerised and hypnotised” by their performance, having never heard anything comparable.
The collaboration resulted in “Batuka,” a track on Madonna’s album Madame X, featuring the orchestra. The music video, filmed on clifftops near Lisbon, intersperses scenes of the batukadeiras with ghostly images of slave ships — caravels that took Cape Verdean men to the Americas centuries ago.

Impact on the Practitioners

For the batukadeiras involved — many of whom worked as domestic workers or housekeepers — the experience was transformative. “Madonna called these women ‘warriors,'” notes Karyna Gomes, a Cape Verdean singer working to preserve batuque traditions. “For women who have been invisible their whole lives, to be seen by the entire world suddenly — it was powerful.”

The collaboration brought financial benefits, but more importantly, validation. These women, whose mothers and grandmothers practised in secret, found themselves on international stages, their tradition finally recognised as art rather than dismissed as primitive.

Batuque in the Diaspora

Bridging Continents Through Rhythm

Today, more Cape Verdeans live abroad than in the islands themselves. Major communities exist in New England, Portugal, the Netherlands, France, and Brazil. In each location, batuque circles continue forming—plastic bags get rolled up, voices rise in call and response, and the tradition adapts to new contexts.

In Massachusetts, where Cape Verdeans have lived since whaling ships brought them there in the 1800s, batuque sessions take place in community centres and churches. In Rotterdam, home to a vibrant Cape Verdean community, the tradition mingles with other musical influences, creating hybrid forms.

Dino D’Santiago, born in Portugal to Cape Verdean parents, exemplifies this diaspora generation. He organises national batuque gatherings, bridging older practitioners with youth who might otherwise lose touch with their heritage. The fourth national gathering in Quarteira, Portugal, brings together groups from across Europe.

Digital Age Adaptations

Modern technology has transformed how batuque spreads and survives. Danilson Pires, an electronics engineer who assists a Lisbon group, describes how women send him audio recordings of compositions they create via Facebook. He transcribes these for rehearsals, as many older practitioners have limited literacy.

YouTube videos of batuque performances garner hundreds of thousands of views. WhatsApp groups connect batukadeiras across continents, sharing new songs and techniques. The tradition that once spread through slave ships now travels through cables, reaching Cape Verdean youth who’ve never seen the islands.

 Social Impact and Cultural Preservation of Batuque

Contemporary Issues

Contemporary batuque serves purposes beyond entertainment or cultural preservation. Organisations use gatherings to address domestic violence, gender inequality, and immigrant isolation.

“It’s not an excuse to reach them,” — explains Iolanda Veiga of the Association of Cape Verdean Women in the Diaspora. — “Batuque itself is important, but it’s also a tool.”

Through batuque circles, women find safe spaces to unwind and discuss problems they might not otherwise tell out loud. The tradition’s emphasis on improvised verses allows contemporary issues to be incorporated into ancient rhythms. Songs about immigration struggles, workplace discrimination, and family separation join traditional themes.

Intergenerational Transmission

The vital aspect of modern batuque is its role in cultural transmission. In batuque circles, teenagers learn from octogenarians, absorbing not just rhythms but stories, values, and identity. Each woman typically has memorised at least fifty songs — a living library of cultural memory.

Watching intergenerational practice sessions reveals this transmission in action. Older women’s faces light up when young girls nail complex rhythms. Teenagers listen intently as elders improvise verses about villages in Santiago, drought years, and children who left and never returned.

The Future of Batuque Tradition

UNESCO Recognition Efforts

Efforts are underway to achieve UNESCO recognition for batuque as an Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity. This would provide international protection and support for the tradition, ensuring resources for preservation and transmission.

The application process has united practitioners, scholars, and government officials in documenting the history and contemporary practice of batuque. This documentation itself is valuable. It creates archives of songs, stories, and techniques that might otherwise be lost.

Batuque Evolution Without Erasure

The challenge facing batuque is maintaining authenticity while allowing evolution. Purists worry that modern adaptations — such as electric instruments, staged performances, and international collaborations — dilute the essence of the tradition. Others argue that batuque has always adapted, but its survival depends on remaining relevant and having a purpose.

Young artists, like Tcheka, navigate this tension carefully by studying with elderly masters while creating contemporary expressions. They understand that traditions survive not through perfect preservation, but through constant reinvention, by staying alive through adequate evolution and finding new meanings while maintaining their main essence.

The Beat That Does not Die

As evening falls in the Zambujal community centre, the batukadeiras perform their final finaçon. An elderly practitioner’s voice cuts through the rhythm, singing about remembering origins — even when the world encourages forgetting. The younger women nod, their hands never missing a beat on their plastic drums.

Batuque stands as living proof that creativity flourishes under oppression, that human expression finds a way with or without conventional instruments. When colonisers took the drums, women made drums of their bodies. When cloth became scarce, they resorted to using plastic bags. When tradition was banned, they practised in secret. When the world changed, they changed with it while keeping their essence intact.

Today, batuque has lost some of its original social meanings — it’s no longer tied to specific ceremonies, and any potential fertility symbolism has faded into academic speculation. However, it has gained new significance as a symbol of resilience, a tool for social change, and a bridge between the past and the future.

One batukadeira turns to me as the session ends:

“You understand now? This is not just music. This is who we are.”

Outside, Zambujal’s streets are quiet except for distant traffic. But in community centres and living rooms, in Santiago and across the diaspora, the beat continues. Women still gather in circles. Plastic crinkles between thighs. Voices rise in ancient songs with contemporary words. And in that polyrhythmic heartbeat — three over two, Africa over Europe, past over present — Cape Verde remembers itself.

The batuque tradition continues evolving, with groups worldwide ensuring its survival. For many Cape Verdeans, especially women, it remains not just a musical tradition but a lifeline to identity, community, and cultural memory that transcends geographic boundaries. In every performance, in every circle, the message remains clear: some rhythms refuse to die.

Bibliography

• Breves Apontamentos sobre as Formas Musicais existentes em Cabo Verde (PDF) by Margarida Brito (1998)
• Cape Verde Batuque, Batuko Playlist on YouTube;
• Cape Verdean batuku, music from the land by Nélida Brito on BUALA;
• Cape Verde. Batuque from the island of Santiago. Photos by François Guénet, on Ibn Baṭṭūṭa;
• Batuku photos from reisetraeume.de. (archivised);
• Batuque (Cape Verde) on Wikipedia, the Free Encyclopedia;
• Nácia Gomi on www.caboverdeamusica.online.