The carnival I almost missed

Coming back for a second chance to photograph the most exciting day of Maracatu

Over the years of traveling and photographing, there’s one thing that’s always bothered me: arriving at an amazing event only to witness the end of it.

You get a glimpse of something incredible, but you know you probably missed the best parts.

That was exactly how I felt last year when I arrived in the town of Aliança in Pernambuco.

The sun had just set, so I missed the golden hour. The last groups of performers had already arrived. Buses that had brought earlier groups were already leaving.

Still, I liked the setting of Aliança and could see its photographic potential. Unlike many of the other places I visited, Maracatu here unfolded against green rolling hills.

It was a welcome contrast to the uninspiring architecture of the small towns in the interior of Pernambuco. I also discovered that Aliança plays an important role on the final day of Carnival. Most Maracatu nations pass through here.

So this year I made sure I wouldn’t repeat last year’s mistake.

I decided to spend the entire day in Aliança. I’d already seen what the other locations looked like, so I had reason to believe Aliança would offer the best photographic opportunities. After spending the night up in the hills among the sugarcane fields, we drove into town.

Things rarely begin on time in Brazil, so even though I arrived on time, we were early.

It didn’t take long to realize I’d made the right decision.

The morning golden hour was gone by the time everyone arrived. But the light was still atmospheric. It highlighted the intensity of the Maracatu performances.

I walked around… looking, photographing whatever caught my eye.

Along the way I made friends with a couple of local women selling refreshments. I bought a few drinks for some exhausted performers. They travel from town to town and perform several times on this same day.

Normally I’m careful about handing things out. I’ve seen how something as innocent as giving a child chocolate can quickly turn into an entire village chasing you, demanding more. But this situation was different. No one was asking for anything. Conversations had already started, and my small offering felt appropriate in the heat of the Brazilian summer.

As in many situations like this, I didn’t focus only on the performances themselves. Of course I photographed them. But even in Aliança, with far fewer photographers around, I couldn’t simply walk into the middle of everything to get the exact angles I wanted.

And in my experience, the truly special images usually happen behind the scenes. That’s what I spent most of my time photographing that day. People preparing. Arriving on buses. Unloading costumes. Interacting with one another. Joking around.

One of the best things about these events is the faces. So many wonderful faces. Characters. Expressive. Sometimes performing for the camera in playful ways, other times surprisingly relaxed and simply themselves.

A detail that caught my eye. Objects hanging from one performer’s neck. Crosses, rosary beads, a small flower, even a set of keys. In Maracatu, faith, daily life, and tradition often mix together in quiet ways.

These performers aren’t actors or professionals. They are ordinary people who carry their beliefs, their responsibilities, and their culture with them into the celebration.

I noticed this man leaning against a wall and liked his style right away. He told me he used to be a Caboclo de Lança, one of the iconic figures of Maracatu. But he said he was too old for that now. Still, he had come with his Maracatu nation to support them. He spoke a little about the past, about how things used to be. There was pride in his voice, but also a quiet acceptance that his role had changed.

One of the really encouraging things about Maracatu is that young people still embrace it. There are many young performers involved. At almost any Maracatu performance you’ll see boys and girls who have just reached their teenage years, and often many who are younger.

The day was partially overcast. Sunlight kept breaking through in small windows. It created deep shadows and made the colors feel alive, especially as the sun began to sink.

A few other photographers had come earlier to shoot this important event. But they left around lunchtime. I stayed.

The thing is, with travel and documentary photography, the special moment can happen at any time, in the most unexpected places. The most meaningful encounter can appear out of nowhere.

That’s the beauty of this kind of photography.
Its unpredictability.
The feeling of being alive.

I wanted at least a chance to photograph during the golden hour. I just hoped the clouds would open up when the time came. Last year, many of these events took place under cloudy skies. The golden hour usually wasn’t golden at all. So it was fantastic to finally capture some of those vivid, vibrant colors this year.

Almost anyone I pointed my camera at seemed to have a little bit of magic around them because of the light. I ran around trying to photograph as many different subjects as I could while that dramatic golden light lasted.

Much of the action was happening around the buses, especially when groups returned from their performances. Once they finished, people seemed more relaxed and a bit more unguarded. It felt like they’d gotten the performance out of the way. Now I could capture genuine expressions, not just the posing or playing for the camera.

That mix of everyday life and the quiet glamour of Brazil and Maracatu. An ordinary setting between buses and dust. Yet sudden flashes of elegance.

Once the sun went down, the pressure to photograph everything eased. I moved around less frantically, talking and interacting more.

People in Northeast Brazil, despite lives that aren’t always easy, are almost always good humored. One man joked with me, asking if I’d noticed the difference in quality between their “budget” mascot and the much more elaborate ones used by other groups. I laughed and said, “Hey, at least you guys have a stuffed mascot.” Some Maracatu nations have nothing more than a picture. A traditional shield or a flag printed on a large piece of cardboard.

That led to a conversation with one of the older mestres, the community leaders who guide the Maracatu groups and help preserve the tradition.

Earlier I’d heard an announcement honoring some of the elders, the keepers of the Maracatu tradition. The announcer called them superheroes. I realized he was absolutely right.

These are people who aren’t paid. They keep this tradition alive through passion, pride, and love for the culture. That earns my deep admiration and respect.

When I met this elder gentleman, I told him exactly that. I said how remarkable it was that he and others had kept this tradition alive, and that people were finally starting to recognize their work. He seemed proud, but there was also a trace of melancholy in his voice.

“Yes,” he said. “But it’s still tough. It’s expensive to keep this going.”

Many of the costs come out of their own pockets. The government has set aside some funding, but much of the burden still falls on the communities themselves. It’s not easy. They need more help.

At the same time, he told me it was encouraging to see young people still getting involved. That gave him hope.

For my part, I said I hoped my photographs might help bring a little more attention to their work. I also plan to send the images to the event organizers.

I wanted to squeeze everything I could out of the day, so I stayed well after the sun had set.

I only left after the last performance ended. Another mestre was honored. Emotional reactions were everywhere. Faces full of pride and happiness. The thing they love so much, the thing they dedicate themselves to, was bringing joy to others and finally receiving recognition.

After Aliança, we headed south toward Bahia. That’s where we’ll be staying for the next year while my daughter goes to school. From there I’ll continue traveling and taking shorter photographic trips.