Festival of São João and when in Extrema, look up – not down

Perhaps we’re adjusting to living in the sertão. It certainly takes an unusual experience to prompt me to write these days. However, this month we went to four São João festas at various schools which were very entertaining and most interesting.

The São João festa at Sara's school

The host family buys the table and some individual entrance tickets and a good time is had by all. You can buy canjica and pamonha (corn dishes) but you can also get hot dog and barbecued meat as well. The usual selection of lemonade, lager beers, whisky, rum and pitu (sugar cane spirit) is sold at rock-bottom prices. It is a melange of dressing-up, dancing presentations of Xaxado or Forro to live music, story-telling, bonfires and fireworks.

Children handle fireworks. At one school a boy, delighted by the reaction of his victims, threw his fireworks into an area sectioned off as a playground where little children including Sara were playing.

The Church at Extrema

At the weekend, we went to visit Ivonete’s parents near Extrema for the São João bonfire and we went to the local church on Saturday. I sat down on an empty part of a bench seat and looked down at the floor which was littered with dirt which probably someone had brought in on their shoes.

Our godson Arthur, now 11 months old, was passed on from one member of the family to the other to keep him amused during the service. It was my turn to hold him so I took off my glasses and held them at arms length so that he couldn’t reach them. For me that is difficult as I cannot see much without them.

Just after the sermon but before communion, I suddenly felt a thump and felt a sort of scratching and clinging to my head as this creature tried to recover from its fall. I reacted by knocking it off my head into the middle of the church and being completely disorientated shouted a loud "EEEEeee --- TAAAaaaa!" It was either a very large insect or a more substantial beast. Someone grabbed the baby while Ivonete’s uncle jumped onto the creature and put it out of its misery.

The blind priest who was conducting the service must have wondered what the fuss was about but he carried on as if nothing had happened. I put on my glasses and looked into the rafters above my head where another two bats were hanging together. Those sitting next to me were most amused.

After the service the men organised a hunt and knocked these bats from their perches with a long stick. After a swipe or two, one was hit and killed. The other, having more sense, escaped.

So the moral of this tale is when you walk into an old church and see droppings on the floor, look up at the roof just in case a bat loses its grip and lands on your head too!