This was not a holiday. It was a research journey – a deliberate exploration of the deeper connections between Nigeria and Brazil — and a first step toward imagining how these connections can be transformed into meaningful collaboration, cultural exchange, and new opportunities, particularly for young people and the creative economy. At the same time, it was something more personal. A reminder of how much there is still to learn, and how powerful it is to encounter people and places that reflect parts of your own story back to you — in unexpected ways.
Yemoja – Everywhere in Brazil – Photo by Sandra Alonge, Salvador de Bahia 2026
Despite deep historical and cultural links — particularly through Yoruba heritage and the influence of Ifá traditions in Afro-Brazilian culture — collaboration between the two countries remains limited. Much of Brazil’s engagement with Africa continues to focus on Portuguese-speaking countries, leaving Nigeria somewhat outside of this exchange.
IN March 2026, Eyes of Lagos Boy began a new and unexpected chapter — a journey to Brazil that quickly became much more than travel. It was an immersion into a country that feels at once distant and deeply familiar.
Brazil is home to the largest population of Afro-descendants outside Africa — over half of its people. In cities like Salvador da Bahia and Recife, this presence is not just demographic; it defines culture, identity, and daily life. Salvador, often described as the largest African city outside the continent, carries this history visibly — in its rhythms, its spirituality, its language, food and its people.
What we encountered was not just difference, but recognition. Across three weeks — from São Paulo to Salvador and Rio de Janeiro — this journey became a process of rediscovery: of shared histories across the Atlantic, of cultural continuities shaped by Yoruba traditions and the legacy of movement, resistance, and creativity.
This was not a holiday. It was a research journey – a deliberate exploration of the deeper connections between Nigeria and Brazil — and a first step toward imagining how these connections can be transformed into meaningful collaboration, cultural exchange, and new opportunities, particularly for young people and the creative economy. At the same time, it was something more personal. A reminder of how much there is still to learn, and how powerful it is to encounter people and places that reflect parts of your own story back to you — in unexpected ways.
While we are now developing a broader concept for future collaboration, we want to begin by sharing what we experienced: the images, the conversations, the moments that stayed with us. This marks the beginning of a new series: Stories from Brazil. This is the first edition.
If this journey was about understanding Brazil beyond the surface, then it felt important to begin this series with a conversation rooted in history, identity, and collective struggle. While this was not our first meeting in Brazil, we chose to start here — out of respect for the depth, relevance, and urgency of the work led by CONEN – the National Coordination of Black Organizations of Brazil. The meeting took place at the Vila Sul Goethe-Institut Salvador, where we were resident — a space that reflects the spirit of the exchange itself: international, cultural, and grounded in dialogue.
L-R Erilza Galvão, Gilberto Leal, leader of CONEN, Bolaji Alonge, Sitting – Edenice Santana, founder of Niger Okan and member of CONEN Muhler, youth delegate, leader of JCONEN, Brenda Oliveira and Gabriela Queiroz
We had the privilege of engaging with Gilberto Leal, leader of CONEN, alongside Edenice Santana, founder of Niger Okan and member of CONEN Mulher, Erilza Galvão, and a powerful youth delegation including Brenda Oliveira, leader of JCONEN, and Gabriela Queiroz.
From the outset, the conversation was direct and grounded. As Gilberto underlined, the work of CONEN remains deeply political. Brazil has made important progress in adopting policies on racial equality — but discrimination has not disappeared. The gap between policy and lived reality remains a central challenge.
This reality is particularly visible for young people. Brenda Oliveira and Gabriela Queiroz spoke candidly about the barriers many disadvantaged youth still face in accessing education. Opportunities exist — but they are not equally distributed, and too many young people remain excluded from systems that should support them.
Edenice Santana brought the discussion back to education itself — not only access, but content. While Afro-Brazilian history is officially part of the school curriculum, this is not consistently implemented. And even where it is taught, it is often not Afro-centric in its perspective. This raises a deeper issue: education does not just transmit knowledge — it shapes identity, belonging, and self-perception.
Starting this series with CONEN is intentional. Because before we speak about culture as expression — in art, fashion, or music — we need to recognize the movements and people who have fought to preserve, define, and defend that culture over decades. At the same time, the conversation opened a broader reflection on connections between Brazil and Nigeria.
Despite deep historical and cultural links — particularly through Yoruba heritage and the influence of Ifá traditions in Afro-Brazilian culture — collaboration between the two countries remains limited. Much of Brazil’s engagement with Africa continues to focus on Portuguese-speaking countries, leaving Nigeria somewhat outside of this exchange.
And yet, the connection is not theoretical. It is historical, lived, and visible. Afro-Brazilian returnees — formerly enslaved Africans who returned from Brazil to West Africa in the 19th century — have left a lasting imprint on Nigerian society. In Lagos, their legacy is still present in places like Popo Aguda (the Brazilian Quarter), where architecture, religion, cuisine, and cultural practices reflect this transatlantic history. Communities often referred to as Aguda stand as living evidence of a relationship that has never truly disappeared. In many ways, the bridge between Brazil and Nigeria has existed for generations.
Language plays a role — but it should no longer be a barrier. While only a small share of Brazilians speak English, and Portuguese is not widely spoken in Nigeria, technology has made communication easier than ever. The real question is whether we are intentional enough to build on what already exists.
What emerged clearly is the potential to activate these connections in new ways. Through art, culture, language, and education, we can create spaces where this shared history becomes visible again — especially for young people. Where Nigerian youth learn how their culture has evolved and is celebrated in Brazil, and Brazilian youth reconnect with the origins of that same heritage.
This is where collaboration becomes real. Not in abstract frameworks, but in lived exchange — rooted in people, history, and shared identity. Let’s learn together — and from each other. Because the future will not be built in isolation, but in connection. Across continents, across histories, across cultures — with a shared commitment to dignity, creativity, and opportunity.
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Stories from Brazil (II) – Favela Rocinha: The view from within
Perched high above the polished curves of Rio de Janeiro, Rocinha — the largest favela in Brazil — unfolds as a dense and complex urban landscape, rising in layered concrete along the hillside and overlooking one of the most photographed cities in the world. From a distance, it is cartoon-like — a compressed texture of structures — but entering it dissolves that illusion immediately.
Capoeira in Favela Rocinha – Eyes of a Lagos Boy 2026
By Sandra and Bolaji Alonge
IN March 2026, Eyes of Lagos Boy entered a new chapter in Brazil — a journey that quickly moved beyond travel into something more reflective, more layered, and at times unexpectedly personal. What began as movement across cities — from São Paulo to Salvador and Rio de Janeiro — became a process of looking more closely at the country’s cultural depth, its histories, and its contradictions.
Stories from Brazil emerged from this experience as a series that seeks to capture not only places, but perspectives — moments where culture, identity, and lived reality intersect in ways that resist simplification. If the first edition, set in Salvador, explored Brazil through connection — through dialogue, history, and shared identity — this second edition turns toward contrast, space, and the uneasy relationship between visibility and representation.
I had to visit the favela and experience how real people live here, the voices, the beauty, the everyday reality.” A month before our trip, I reached out to Rivaldo Narciso — a resident of Rocinha and a local tour operator — with a simple Instagram message. I wrote in English; he replied, politely, in Portuguese. He shared his program and rates for an experiential tour of his community. Different languages, same understanding — powered by technology, patience, and curiosity, we bridged the gap.
It is easy to talk about the power of the internet in abstract terms. But moments like this make it tangible — access, connection, and the ability to step into worlds that once felt distant.
By the time we arrived in Rio, the exchange had already turned into something real. A few final messages, and the visit was confirmed. What followed was not just a tour, but an entry point — guided by someone who lives the reality every day.
Perched high above the polished curves of Rio de Janeiro, Rocinha — the largest favela in Brazil — unfolds as a dense and complex urban landscape, rising in layered concrete along the hillside and overlooking one of the most photographed cities in the world. From a distance, it is cartoon-like — a compressed texture of structures — but entering it dissolves that illusion immediately.
You do not simply arrive in Rocinha; you climb into it. On the back of a motorbike taxi, navigating steep and narrow roads, the ascent is abrupt and physical. It pulls you into a different spatial logic, where the boundaries between private and public, home and street, infrastructure and improvisation are constantly shifting.
The word favela originates from a resilient plant that grows on rocky terrain in Brazil’s northeast, and the term was adopted in the late nineteenth century when soldiers returning from conflict settled informally on hillsides in Rio. But this was not the only force shaping these settlements. Following the abolition of slavery in 1888, formerly enslaved people were left without land, housing, or state support, forcing many to establish communities on marginal land. Over time, favela came to define entire neighborhoods shaped not only by geography, but by exclusion, adaptation, and survival outside formal urban planning.
Rocinha today reflects that history in built form — its density and verticality the result of decades of incremental construction, social organization, and persistence in the absence of systematic state provision.
Experiencing Rocinha through a guided tour introduces another layer — one that is structured, mediated, and increasingly shaped by global attention. The tour unfolds over several hours, combining motorbike transport with guided walking and curated stops that frame the favela through specific perspectives.
At designated viewpoints, the density of Rocinha gives way to expansive vistas of Rio — ocean, skyline, and hillside settlement coexisting in a single frame. The contrast is striking, almost too precise — a visual expression of inequality that requires no explanation.
Within this structure, certain moments stand out not only for their visual impact, but for what they represent. A capoeira performance, for instance, exists simultaneously as cultural expression and curated experience. Rooted in the history of enslaved Africans in Brazil, capoeira combines movement, music, and strategy — its martial elements historically disguised as dance as a means of survival and resistance.
In Rocinha, it remains a living tradition. But within the context of the tour, it also becomes part of a narrative presented to an external audience — raising subtle questions about context, intention, and interpretation.
The same applies to the now-signature drone footage that often concludes such visits — sweeping, cinematic images that circulate widely across social media. From above, Rocinha becomes visually compelling, almost abstract — a landscape that is easy to share, easier to admire, and dangerously easy to simplify.
The tour gives you access—but it also shapes what you see. Rocinha can feel engaging, even beautiful at times, challenging the usual stereotypes.
That tension sits at the heart of the debate around favela tourism. For some, it creates opportunity—generating income and offering a more nuanced view of communities often misrepresented. For others, it raises harder questions: whether it risks turning inequality into something visually appealing for an outside audience.
At its core, the debate is not only about tourism, but about power — about who is looking, who is being looked at, and how easily lived realities can be framed, aestheticised, and ultimately consumed.
The experience in Rocinha, however, complicates this narrative. Guided by a resident, structured around lived knowledge rather than spectacle, the tour felt grounded and respectful of the community. It did not attempt to sensationalize, but rather to create a point of entry — partial, inevitably, but anchored in a perspective from within.
If Salvador revealed Brazil through connection, Rocinha reveals it through contrast and in it, the complexity of the country becomes more visible — not less — demanding a way of seeing that goes beyond the image and lingers long after it.
This Easter weekend, If in Lagos, make sure to check out Fanti Lagos Festival, a grand Afro-Brazilian cultural celebration of heritage, music and dance.
- https://eyesofalagosboy.com/2026/03/29/stories-from-brazil-favela-rocinha-the-view-from-within/
