I got in quite by chance.
I found out about the auditions through our samba
school. Shall I be a dancer or a drummer? I pondered... At the school I was
neither - I sang. I'd done some dance classes so I was pretty certain I could
shake it. Not sure if I'd dare in front of the supposed 8 billion. Scrapped.
As for drumming, I'd had literally one bateria class. Oh well, I've nothing to lose! Shake it,
shake it, shake it, shhh-k-chk, shhh-k-chk, shhh-k-chk... I went for chocalho* because I discovered that
playing it was quite similar to playing the "egg" - a small
shaker that I had already mastered. Only a hundred times faster and with both
hands.
And there I was, suddenly part of
the 80-strong bateria, rehearsing twice a week for god knows how many hours in
some horrid warehouse with acoustics that reminded me of Heathrow Airport
during rush hour. Having to put up with delays, misconceptions, lack of
organisation... and the worst sandwiches London had ever seen. All because I
wanted to perform at the Olympics Closing Ceremony, representing Brazil during
the 8 minutes generously assigned to the Rio Flag Handover team. Of course I
was excited. It was going to be BIG, they told us, the whole world would be
watching this greatest ceremony on earth.
At every rehearsal I learned
something new. How big the stage would be. Where we would stand. How many steps
left, how many steps right. What great an honour it was. That our costumes
would be golden. And our faces. That we would wear these huge drums over our
heads. Hmmm... drummers with drums before them and drums above them. Movements restricted by harnesses and
antlers. Still expected to smile and dance (and play the drums!).
Hanging around aimessly in plain sunshine duirng one of the final rehersals. Patience.
I learned that people from various samba schools could play together and have fun.
With guys from Portela, one of the oldest samba schools in Rio de Janeiro
I learned the meaning of the word volunteer (and wasn't impressed). Once I even learned, 2 weeks before the show,
that I wasn't on the list anymore. They had taken in more people than needed in
case some dropped out. I DIDN’T drop out. My name was just thrown out like a useless
prop. Welcome to showbusiness.
My tears hadn’t dried when I got
a call from the team congratulating me that I was back on the show. No joke. Pride
in my pocket, I dragged myself to Dartford again and again, and then to Daggenham. Put on the harness. Check. Put on the golden costume. Check. Golden make-up. Check. Antlers. Check. The crown. Check. The drum. Check. Chocalho in hand. Check. There was
only one occasion to see the Olympics stadium from the perspective of a
performer and I didn’t want to miss it.
On our way to the stadium
And here's the video from the moments leading up to the show:
Try squeezing 8 weeks into 8
minutes. What do you get? Three seconds of excitement before they say “go” and
a feeling you watched it all fast forward in HD and with lots of fireworks. Boom,
boom, done. My memory of that night includes switching the effing drums with
someone next to me, just before the show, because they were all numbered and
were going to light up in a special order; queuing nervously at the starting
line waiting for the signal, that one second I caught a glimpse of Marisa Monte
singing, and walking off the stadium.
Seconds before going in....
Good job they allowed us all back
in when the official ceremony finished to celebrate with everyone who’d
participated throughout the night and the medallists who joined the dancing
crowd. Suddenly, the pressure now gone, I forgot all about the blood, sweat'n'tears that were the inextricable part of the preparation for the Olympics. I forgot, for that bit, about the frustration of hanging around aimlessly for hours on end before we got to practise, sweating in our golden attires and having to fight for our ancient right to have a cup of tea (and I mean fight!). I didn’t feel the weight of the drum that kept bouncing off another
drummer’s, the antlers didn’t bother me anymore, my gold-painted face didn’t itch. Shaking
my chocalho tirelessly, absolutely elated, I was overcome by the ultimate sense
of accomplishment. But the best thing of all was doing it with a bunch of really cool people who, like me, love Brazilian culture. Thank you fellow drummers and RFH participants. It was worth
it.
As for the show itself, it's not for me to judge, 'cause I didn't see it! You can't have a cake and eat it, eh, so I'm only catching up on it now. If you want a reminder of how it was, we start at 7 minutes into the video.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iY6-TEOUwBQ
Source unknown or rather forgotten, but all rights (of the rightful owners) reserved.
