Zebo sat on the stairs that led to the car service center where he worked as a junior supervisor. But, instead of feeling contented with his quick rise from an apprentice, and a salary increment from 50R$ to 200R$, he dreaded his days.

 He had come to Brazil with a lot of dreams but now where were they?

 That day in July, Zebo’s dark African shoulders slumped forward as he sat in the winter chill at night. It was time to go ‘home’- his shabby one-room dwelling in Santa Catrina’s poorest district, El Capo. He had gotten used to it since he came two years ago from Jhango, a small African town, in search of work.

 Everything was alright till about six months ago……

 Zebo had thrown a party to celebrate his increment at a local pub. There was a lot of drinking and dancing. He never knew what happened next, only he found himself naked in a hotel room nearby the next morning.

 He cried out aloud when a searing pain shot through his legs as he dressed and tried to move out of the room.

He called his cousins from the manager’s phone. As he sat crying in the dingy reception, he felt the cold steel of a large knife graze his neck.

 “One wrong move and you are finished,” they laughed hysterically.

“You just have to satisfy us and we can be friends. Now go home, little boy.”

 After that, the physical abuse had become a regular affair.

 They would come home when no one was around. Zebo whimpered in pain and shame but it never ended. He found ways to be away from his home.

 God take them, those bullies. Perverts!

 ***

 Zebo was surprised to see Gaspo at his service center one day. Gaspo was from his native. He had come to Brazil a few years back with intentions similar to Zebo's.

 Zebo was thrilled to hear that Gaspo was a successful dance master.

 “So, how’s work coming along, Zebo? I hope you have found some friends.”

Gaspo’s well-meaning queries opened the flood of tears and hate that Zebo had held captive in the deep recesses of his heart.

 If Gaspo was shocked at this revelation, he didn’t show it.

 He held Zebo’s trembling hands, then said, “Gosh! That’s horrible. But running away from this is not a solution, Zebo. You need to fight. Come to my dance academy tomorrow.”

As Zebo looked on, confused, Gaspo continued, “I will teach you Capoeira, an Afro-Brazilian dance. It is more of a martial art form. It originated in the 16th century when Brazil was a Portuguese colony that brought in African slaves. These slaves continued their practices in the guise of parties. You will learn what you need at the moment- the hits, punches, strikes, and fast moves. We’ll show them!”

A heavenly glow spread across Zebo’s face. He stayed with Gaspo from then.

Six months later, he had learned enough to defend himself ruthlessly.

Not a day passed for Zebo without thinking about how a moment and an art form of a country had changed his life forever.