“Maysa is a project about race and gender in Brazil. I met Maysa during the final contest for “Young Miss Brazil”, in April 2014, she was there registering. On this day I discovered that this contest has two categories, one for black people and another for white people. Young Miss Brazil and Young Miss Brazil Black Beauty; created to encourage black girls to participate. Racism is, unfortunately, very common, although approximately 50% of Brazilians are African descendants. The vast majority live in a perpetually marginalized states. Months later, Maysa contacted me for a photo-shoot for her personal portfolio, she wanted to give a try to the 2015 contest. What was supposed to be a simple gift, became a work in progress. We started to get in touch, and month after month we developed a strong friendship. One that is helping me to be aware of the tough reality of my own country; racism, sexism, social exclusion, and a struggle to survive. In 2015 Maysa won the title Young Miss Brazil Black Beauty.
I’m seeing Maysa and her family, fighting to get to a comfortable place, and social recognition. And what is more exciting, I’m seeing the coming of age of a wonderful human being that represents a lot of values that my country is slowly losing.” - Luisa Dorr
SALVADOR, Brazil — This northeastern Brazilian city is famous for its Afro-Brazilian drumming traditions; the internationally acclaimed bloco-afroband Olodum has broadcast its colorful drums and pounding syncopation internationally for decades through music collaborations including Michael Jackson’s “They Don’t Really Care About Us” and Paul Simon’s “The Obvious Child”. To see that band — which is composed almost exclusively of men — or any of the city’s other renowned bloco-afros, like Ilê Aiyê, perform live in the streets of Salvador is a deep dive into the roots of this country’s musical traditions.But traditions change. Or actually, traditions are changed. By women like the ones that make up Banda Didá, a group composed exclusively of black women, pounding out those same Afro-Brazilian rhythms, filling up Salvador’s night with its old sounds, played by new hands.