Where Rivers Meet the Sea: The Political Ecology of Water

2. Sense and Science at the Lake of Dark Waters

2 Sense and Science at the Lake of Dark Waters Nature was in fact already receding: its image, consequently, had become exalting. —Henri Lefebvre, “Contradictory Space” Aesthetics of Doom T he procession of coastal dunes moves with the prevailing wind, the depressions among them cradling small lakes called “eyes of water” (olhos d’agua). Fed by rain from above and aquifers from below, eyes of water pool in collecting points of dynamic equilibrium. Of all Bahia’s eyes of water, Lagoa de Abaeté alone is world famous, and lyrical motifs about mystical powers of its dark waters and white sands lit by full moons call to romantics far and wide (see Figure 4). Popular legends from Indian and African traditions, contemporary ritual practitioners of Candomblé, and Evangelical baptisms keep alive the lake’s reputation as a spirit zone of mystery, praise, and danger.1 The lake also figures prominently as stage and inspiration in Brazilian musical history. In the 1960s, before their fame went global, Vinicius de Moraes, Caetano Veloso, Gal Costa, and Gilberto Gil swam nude in Lagoa de Abaeté and wrote the legendary songs and poems that today lure busloads of Brazilian and international tourists to the lake (Jacob 2007). But in 2006 you will more likely hear the explosive world music rhythms of Pura Gasolina’s Reggaeton with Daddy Yankee or Parangolé’s shake-style “City Truth” (A Verdade da Cidade) than the classically soothing soft bossa nova and samba rhythms of Dorival Caymmi or old-school music. Every day brings hundreds of visitors to the lake, and on special occasions thousands crowd its shores. Abaeté’s distinctively irregular amoeboid V shape, photographed from dune or satellite, has become a central element in Bahian iconography (see Figure 2). The image of Abaeté travels through the global media as a flat icon that is reproducible by disparate interests. This 24 / Salvador da Bahia, Brazil circulating abstraction is an incentive to transformations that threaten the lake’s own much-adored physical existence.2 Abaeté and other eyes of water in and near Itapuã are also integral to local festival and caretaking traditions. Gloria, owner of a beach-shack bar-restaurant, has gone there since she was a little girl but now finds the lake in sad condition and tiny, compared to before; the lake’s darker and warmer waters suggest pollution, she said.3 Could automotive traffic too close to the lake cause the degradation , or bar-restaurants and their patrons, or the lack of maintenance? In the old days, there would be only a few people selling coconuts, no more, and the children used to have swimming contests from one side of the lake to the other. When the laundresses came with their kids, loads of stuff— clothes, pots and pans, food, garbage—inevitably fell into the water. But two or three men with diving masks and snorkels regularly dove down and pulled everything out. No more. This chapter explores Abaeté through the lens of Lefebvre’s insight that opened the chapter: As people spread and engage with the lake’s exalted image and its nature recedes, one man alone in Itapuã fights to bring light and change to this paradoxical trend. Not completely immune to the hype, I scope out Abaeté as a possible research site on one of my first mornings in Itapuã. As Jason and I approach the rise above the lake, two teenage boys appear. Their green Figure 4. Lagoa de Abaeté, looking away from the restaurants and shops. Sense and Science at the Lake of Dark Waters / 25 T-shirts say “Meninos de Abaeté” (Children of Abaeté) on the front and have the logo of Nativo de Itapuã on the back, the nongovernmental organization (NGO) and ecological, sport, and cultural group under whose auspices they work.4 Seeing Jason and me this first time as any other strangers with interest in the lake, the boys do their job: One engages us in conversation and takes us to a kiosk with postcards, printed materials, and small gifts; the other gets Senhor Antonio, the lake activist who would become my guide, research collaborator, and friend. Antonio’s genealogy is steeped in traditional culture: His father was an aguadero, a man who collects and delivers water in horse- or ass-drawn carts, and his mother sold acarajé to revelers during lake festivities. He puts his commitment to the lake and the children front and...