Bobures, the other face of urbanism: reflections from Lake Maracaibo Symon Sentain AoU
I arrive at the tiny Miguel Urdaneta Fernandez Airport in Zulia State, Venezuela, and then board the only bus that will take me to the Sucre District, and the small town of Bobures, the place of my birth, land of my ancestors. It’s 4am and yet, as we drive through La Plaza Rafael Urdaneta Avenida and Los Aldredores de la Plaza, the street musicians are still on the corner playing the polyrhythms, syncopated notes, and multiple musical time signatures of salsa on makeshift instruments. Couples, old, young, and somewhere in between, strut their stuff in complex turns, spins and shuffles. I smile. ‘Bobureanos y Bobureanas’ – the men and women of Bobures – are considered the best salsa dancers in all of Venezuela. It is easy to see why: we are in a constant flux of impromptu dance that I’m only conscious of when I return. We approach La Iglesia Virgen del Carmen, the town’s Catholic Church. Under the covered narthex the vigil choir sings a Gregorian chant, Boburesstyle, adapted to allow for a Salsa-inspired musical accompaniment and a dance, bequeathed by our African
ancestors. I glimpse the nave, both the Gospel and the Epistle sides, as well as the wonderful Chancel, all borrow freely from our African and Amerindian heritage – a natural conjugation of African, South American, and European. The Mercado del Pescadores – the town’s fish market – plies its trade, the buyers out early to snag the best fish from Lake Maracaibo along which Bobures closely sits. Outside El Centro Clinico Ambulatorio, our general hospital, a group of four elders sits at a small square table playing dominos. Each player stands, when it’s their turn, to slam a domino down with force, a theatre of movement.
Showering and putting on a T-shirt and shorts, I retrieve my Chimbanguela drum, and walk 50 yards to my cousins on the beach. I immediately join in the musical ensemble, weaving in my rhythmical counterpoint. The music ebbs and flows, reflecting Lake Maracaibo’s ceaseless motion. We sing an old Simon Bolivar ‘anthem’ as we play, a joyous remembrance. This is Bobures, a town through which a musical heartbeat keeps time with the seasons and which never ceases to dance in celebration of its architecture, spaces, culture and peoples.
It’s 5am, when I arrive. However, I must make my excuses to various family members – too tired. I awake to the sound of Chimbanguelas drums, a call to musical arms. Opening the window, I look out at the sandy beach of Lake Maracaibo and across the gleaming waters. I breathe in. It smells good, wholesome.
ph. Terenzio Soldovieri
Gallery Editor’s introduction | AoU in Action
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