Zum, zum, zum,
Capoeira mata um!
Zum, zum, zum,
Capoeira mata um!
Onde tem marimbondo
Tem zum, zum, zum
Onde tem marimbondo
Tem zum, zum, zum

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To you it's gibberish set over the Mazda theme music. To her, it's a call to arms. And legs. And heart.

It's her turn in the roda and once she's been given permission to go in, her au is tight and contained, even as the driving rhythm of the berimbau brings them up to their feet and off them. There's nothing, from her point of view, outside the whipping arms and feet and malicia of the capoeirista across from her, and they jinga and kick and evade and swoop all at the cadence of the drums and stringed instrument.

Just the fight, and the song. Once she's done, out of the roda, clapping along with the rest of the capoeiristas as new people take their place, someone laughs and points to her mouth. Again! She doesn't sing with everyone else as they clap and stomp and encourage the game in front of them, but when she's in the circle she's so lost in the goings on that she's mouthing every syllable of every song.

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So in a broken telephone name game, she is given the moniker serenada at her first batizado—when she goes against the mestre and successfully defends her right to keep learning and go farther.

Even if she's only singing inside her head, she is serenada, and the song is the fight, and the fight the song.