When Tomé de Sousa, the first governor‑general of Brazil, laid out the street plan for Salvador in 1549, few could have imagined the city would become a living museum of rhythm, religion and resistance.
Located on the Bay of All Saints in the state of Bahia, Salvador was the colonial capital for more than two centuries and the site of the New World’s first large‑scale slave market starting in 1558. Today, UNESCO recognises its historic centre as a World Heritage Site, a status that not only protects its pastel‑hued buildings but also the intangible heritage woven through its churches, brotherhoods and drum circles.
The news hook? A new cultural‑preservation initiative, launched by local authorities and backed by UNESCO, is funding the restoration of dozens of colonial churches and the training of youth ensembles in Afro‑Brazilian percussion. The move aims to keep the city’s syncretic traditions alive for the next generation, while also boosting tourism at a time when the economy is still recovering from the pandemic.
Salvador’s grid‑like streets still echo the original Portuguese plans drawn by Tomé de Sousa’s surveyors. The city served as Brazil’s capital from 1549 until 1763, when the court moved inland to Rio de Janeiro. During those early years, the bustling port attracted enslaved Africans, who were forced to work on sugar cane plantations that fueled the colony’s wealth.
According to the 2010 census, Salvador was the third‑largest city in Brazil, with a population that was 53.3 % female and 46.7 % male. The city recorded 474,827 opposite‑sex couples and 1,595 same‑sex couples, highlighting its demographic diversity.
The first bishopric in colonial Brazil was established in 1551. Pero Fernandes Sardinha arrived as the inaugural bishop in 1552, setting a precedent for the Catholic hierarchy that would dominate the city’s spiritual life.
Within a decade, the Jesuits, led by Manuel da Nóbrega, entered the scene, aiming to convert Indigenous peoples. The Franciscans, Benedictines and Carmelites soon followed, each establishing Third Orders, Brotherhoods and Fraternities that mirrored the social stratifications of the time.
Two brotherhoods stand out for their lasting impact: the Nossa Senhora do Rosário Brotherhood, composed largely of Afro‑descendant men, and the São Beneditino Brotherhood, also primarily Black. These groups not only provided mutual aid but also became custodians of a unique liturgical music that blended African drums with Catholic chants.
"The brotherhoods are the heartbeat of Salvador’s faith," says Father José Lúcio, a local priest who oversees restoration projects in the historic centre. "When you hear the atabaque echo through a chapel, you hear centuries of survival and celebration."
While the article notes that specific musical traditions aren’t detailed, the reality on the streets is unmistakable. The atabaque, a conical drum of West African origin, accompanies the processions of the brotherhoods during Carnival and Holy Week. The syncopated rhythms echo the early samba that later blossomed in Rio de Janeiro, yet Salvador’s beats retain a distinct call‑and‑response structure rooted in Candomblé and Umbanda ceremonies.
In the past twenty years, a wave of Pentecostal churches—Brazil’s version of North‑American evangelicalism—has added electric guitars and contemporary worship songs to the city’s sonic palette. This juxtaposition illustrates how Salvador continually negotiates its African heritage with modern global influences.
Professor Ana Ribeiro, an anthropologist at the Federal University of Bahia, notes, "What we see in Salvador is a living laboratory where European liturgy, African spirituality and popular culture intersect. The music isn’t just entertainment; it’s a repository of memory."
In 1985, UNESCO inscribed Salvador’s Historic Centre on the World Heritage List, praising its “outstanding Renaissance architecture” and “vivid palette of colourful houses.” The designation has spurred both tourism and conservation funding.
The latest initiative, announced on 12 March 2024, allocates 2.3 million USD for the restoration of 37 colonial churches and the creation of a youth apprenticeship programme in traditional drumming. The programme, called “Bate‑coração,” partners with the Santa Casa da Misericórdia, a charitable institution that has run hospitals and shelters since the 16th century.
Maria Silva, a 19‑year‑old percussionist selected for the pilot cohort, shares, "I never imagined I could learn to play the atabaque in a place that’s part museum and part living community. It feels like I’m holding a piece of history in my hands."
Salvador’s population has slipped to the fifth‑largest city in Brazil, yet its cultural influence remains outsized. The city’s festivals now draw over 1 million visitors each year, generating an estimated 3.5 billion BRL in economic activity.
Critics warn that overt commercialisation could dilute the authenticity of the brotherhoods’ rituals. A local activist group, “Voz da Luta,” argues that preservation funds should prioritize community ownership rather than tourist‑centric renovations.
Nevertheless, the UNESCO‑backed programme aims to strike a balance: restore physical structures while empowering residents to pass down intangible traditions. If successful, Salvador could become a model for other colonial cities grappling with the dual challenge of heritage conservation and modern development.
The "Bate‑coração" apprenticeship provides free instruction in traditional drumming, grants access to refurbished rehearsal spaces, and connects young players with veteran percussionists from the brotherhoods. Participants report increased confidence and new performance opportunities at festivals.
Led by Manuel da Nóbrega, the Jesuits arrived in the mid‑16th century to evangelise Indigenous peoples and established schools that later educated the colonial elite. Their missions also introduced European musical notation, influencing the liturgical chants that merged with African rhythms.
Unlike many Brazilian cities where brotherhoods were largely homogenous, Salvador’s groups were often organised by race or profession, allowing Black men to preserve African musical forms within Catholic processions. This created a hybrid worship style that still defines the city’s festivals.
Funding constraints, bureaucratic red‑tape, and community concerns about gentrification pose hurdles. Activists urge that restoration projects involve local residents from planning stages to ensure that cultural sites remain accessible and not turned into tourist spectacles.
Both cities trace their musical roots to African slaves, but while Rio’s samba evolved into a national symbol, Salvador’s rhythms stay tightly linked to religious ceremonies. The atabaque and call‑and‑response chants remain integral to brotherhood processions, preserving a more overt religious context.
Ankit Intodia
October 10, 2025 AT 23:28Reading about Salvador’s revival feels like tracing a living genealogy of sound and faith; each drumbeat is a syllable in a larger philosophical sentence about resilience.
The UNESCO backing turns heritage into a public syllabus, teaching youth that history isn’t static but a rhythmic dialogue.
It’s fascinating how colonial grids still frame the improvisational flow of Afro‑Brazilian brotherhoods.
In this context, the atabaque becomes a metronome for communal memory, ticking against the clock of modern tourism.
One could argue that the city’s streets are a textbook of syncretism, where Catholic chants converse with African drums.
Ultimately, preserving both stone and sound safeguards a dialect of identity that might otherwise fade.