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Journal of African Diaspora Archaeology and Heritage

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Behind Closed Doors: Space, Experience, andMateriality in the Inner Areas of Brazilian SlaveHouses

Marcos André Torres de Souza

To cite this article: Marcos André Torres de Souza (2016) Behind Closed Doors: Space,Experience, and Materiality in the Inner Areas of Brazilian Slave Houses, Journal of AfricanDiaspora Archaeology and Heritage, 5:2, 147-173, DOI: 10.1080/21619441.2016.1204793

To link to this article: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/21619441.2016.1204793

Published online: 02 Aug 2016.

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Behind Closed Doors: Space,Experience, and Materiality in the InnerAreas of Brazilian Slave HousesMarcos André Torres de Souza

Museu Nacional, Universidade Federal do Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

This article focuses on the examination of some aspects of rural slavery inBrazil. Discussions will draw on the examination of data from two plantationsfrom the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Through analysis of these casestudies, this article exposes the mechanisms created in the landscape by plan-tation operators in order to exercise better control of captives’ lives. This studyalso examines how enslaved individuals created reciprocal practices anddomains of knowledge within living areas that allowed them to produce andreproduce practices on their own. The conclusion of this text stresses the sig-nificance of the enslaved individuals’ living places for their cultural and socialsurvival.

keywords Brazil, slavery, plantation, landscape, slave house, recycled arti-facts, slave autonomy

Introduction

This article synthesizes some of the results of a long-term archaeological projectcarried out in the former captaincy of Goiás, Central Brazil, which focuses on theexperience of Africans and their enslaved descendants. Although part of the investi-gations has been conducted in urban contexts (Souza 2000; 2002), discussions willconcentrate on sugar-cane plantations, known in Brazil as engenhos. Two sites willbe analyzed by using a comparative perspective: Engenho de Santo Izidro andEngenho de São Joaquim (Figure 1). The Engenho de Santo Izidro was built inthe first half of eighteenth century and is related to the beginning of colonial occu-pation of the region due to the discovery of gold ores in 1725. The Engenho de SãoJoaquim dates from a later period. This site was built in 1800, when the gold depos-its were exhausted, and the regional economy was gradually shifting to agriculture.This study will focus on the slave houses, known as senzalas in Brazil. I will

examine their outer and inner spaces. In examining the outer spaces, I try to

journal of african diaspora archaeology & heritage,Vol. 5 No. 2, July, 2016, 147–173

© 2016 Informa UK Limited, trading as Taylor & Francis Group DOI 10.1080/21619441.2016.1204793

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understand their arrangement and position in relationship to other buildings. Whenanalyzing the social landscape of these plantations, I will show some of the strategiesused by owners to exercise greater control over the lives of the captives. In examin-ing the inner spaces, I seek to understand the development and shaping of specificcultural and social practices of the enslaved communities. In trying to glimpse theslaves’ lives in such spaces, archaeology offers a rare opportunity to provide insightsthat are not afforded by written sources from slave owners. My analysis draws ondifferent theoretical perspectives based on phenomenology and the theory of agency.

Architecture and the outer space

A more visible dimension of the materiality of Brazilian slave houses was related totheir outer spaces. Those exterior spaces were more exposed to the public eye and

figure 1 Map of Central Brazil and locations discussed in this study. Image by the author.

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better documented in written records. They were also contested spaces and thereforemay be of great interest for at least two reasons. First, examining these spaces mayfacilitate a greater understanding of the relationships established between plantationowners and the enslaved people. Second, the circumstances of such external domainsaffected the ways in which captives acted in the creation of spaces on their own.Taking into account these considerations, I examine the case of the Engenho de

Santo Izidro, a sugar-cane plantation dated from the first half of eighteenthcentury that is presently under research. This plantation may be considered largein the Brazilian context, with approximately 150 slaves. The plantation operationsfocused on producing and selling sugar-cane byproducts to the nearby mining vil-lages and cities. Francisco Xavier Leite de Távora, the city military chief, ownedthe plantation. Távora came from a prominent Portuguese family and was one ofthe most powerful members of Vila Boa (present day Goiás city) community.This Santo Izidro site was abandoned in the early nineteenth century. Although no

evidence of the former buildings still exists above ground, a comparison of writtenrecords and oral history accounts allowed the identification of two major structuresin the complex: the great house and the mill building located on a small hilltop. Itwas also possible to identify the reservoir used for storing water for powering themill, the shape of which is still visible in the terrain (Figure 2).The location of the slave houses on the Santo Izidro plantation may be inferred by

combining this information with complementary sets of archaeological evidence.This evidence includes the presence of a superficial layer of dark soil and the

figure 2 Archaeological structures identified in Engenho de Santo Izidro. Image by theauthor.

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existence of subsurface archaeological deposits in the same area, revealed throughshovel tests and systematic excavations (Figure 2). These data suggest an intensiveanthropogenic activity in this area, probably due to daily interactions in the vicinitiesof the slave houses. This assumption is strengthened by the identification of a par-tially preserved layer that suggests the former presence of a dirt floor, which inthe context of large plantations is usually related to the inner areas of slavehouses. Considering the combined data above, it was possible to locate the slavehouses as stretching longitudinally in front of the great house and approximately240 m wide. As documentary evidence indicates, eighteenth-century slave housesin Goiás (Pohl 1978), as in many other regions of the colony (Symanski andSouza 2007: 219), were composed of small wattle-and-daub, straw-covered huts,and it is possible to envision a number of these buildings spreading in this area.A peculiar and somewhat unexpected situation on the Santo Izidro site is the close

proximity of the great house and the slave quarters, which makes it a truly interest-ing case in an Atlantic regional context. Surveillance from the owner or overseer’shouses of the slave quarters was a common practice on plantations in NorthAmerica and the Caribbean (e.g., Armstrong and Kelly 2000; Delle 1998; Epperson2000). However, a distance was always kept. In some situations, the distance couldbe significant, as in some Bahamian plantations, where slave houses could be located400 m or more from the main buildings (e.g., Farnsworth 1999: 234–271). InCentral Brazil, the Austrian naturalist Johann Pohl described the spatial organiz-ation of some plantations in the early nineteenth century and none of themmatched the Santo Izidro case. The most common arrangement was the organizationof the buildings around a central space (Pohl 1978: 188, 268, 278, 288). A lesspopular type of arrangement was the placement of slave houses around the greathouse and mill house complex (Pohl 1978: 190, 217). In other regions, huts wereorganized in clusters and situated in front of the great house, but some distancewas kept, as in the case presented in Figure 3.For the enslaved communities living on plantations, huts had some advantages

over the other types of slave quarters. In building their own houses, they couldget involved in choosing the building’s design, as well as the use of specific tech-niques and materials in its construction. As different authors have pointed out,the shape and size of some slave huts used in the United States paralleled a kindof West African architecture (Ferguson 1992; Vlach 1976). That observation cancertainly be extended to some Brazilian sites as well (Souza 2000: 128–135). Inthis sense, these houses could represent a source of comfort and well-being forthese individuals. Huts could also allow them a higher degree of privacy. Theycould be arranged in order to allow more areas of circulation and avoid visual sur-veillance (Armstrong and Kelly 2000: 363–390). However, the configuration foundin the Engenho de Santo Izidro may have reduced this possibility, at least in part,since the placement of the great house among the slave houses likely figured as anoppressive presence of the owner and the slave system at large. Although the hutslocated in the fringes of this row could be less subject to surveillance and control,the physical presence of the great house among the senzalas certainly served as anoverreaching mechanism to impose power.

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This situation may be better understood if two linked circumstances are con-sidered. One of them relates to the period in which Távora lived. The eighteenthcentury was a period when severity in the administration of slaves reached itspeak in Brazil (Marquese 2004). As I have argued elsewhere, this tendency wasrelated to a baroque worldview, in which brutality and violence were consideredinherent characteristics of human beings. Távora himself was a fitting example ofthe period (Souza 2015a). A second circumstance relates to Távora’s personality.As a number of sources indicate, he was known in his community as especiallysevere and authoritarian, sometimes abusing the power he had as a military chief.In a number of well-documented episodes, he also appeared as being cruel withhis slaves and extremely harsh in his punishments. Possibly as a result of such inci-dents, he was killed by two of his slaves on his property in 1767. Considering thesecircumstances, it seems that the placement of the great house facing the slave quar-ters was based on a practice of intimidation and an imposition of power.The Engenho de São Joaquim provides a different example. In this site, another

kind of violence was practiced. As I hope to demonstrate, it was much moresubtle in nature. As in the case of the Engenho de Santo Izidro, the São Joaquimplantation belonged to powerful man. Joaquim Alves de Oliveira owned SãoJoaquim and was a rich businessman and entrepreneur and one of the most influen-tial members of the Meia Ponte (present day Pirenópolis) community (Costa 1978;Souza 2007: 66–69; 2015a). As in Santo Izidro, the São Joaquim plantation had alarge number of slaves, counting more than 100 captives in the first half of the nine-teenth century.This São Joaquim site is still in use, and some of its former structures still pre-

served, including the great house and the mill, which functioned under the sameroof, as well as some of the annexed buildings. The combination of oral historyaccounts and archaeological data facilitated identification of other abandonedbuildings, including the slave quarters (Souza 2007; 2010b). As can be seen inFigure 4, the building complex of the São Joaquim site was formed by the great

figure 3 “Fazenda do Capitão Estevão,” Pirai, São Paulo, Brazil, by Thomas Ender, 1817.Note the separation of the great house and slave quarters by the road.

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house and mill, surrounded by stables, workshops, and storage buildings. The slavehouses, located in front of the great house, were formed by two wings in the shape ofan inverted “L.” The largest wing was about 150 m long and the smallest about45 m long, being both 5 m deep. According to oral history accounts, the buildingswere divided into small rooms, having a door and a window each, with the sizeof 5 m2. They had tiled roofs, stone foundations, and dirt floors (Souza 2007;2010b: 150–153).This structure of a slave quarters is presently referred to as a “pavilion-senzala” in

Brazil (Slenes 1999: 150–152). It seems that the introduction of this model for theaccommodation of captives was influenced by late-eighteenth-century Caribbeanmanuals that were disseminated throughout Brazil (Marquese 2005: 168–170).Marquese (2005: 170–172) states that the recommendations set out in the Carib-bean manuals were not adopted before the emergence of coffee plantations in theBrazilian southeast during the 1830s (Figure 5). However, some examples of thesebuildings may be found in plantations in Minas Gerais and São Paulo datingfrom the beginning of the nineteenth century (Lemos 1999: 84–88), and atEngenho de São Joaquim, which dates back to 1800.The São Joaquim plantation was built at a different moment of the captaincy

when the gold ores had been exhausted and the export economy was abandoned.Joaquim Alves de Oliveira, the plantation owner, was involved in this process. Hewas an emphatic advocate of the economic shift to agriculture, which led him tobuild the engenho (D’Alincourt 1953: 90–91). This plantation was in a largemeasure a product of his vision. He applied scientific knowledge for cropping and

figure 4 Artistic rendering of the Building Complex of the Engenho de São Joaquim. Imageby the author.

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introduced new agricultural techniques for optimizing production (Souza 2010b:112–114). His understanding of slave administration was also a product of hisvision. Influenced by ideas of the Enlightenment, he was against what the MatutinaMeiapontense (Anonymous 1831: 4), a local newspaper created by Alves himself,called a “despotic” treatment of slaves. According to travelers’ accounts, he had abenevolent attitude towards the enslaved community on his property, keepingthem well fed and dressed, offering them housing, providing health care and oppor-tunities to have their own crops, encouraging marriages, and other incentives for thecaptives’ general well-being (D’Alincourt 1953: 91; Pohl 1978: 289; Saint-Hilaire1975: 289).The information provided by these travelers’ accounts was external to the

enslaved community on the São Joaquim plantation and does not provide conclusiveevidence that those laborers were well treated. In fact, information provided byother sources suggests that aspects such as illness on São Joaquim were treated nodifferently than on other Brazilian plantations (Souza 2010b: 89–94). Thesesources do not directly engage in discussions about whether “better” or “worse”kinds of slavery existed. As pointed out by anthropologist Harris (1969: 45), it isbetter to dispute the number of angels on a pinhead than to argue what model ofslavery was better. Even those plantation operators who had the best intentions ulti-mately acted in their self-interest (McGary 1993: 189). Yet, these varied accountsindicate that Alves was adopting a model of slavery at São Joaquim that was notcommon among his contemporaries.The appearance, placement, and shape of the slave quarters on this plantation

were a consequence of the model Alves instituted. Adopting a paternalistic attitude,

figure 5 “Cases à nègres,” Southeast Brazil, by Victor Frond, lithographed photograph, ca.1860.

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he tried to provide, in his judgment, better living conditions for the enslaved commu-nity on his plantation. Nevertheless, through this attitude, he also developed moresubliminal mechanisms for increasing control over their lives. One of these mechan-isms was an overreaching control over the design of slave buildings. Through thisdecision, he detracted from the enslaved community what Ingold (2000: 186)calls “practical engagement.” Such engagement would have facilitated enslavedindividuals being directly involved in choosing a building’s design, as well as theuse of specific techniques and materials in its construction. The control over the cap-tives’ choices was also evident in the use of the building, which had an elongatedform and was enclosed around a central space. Thus, access and circulation to theslave houses were encapsulated, constraining movements, and making supervisionand surveillance much more effective. The veranda of the great house, located infront of the slave houses, functioned as an efficient surveillance site. Such principlesare related to what Foucault (Thomas 1996: 78) defines as “analytical spaces,” atendency that manifested itself throughout the eighteenth century based on the cre-ation of conceptually controlled terrains. As a number of archaeological studies haveillustrated, many slaveholders in the Americas adopted measures of this kind (e.g.,Delle 1998: 155–161; Epperson 2000: 66–70; Singleton 2015).The slave houses of the Engenho de São Joaquim presented regularity, expressed

by the replication of rooms tightly packed in the same building. This characteristicdid not escape D’Alincourt’s perception (1953: 91), who mentions the harmonicregularity of these buildings in his travel accounts. Such characteristics, usuallyachieved through formal planning, followed the basic rules of the European ration-ality. The adoption of such rules have been noted in other contexts, including thewell-known case of William Paca garden in Annapolis, Maryland (Leone 1984).However, such strategies had limited impact in Goiás and had Alves as one oftheir few representatives (e.g., Delson 1976; Souza 2010b: 157–159). A furtheraspect to be considered in the architecture inspired by the European rationality isthe relationship between the architecture and intended equality among dwellers.The spaces in this design were not arrayed in a hierarchy. Instead, they showed anorganic solidarity. Each room was similar to the next and had identical forms ofaccess. As a result, these mechanisms could have created a feeling of equalityamong the occupants of the slave houses (Souza 2007: 86–89).According to the European reasoning, regularity was considered important for

public welfare because of its central role in disciplining, ordering, and civilizing.Through the adoption of regularity in the built environment, designers hoped tocommunicate that anarchy would be avoided. Plantation operators aspired thatsuch regularity could foster safety against upheavals, escapes, and the formationof quilombos, and contribute at a larger scale to the maintenance of the socialorder (Souza 2010b: 157–159). Costa (2000: 126–127) observes that plantationoperators who owned slaves during the nineteenth century usually agreed that abol-ition of slavery would bring social chaos. Maintaining slavery as a stable institutionwould, in this sense, function as a way of achieving social order. Through this lens,the creation of slave houses that favored control, order, and discipline over slaveswould appear as a way to maintain equilibrium in society and, ultimately, a wayto justify slavery. Through such a mechanism, Alves likely sought to balance his

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desire to, on one hand, have a benevolent attitude towards the enslaved people, andon the other, to keep his plantation functioning under an economic system based onslave labor.Overall, the configuration of the slave houses of the Engenho de São Joaquim was

remarkably revealing of Alves’ mindset. At least in the public sphere, his approachseemed to work very well. This was the impression of August de Saint-Hilaire, aFrench naturalist who visited the property in approximately 1816:

The house was constructed from the beginning with such perfection that its owner didnot have, so to speak, to give any order. Everyone knew what they had to do andwent to their place of work on their own account. To be understood, it is enough forthe owner, if he wants, only to say one word or make a simple sign. In the middle of ahundred slaves you did not hear orders shouted nor men walking in a hurry from oneside to another… Everywhere reigned silence, order and calmness… It could be saidthat an invisible genius govern the house. (Saint-Hilaire 1975: 98)

If the perspective of the enslaved population is considered, the outcome ofapproaches of owners such as Távora and Alves are unclear. For a better comprehen-sion of the issues related to the captives themselves, it is necessary to investigate thespaces they created or managed and other forms of self-expression. In controlledenvironments like the Engenho de Santo Izidro and Engenho de São Joaquim,such expressions are mostly located in the domains defined by Agostini (2008;2010) as “liminal spaces.” These entailed areas that did not conform to the main-stream landscape and that were barely perceived by the dominant groups. One ofthese types of liminal spaces was the inner areas of the slave houses.

The inner life in the senzalas

As I mentioned, excavations in the Engenho de Santo Izidro are still being carriedout. Up to now one partially preserved layer was identified that may be related tothe floor of a slave house. For this reason, I will address discussions about theinner space of the slave houses mainly based in the case of the Engenho de SãoJoaquim, where excavations have already been concluded. In this site, excavationswere carried out in two sections of the larger wing, designated as Loci 11 and 12.Artifacts recovered from these floor levels appeared in a very thick layer oscillatingbetween 6 and 8 cm which served as a dirt floor and had a significant number offragments aggregated to it. These artifacts were unevenly distributed, appearing ingreater density at some points and disappearing in others; this is visible in the distri-butional map of artifacts from both investigated loci. An additional feature of theslave houses comes from Locus 11, where the greatest concentration of artifactswas related to a circular depression in the soil, filled with ash and a cluster ofsmall rocks; this area indicates the existence of a hearth (Figure 6).

Spaces and temporalitiesI identified a depositional sheet located on two sides of the hearth area in Locus 11 asprimary refuse, which indicates artifacts intentionally discarded in their place of use

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figure 6 At left, a distributional map of artifacts from Locus 11 at the Engenho de São Joaquim site that indicates a greater concentration of artifactsaround the hearth area that extended along the back wall. At right, Binford’s depositional model for an Eskimo community in Alaska (distributional

map at left generated in the software Systat 11; figure at right redrawn from Binford 1978: 339). Images by the author.

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(Schiffer 1972: 161; Souza 2012: 40–43). When primary refuse is uncovered, onecan assume that there is a positive correlation between the density of artifacts andthe nature and intensity of activities performed in the area (Binford 1983a: 190;Tani 1995: 238). This premise implies that artifacts found on the floor level of theslave house may perhaps be related to the activities performed in these spaces. Inthis sense, it may be considered that the inner areas of the senzalas may have haddifferent functional areas. Among the investigated areas, Locus 11 offers a betterexample of this situation. As noted in Figure 6, this area of the slave houses hadmore intensive activity near the back wall and in the vicinity of the hearth area.The area near the front wall was relatively “clean” of refuse.Binford’s (1978) ethnographic model for activity areas of Eskimo seasonal hunters

is useful to employ as a lens for understanding small-scale activity zones in other set-tings, such as the interior of a slave house. Based on direct observations of gatheringsaround a fire, Binford noted an artifact discard behavior that was expressed in twodifferent manners: objects were thrown behind the seated individuals (“toss zones”)or simply dropped in the place where they were used (“drop zones”). He alsoobserved that the resultant dispersion of artifacts from these types of depositioncreated a depositional sheet forming a semi-circle around the hearth and close tothe space where individuals were seated. Binford’s observation is similar to thedepositional area found in Locus 11, which probably had an analogous processof refuse formation. As in Binford’s ethnographic Eskimo case, individuals wholived in Locus 11 probably sat around the fire and performed a number of dailytasks, resulting in the large depositional sheet that was found (Figure 6). Hence,the overall configuration of Locus 11 indicates the presence of two major locationsin the room. One of them is located in the back of the room, where a permanenthearth area served as a congregation place for co-residents and was used for inten-sive domestic activity. The second location is in the front of the room, a space withless activity that could be used, for instance, as a place to rest or sleep. As othersources indicate, this type of spatial distribution, as well as the use of hearth areasinside the slave houses, seems to reflect a generally adopted model in Brazil(Slenes 1999: 166–167, 182–184).The collective activity of congregation around a fire at the Engenho plantation

quarters might have been a result of relations of reciprocity of individuals whoshared a common cultural base, which were vastly aided by situations of encountersand by the inner life of the slave houses. In these locations, individuals could engagein situations of co-presence that, as Giddens (1989: 29) suggests, constitutes a fun-damental modality of social integration. By the intersections between time andspace, these encounters, in the flux of daily life, could create familial forms andstyles of conduct shared by the members of the co-resident group. Giddens (1989:xviii–xix) calls such forms and modalities of conduct practical consciousness—those things that social actors know and reproduce tacitly but cannot embody in dis-cursive form. Ultimately, these actions had the ability to instill meanings in the activi-ties performed by the groups living in the slave houses, functioning as a structuredand structuring form of social relationships.A complementary aspect in the discussion about gatherings around fire is related

with its cultural basis, which was at least in part derived from African regions

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involved in the Atlantic slave trade (Cabrita 1954; DeCorse 2001: 178–179; Mal-heiro 1903: 111; Monteiro 1875: 278; Reis and Costa 1961: 465; Vaz 1970:251). This is a point especially considered by Symanski and Morais (in press).According to them, the gatherings of enslaved communities around fire were notonly “horizontal,” but also “vertical,” as they could be attached to spiritual mean-ings, connecting members of the group and their ancestors.As discussed earlier, the social landscape of the Engenho de São Joaquim served as

a mechanism to restrain and control the spaces and temporalities of the captives’daily lives. One of the consequences of such mechanisms was to limit opportunitiesfor enslaved individuals to control their own systems of encounters. Examples of thisorder include the encapsulated organization of the slave houses and the dispositionof these buildings in large wings divided into small rooms. Such measures, however,did not prevent the creation of new systems of encounters without the monitoring ofactions or repressive barriers external to the group and, hence, routines that escapedto the control of the planter. Giddens (1989: 99) argues that the “availability of pres-ence” is an essential ingredient for co-presence. Despite all efforts in controlling,ordering, and constraining captives’ lives in the engenho, it was inevitable thatliminal spaces were created in the very heart of the slave houses. The creation of agroup of houses sectioned into various rooms resisted Alves’ control, and functionedas the most fundamental condition for social reproduction: daily interaction. As aconsequence, new possibilities to act arose in a world extraneous to Alves in spiteof the ample system of control imposed by him.

Body expressions, practices, and knowledgeWhen entering the room of their houses, enslaved individuals were not just enteringinto their sleeping or resting place. They entered into a particular domain of knowl-edge, a sector of the physical universe that had specific forms of action and posturesshared only by the group present in the residence, either dwellers or communitymembers. In entering into such domains of knowledge, individuals organizedthese practices according to cultural references. Additionally, they experienced aseries of sensations from the environment and, at the same time, structured it bythe agency of those who were utilizing the space.Experiences in these environments—as in any other—could include a number of

practices specific to the group, many of them highly sensorial. Two good examplesof these experiences are related with the tactile dimension. One of them is associatedwith the custom of walking barefoot. Known in Brazil as an “emblem of freedom,”shoes were only used by freepersons, in contrast to rules limiting their use by slaves(Karasch 2000: 188). The restrictions on shoes for captives, whether it was a legalregulation or a rule of conduct, served as a tool to create social differentiation.This restriction may have been facilitated by the fact that many African captivesfound personal comfort in not wearing shoes (Lima 2008).In walking barefoot, individuals were exposed to a number of tactile experiences.

In the slave houses of the Engenho de São Joaquim, the floor level was a dirt floor,which texture differed slightly from the natural soil and contrasted with the greathouse, where wood and tiles were installed. Interestingly, evidence suggests that

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the only rooms with dirt floors in the great house were those used regularly byslaves: the mills, where men performed the task of processing sugar-cane; and thekitchen, where women performed most of the kitchen tasks. In this sense, thetactile experiences of enslaved individuals, even in the slave houses or the greathouse, were invariably related to dirt floors (Souza 2012: 48–49). The use ofhands during mealtime also created differentiation between slaves and freepersons.Contrary to what the free individuals practiced, enslaved persons often used theirhands or a spoon to eat (Stein 1985: 175). This practice corresponds to evidencefrom the inner areas of the slave houses, where spoons were uncovered archaeolo-gically (Souza 2012: 48–49).In exploring such tactile experiences, I intend to underscore the distinctive experi-

ences that involved both knowledge and shared practices that the enslaved individ-uals created in their houses. Other forms of perception include smells, which mayalso be spatially ordered or place-related (Porteous 1985). Cooking odors andscents from food certainly were the most prominent of the senses, especially consid-ering the small size of the rooms where food was prepared. In their living areas, theycould have more control over the use of ingredients and forms of food preparation.In this sense, cooking odors and scents from food would have been markers of theirliving environment and capable of offering people a specialized sense of space andknowledge. Another characteristic of the smellscape from the inner area of theirhouses involved the smoke from the hearth area. Evidence suggests that in mostinstances hearth areas in Brazilian slave houses did not have a specific exhaustsystem (Naro 2000: 66–67; Slenes 1999: 183). Therefore, smoke from the hearthwas retained in large quantities for long periods, a characteristic that impressedmany external observers (Slenes 1996: 139; 1999: 183) and can still be identifiedin some rural areas of Brazil today (Souza 2000: 129–130). Apart from what mayhave been seen as beneficial effects (Ferguson 1992: 72–74), smoke would havegiven the interiors of these houses a distinctive identity; the smoky, stuffy interiorsa cultural norm by the members of the group.Adding to these experiences, participants in encounters in the inner areas of the

slave houses had particular body expressions and postures. There is a noticeabledifference between these participants and freepersons. For instance, enslaved indi-viduals had a habit of sleeping in hammocks or mats, rather than beds, whose man-ufacture they knew in great detail (e.g., Algranti 1997: 110; Karasch 2000: 308).Rather than eating at tables, they tended to eat close to the floor, keeping theirbowls in their hands. For seating, they used the locations where they slept, orsquatted which, as numerous illustrations suggest, was a common practice.Although a squatting position might seem uncomfortable today, it was a naturalposition for many cultures. Tenner explains that the recurrent practice of usingchairs is an invention of the modern world or, as he eloquently labels it, the“sitting society” (Ingold 2004: 323). As the probate inventory of the owners ofthe Engenho de São Joaquim indicates, they had a clear preference for using avariety of seating devices. Following a practice common among white freemen,nobody in the great house of this plantation had to sit close to the floor (Souza2012: 52–53). As with the practice of wearing shoes, white freemen likelyadopted chairs for purposes of social differentiation. This is evident in illustrations

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that depict males and females seated in chairs, and enslaved persons seated on mats,nets, small benches, or simply squatting (Figure 7).The brief inventory of owners’ and slaves’ body experiences indicates that they

differed significantly according to the group of individuals under consideration.Although white freemen manipulated the sensory experiences and postures of cap-tives for purposes of social differentiation, the sensory experiences created particularspheres of practice and knowledge pertinent to the group. The inner areas of theslave houses could represent an opportunity for establishing them, as was the casein Loci 11 and 12 from the Engenho de São Joaquim. When captives entered theenvironment of their houses, they had a diverse number of experiences, whichthey created and reproduced based in their own cultural references.

“Positive disorder:” The artifacts left on the floor levelThe large number of fragments found in the two investigated loci in the slave housesof the Engenho de São Joaquim provides important archaeological evidence. InLocus 11, an average of 77 fragments/m2, aside from construction items, was uncov-ered. In some locations, there were higher concentrations of fragments—up to 300per m2 in some places. The numbers were not too different in Locus 12, whereaverages of 61 fragments/m2 and about 250 fragments/m2 in locations of higherconcentrations were found. It is useful to consider that these fragments appeared

figure 7 “Une dame brésilienne dans son interior,” by Jean Baptiste Debret, ca. 1836. Note

that the white adult woman is seated on a couch and the white children on a chair whiledoing some domestic activities. All domestic captives appear seated on mats.

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in an archaeological layer that was no more than 8 cm thick. In addition, these frag-ments had an average size of 2.6 cm, indicating that the refuse left on the floor of theslave houses was very small (for a methodological discussion about these findings,see Souza 2010b: 262–276; 2011: 87–89). Considering that the slave houses inthis engenho were occupied for at least half a century, the presence of a layer thatwas less than 8 cm in thickness indicates that some maintenance activity was per-formed on the floor level. Despite these maintenance activities, a significantnumber of artifacts remained on the floor, indicating that the cleaning activitiesdid not eliminate the depositional record.Evidence from the slave houses from Engenho de Santo Izidro seems to indicate a

similar behavior. Even though partially disrupted, excavated areas showed anaccumulation of debris in the floor level that, in this site, had approximately thesame thickness as the one found in Engenho de São Joaquim. Although more exca-vations in this site are necessary for a better understanding of the material behaviorof artifacts in the slave houses of this site, this evidence suggests that this was a recur-rent practice in Central Brazil during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.Historical accounts—usually freighted with Eurocentric perspectives—indicate

that unhealthy conditions of Brazilian poor houses were not uncommon (Algranti1997: 99–100; Araújo 1993: 77–78). As European travelers only occasionallydemonstrated interest in the interior of slave homes, descriptions about Brazilianslave houses are rare. Yet, the accounts that exist are not unlike the descriptionsof poor houses (e.g., Ribeyrolles 1941: 32).A good way to dislocate discussions beyond the points of view of Europeans and

planters is to acknowledge that, as Douglas (2002: 2) points out, dirt exists in the“eyes” of the beholder. The decision to define something as dirty or not dirty is arelative matter and is dependent on the culture of the individual. For example,Douny’s (2007) ethnographic study of the Dogon of Mali shows the utility ofkeeping rejected or broken items. In his investigation, he identified a special prefer-ence among the Dogon for what he called a “positive disorder” in residences.For these Dogon communities, the more disorder, the better. The disorganization

of a house, they thought, represented a “life sign.” The residues, wiped items, andaccumulation of smoke in the walls and on roofs were kept intentionally, indicatingprosperity and longevity. They believed that cleaning the accumulated soot from theroof and cooking pots would bring scarcity. In a similar way, they believed raggedand worn clothes indicated vitality and the longevity of the body. Filth and sweatwere also perceived as related to vitality and intense daily activity. Conversely,people who kept their body clean were considered lazy. The Dogon live in theregion between the forest, the savannas, and the middle Niger River, which was amain origin of the Africans abducted into the trans-Atlantic slave trade in WestAfrica (Posnansky 1999: 24). Considering the fact that the majority of abductedindividuals who arrived in Central Brazil embarked in West Africa (Souza 2010b:51–62), it is possible that slaves from the Engenho de São Joaquim had perceptionsanalogous to those reported for the Dogon. For Central Africa, another majorregion where Africans of Central Brazil embarked, there are also accounts aboutnotable accumulations in living spaces (Souza 2010b: 192–193).

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In turn, it may be possible that the enslaved community from the Engenho de SãoJoaquim had a completely different perception of dirt and filth than Joaquim Alves,the owner of the property. All travelers who passed by the engenho in the first half ofthe nineteenth century used the words “order,” “decency,” and “cleanness” todescribe the property (D’Alincourt 1953: 91; Pohl 1978: 289; Saint-Hilaire 1975:91, 100). These impressions are in agreement with the depositional behavior ofthe artifacts disposed in the areas external to the slave houses. In a clear contrastwith the interior, artifacts found in excavations carried out in the central squarereveal a density of 1 fragment/m2 (Souza 2011: 90–91).Although the archaeological excavations carried out in the external areas of the

slave houses at Engenho de São Joaquim did not reveal any secondary refuseareas, it seems clear that its residents threw out their garbage in trash pits locatedin specific sections of the property. In light of Alves’ concern with discipline andorder in his property, it is possible that he imposed control over debris in theouter areas of the slave houses. As I have argued elsewhere, control over refuse inthis property may be understood on two different levels. At the most basic level,Alves’ control could have been motivated by an interest in keeping the property ingood sanitary condition. On another level, this practice could be related to adeeper order of things. Considering that Alves thought that “enlightened minds”challenged chaos, the systematic ordering and sorting of matter at the propertycould be viewed as a metaphor for avoiding social chaos (Souza 2010b: 192–195).Alves’ impositions led the enslaved community of the engenho to adaptations.

Since “cleanness” was imposed for external areas, it is possible that the accumu-lation of debris inside the slave houses’ rooms, especially around the hearth area,was higher than would be in normal conditions. In this discussion, it is useful to con-sider that the slave houses of the Engenho de São Joaquim did not have private back-yards, which was a potential area for keeping debris generated in their dwellings. Inthe controlled external environment of the Engenho de São Joaquim, accumulationof debris was probably not allowed, and as a consequence, it is possible that theywere restricted to the inner areas of their dwellings. Although enslaved individualsmade adaptations to Alves’ impositions, it is possible to recognize that they probablyhad a different perception of what Alves would categorize as “dirt.”When they hada chance to escape the monitored areas, they denied the scheme of discipline andorder that existed outside of their living area.

Recycling of artifactsThe practice of recycling objects among enslaved individuals in Brazil has beenacknowledged by different scholars (Lima 1989; 2002: 18; Souza 2013: 20–23;Symanski and Osório 1996). In the inner areas of the slave houses from theEngenho de São Joaquim, a number of such artifacts were identified. One groupof recycled objects involved personal adornments produced in metal, usuallycopper, and formed in a variety of shapes and manufacture techniques (Figure 8).The finding of these recycled adornments is not new for Central Brazil, yet isnovel when considering its association to a slave context. This type of adornmentwas found in secondary refuse areas from Ouro Fino, an eighteenth-century gold

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mining village. The adornment found in Ouro Fino had perforated shaped metals inthe form of circles and diamonds, and smaller dimensions than that found in theEngenho de São Joaquim. In one case, the circular piece is associated to the com-ponent that was used to attach it to the ear (Souza 2000: 59–60). Evidencerelated to these adornments was also found in a site located in Vila Boa thatserved as a military depot during the Paraguay War (1864–1870). At that site, anumber of negative marks of the production of these items were found, sometimesmade in the metal parts of guns and scabbards (Souza 2008: 16–18). In the Engenhothe São Joaquim less popular items in metal were also found, as a broken fork withthree of its four tines bent in order to serve as an awl or drill.Another group of repurposed objects included recycled glass, which comprised a

total of 49 flaked fragments (Figure 9). This assemblage was analyzed by EdilsonSouza. According to him, slaves were generally flexible in their choices for produ-cing these objects. In selecting the raw material, they preferred to use brokenparts of cylindrical “wine bottles” instead of deliberately breaking whole bottles.In some cases, more than one layer of patina was observed on the fragment,which is visible by different degrees of alteration intensity. These multiple layers indi-cate that the piece was recycled more than once. They were equally eclectic in theselection of the form of the fragment, as well as in the retouch techniques used.Despite the different expedients used in the stages of selection and manufacture ofthe piece, a preference was identified for the production of pieces intended to bescrapped (Souza 2010b: 200–203).In discussing evidence of recycled glass from the Brazilian south, Symanski and

Osório (1996: 50–51) argue that socioeconomic limitations influenced the enslavedindividuals’ decisions to recycle glass bottles. Besides this possibility, it is worth con-sidering that they also adopted this technology purely because of its functionality.

figure 8 Personal adornments produced by the recycling of metal, uncovered at Engenho

de São Joaquim: (a) octagonal shape; (b) circular shape with small hole; (c) circular shapewith large hole. Photograph by the author.

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The edges of fragmented glass are functional even without retouch production. Inthis sense, the adoption of a flaking technology for broken glass bottles couldhave been a natural solution for their daily necessities. Elsewhere, I stressed the sig-nificance of considering the flexible and creative use of resources by these individ-uals, as well as the rule of expedient technologies in their lives (Souza 2013). Forprocessualists such as Binford (1983b), expedient technologies produced “disso-nance” in material practices and in this sense did not serve as a proper indicatorof cultural and social practices. A different perception, here assumed, comes fromscholars such as Giddens (1989) and Bourdieu (1977), for whom individualactions are, in fact, intrinsically related to social structure. For them, such actionsare based in a group of rules and resources inherited by the group and have theability to act recursively in its reproduction. In this sense, and despite its involvementwith the short-term material production, they can also express the preferenceswithin a given group.The cultural practice of keeping debris within reach, as I earlier explained, can

shed light on recycling at the Engenho de São Joaquim. The creation of reservesof material sources for daily life could have included glass fragments or metalpieces to be recycled. In this regard, it is useful to return to Douny’s (2007) studyabout the Dogon. He claims that their practice of keeping broken objects in closeproximity is not only a sign of domestic vitality but also a mechanism that permittedthe quick recycling of discarded items. The Dogon, he further asserts, have a fluidnotion of garbage. For them, an item can, depending on its utility, enter and exit

figure 9 Recycled glass bottle pieces from the slave houses of Engenho de São Joaquim:(a) fragment of base, from Locus 12; (b) fragment of body and base, Locus 11; (c) fragment of

body, Locus 12. Illustration drawn by Edilson Souza.

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in a cycle of use at any moment. This is the reason why they keep their refuse withineasy reach.The similarities between the case of the Engenho de São Joaquim and the Dogon’s

recycling practice are notable. The high incidence of debris in the inner area of eachinvestigated room along with evidence of recycled items suggests similarities toDouny’s findings. In this sense, at least part of the refuse identified in the innerareas of the slave houses can be classified as what LaMotta and Schiffer (1999)define as “provisional discard,” involving situations in which broken or worn-outitems are not discarded per se. Rather, they have been stored or cached with theexpectation that they will later serve a useful purpose.A co-resident group’s acceptance was necessary for such practices to occur. These

practices demanded, once again, a different perception of what is normally definedas garbage. A necessary repertoire of knowledge about the constant cycling of itemswas also needed. This knowledge involved the flaking of glass and the transform-ation of preexistent metal objects. Although such knowledge was obviously impor-tant for the performance of daily tasks, it had a particular significance beyond itsutilitarian dimension. This knowledge was implied with the ways in which enslavedindividuals shaped new cultural and social expressions. In this sense, these artifactsallow a glimpse into how practices were reproduced and maintained in the interiorof the slave houses.

Autonomy and the material diversity in the senzalasArtifacts found in both investigated loci of the slave houses of the Engenho de SãoJoaquim date between 1800 and 1864. Their quantification is summarized inTable 1. Here, I would like to draw attention to particular aspects of this assemblage,some of them related with the acquiring of a relative autonomy by the enslaved com-munity of the engenho (for a comprehensive analysis of this assemblage, see Souza2011).The majority of artifacts found were related to the preparation, consumption, and

service of meals, along with food remains (Table 1). In Locus 11, this group com-posed 92.17 percent of the sample, while in Locus 12, it composed 73.73 percent.Considering that the majority of artifacts from Locus 11 were found around thehearth area, this group of artifacts may be identified as having a particular signifi-cance. These artifacts are particularly notable, because gatherings around the fireinvolved a great deal of interaction among the co-resident groups and the creationand reproduction of daily practices.In the consumption of liquids, individuals made use of dark green “wine bottles.”

The only exception was found in Locus 11, where four small fragments of transpar-ent glass from stemwares or glasses were found. The majority of glass bottles foundin the slave houses indicate a high degree of external abrasion. This indicationsuggests that these items could not only be recycled but also endured lateralcycling, where they were likely refilled several times with new contents.In the preparation, serving, and consumption of food, individuals predominantly

used low-fired earthenwares. This category constitutes the majority of fragmentsfound in Locus 11 and Locus 12, with 70.02 percent and 50.60 percent of the

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sample, respectively. These artifacts had an important role among Brazilian enslavedcommunities, functioning as an important instrument for communicating differentcultural identities and gender roles (Souza 2002; 2010a; 2015b; Souza and Agostini2012; Souza and Symanski 2009).The refined earthenware sample from the slave house is, in contrast to low-fired

earthenware, very small. Analysis revealed a predominance of bowls over plates,which is consistent with evidence from other Brazilian regions (Symanski 2012:137; Symanski and Souza 2007: 232–238). It also revealed a preference for mini-mally decorated vessels. Evidence suggests that at least part of these items wasacquired in the market by the captives themselves, which represented a decision-making opportunity and the achievement of some degree of autonomy (Souza2011: 94–97).The second aspect of these assemblages at Loci 11 and 12 entails lines of evi-

dence that are apparently disconnected. This material culture interaction includesgun-related items and transportation items, both interpreted as also related withthe obtaining of a relative autonomy. Gunflints, bullets, and guns parts wereuncovered in both loci (Figure 10). The use of guns was a polemical issue inBrazil during the eighteenth and the nineteenth centuries. Captives living on theplantation could use guns to kill animals to complement their diet or for the infor-mal commercialization of game meat and hides, which sale was especially profit-able (Mattos 1979: 71). Such commerce could enhance the creation of aninformal economy by the captives of the plantation, as well as their ability in par-ticipating in the local economy.

TABLE 1

ARTIFACTS FOUND IN THE TWO EXCAVATED LOCI 11 AND 12 OF THE SLAVE HOUSES AT ENGENHO DE SÃOJOAQUIM, 1800–1864, ORGANIZED BY FUNCTIONAL CATEGORIES

Locus (11) Locus (12)

N % N %

Architecture 101 3.88 231 18.42

Furniture 1 0.04 0 0.00

Preparing, consumption and service of food 1952 74.93 732 58.42

Food remains 449 17.24 192 15.31

Multifunctional and/or recycled tools 29 1.11 42 3.35

Clothing and adornments 6 0.23 5 0.40

Devotional items 2 0.08 0 0.00

Guns 5 0.19 8 0.64

Smoking 4 0.15 0 0.00

Sewing 0 0.00 1 0.08

Transportation 19 0.73 13 1.04

Miscellaneous/undetermined 37 1.43 30 2.39

Total 2605 100.00 1254 100.00

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Amore discrete category related to this issue includes items associated with transpor-tation, which appeared with relatively high frequency in both investigated loci. Theseitems include 8 buckles and 24 horseshoe nails. Considering that the property had astable, saddlery, and harness room, it is less probable that captives kept horse harnesses

figure 10 Gun-related artifacts found in the inner areas of the slave houses at Engenho de

São Joaquim: (a) cylindrical bullet from a musket; (b) cylindrical lead bullet; (c) bullet frompercussion gun; (d) minie bullet from a percussion gun; (e and f) adornments from triggerguard; (g) trigger plate; (h) trigger guard. Photograph by the author.

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and nails in their residences (Pohl 1978: 289; Saint-Hilaire 1975: 98). An alternativeand more probable explanation for the presence of these items in the slave housescomes from historical sources that indicate the ownership of horses by enslaved individ-uals in some Brazilian plantations, which certainly represented an increased opportu-nity in means of circulation and some degree of autonomy (Barickman 1994: 661).Overall, the assemblage found in the inner areas of the slave houses of the

Engenho de São Joaquim allows a general picture of its interior life. In thesespaces, individuals occupied themselves with some bare necessities and performeda number of daily tasks (Souza 2011). Viewed as a whole, this material universewas very diversified and entailed different strategies of acquisition (Souza 2013:12–23). These strategies included the above-mentioned recycling of items and acqui-sitions through the creation of an informal economy. These strategies are generallyconsistent with other well-known means. For example, in second-hand acquisitionsitems were either donated by the plantation owner or exchanged between individ-uals. Tools were produced through the transformation of objects and natural rawmaterials; other items were manufactured, such as basketry and low-fired earthen-wares. The adoption of these different strategies indicates a resourceful and varieduse of material items by the captives who lived in the Engenho de São Joaquim.This perspective opposes the premise that these individuals lived in a limited materialuniverse. Such a premise of pervasive deprivation emerges in part from modernity’ssocially constructed perceptions of these past lifeways as lacking furniture and dom-estic comfort (Algranti 1997: 110; Karasch 2000: 183–184) and as suffering unre-lenting impoverishment (Araújo 1993: 77–78). Although slavery obviouslyimposed serious restrictions on individuals’ lives, such modern concepts do notseem totally appropriate for examining the material conditions of captives.An analysis of the overall sample of the slave houses in the Engenho de São

Joaquim revealed that the use of artifacts in the inner areas of these buildingswere products of interacting forces among plantation owners and enslaved laborers.The creation of an informal economy, obtaining of some autonomy, and decision-making opportunities influenced the shaping of their daily practices.

The pacifying senzalas

Slavery in Brazil lasted more than 350 years. Its persistence as a legal institution waslargely supported by the creation of self-perpetuating mechanisms that were capableof resisting internal and external social pressures, and keeping the compulsory workforce under control. As architectural evidence here presented suggests, strategiesemployed by owners varied over time. Alves, the owner of the Engenho de SãoJoaquim, lived in a period in which the slave trade was coming to an end. Duringthat time, a number of international restrictions gradually limited the Atlantictraffic. It was in this moment that paternalism and natural reproduction of slaveholdings gained significance in Brazil. Such a strategy emerged as a viable solution.Alves’ attitudes are certainly related to this process. Concerns about the pace of theslave trade probably never crossed the mind of planters such as Távora, the owner ofthe Engenho de Santo Izidro, who could count on a steady flux of Africans arriving

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for compulsory work. Probably for this reason, he preferred—as did many ownerswho lived in this period—replacing captives with newly arrived Africans, rather thaninvesting in their quality of life and natural reproduction (Mattos 1979: 87–88). Dueto this strategy, demand for slaves in Brazil’s eighteenth-century economy took anenormous toll on human lives. The architectural features found in the Engenho deSanto Izidro represent one out of many instruments used in this period for abuse,violence, and intimidation.Although constrained by a normatized built environment not of their own

making, enslaved individuals were capable of structuring their living spaces,forging and reproducing new cultural and social practices. In A Paz das Senzalas,Florentino and Góes (1997: 175) assert that the Brazilian enslaved family in the sen-zalas had the opportunity to create “social peace,” which served as a stabilizing andorganizing instrument in their lives. I largely agree with this position. It is my beliefthat these spaces allowed a singular opportunity for enslaved individuals in creating,reproducing, and maintaining practices of their own. Archaeological evidence exam-ined above suggests that captives in the Engenho de São Joaquim seized these oppor-tunities and used the interior of their houses for organizing such practices. Fromflaking glass bottles to creating tools or preparing sheet metal adornments, individ-uals not only met daily needs but also constructed meanings for their existence. Inusing reciprocal references, they gave meaning to the world to which they belonged.By the continual construction of these daily lifeways, captives also achieved onto-

logical security, a state of security obtained by individuals in their identity andcapable enough of making them rely on the continuity of their experiences.Through ontological security, individuals obtain rootedness and familiarity, aswell as assurance and significance in their lives (Tilley 1994: 26). For the enslavedindividuals, ontological security allowed individuals to cope effectively with theirsocial condition. While the different slave models implanted by owners suppressedfreedoms and the chances of individuals to participate in the world, those enslavedpersons reinvented their freedom daily by utilizing new references borrowed fromthe group’s stock of knowledge.Giddens (1989: 76) affirms that social actors gather and move in located sectors of

society, and these characteristics limit their knowledge. For this reason, he observes,elites know very little about how the less privileged live. Cultural and social practicesthat took place in the inner areas of the slave houses were indifferent to the interestsof plantation owners. Doing this, captives not only acted in the world, they alsoexercised a type of power invisible to the owners’ eyes. This dynamic engaged notwith the well-known “power over,” based on force or authority, but the “powerfor,” as the ability of an individual to transform the social and material world,which is something fundamentally connected to the production and reproductionof knowledge (Giddens 1989: 12).

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About the author

Marcos André Torres de Souza is professor in the Department of Anthropology atMuseu Nacional, Universidade Federal do Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. His investigations

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are currently focused on Brazilian slave sites from both urban and rural contexts. Hisprimary research interests include the emergence, reproduction, and reformulation ofcultural and social practices among slaves and self-emancipated communities.Correspondence to: Marcos André Torres de Souza, Departamento de Antropo-

logia, Museu Nacional, Universidade Federal do Rio de Janeiro, Quinta da BoaVista s/n° - São Cristóvão, Rio de Janeiro 20940-04, Brazil. Email: torresdesouza@yahoo.com

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