Quimbanda in North America

By Fredrik Gregorius. Edited by Aaron Michael Ullrey. 

This Research Reflection by guest contributor Fredrik Gregorius, Senior Associate Professor, Linköping University Sweden is part of an ongoing series spotlighting the academic study of religions.

During the summer of 2024, I took a train to meet up with the Devil. My first step into the world of Quimbanda, one of the most controversial Afro-Brazilian religions today, was to be baptized, the first stage of Quimbanda initiation. But the train was taking me to a small farm on the East Coast of the United States, not a favela in Rio de Janeiro. Quimbanda is a small but growing tradition in North America, and the Devil, a deity named Exu Majoral whose depiction at least resembles the Christian Devil, is a central god among an array of ambivalent spirits.

Formed in Brazil, rooted in the religions of Africans forcibly transplanted to the New World, Quimbanda resembles the more mainstream Afro-Brazilian religions Candoble and Umbanda—though it has a sinister façade, belying its focus on healing and celebration. Male spirits called exu and female spirits called pombagiras benevolently possess initiates, though initiation practices might not at first lead to possession. Quimbanda priests called tatas perform divinations to reveal each practitioner’s personal exu or pombagira, beginning a ritual process developing close relations with them and other spirits.

Different social groups from those in Brazil seek the Quimbanda in North America. Most seekers I meet in the North American Quimbanda communities have some background in esoteric traditions, including Thelema, Traditional Witchcraft, and New Age spirituality, which makes Quimbanda well-suited for my ongoing research on the receptions of African, Afro-Caribbean, and Afro-Brazilian religions within esoteric communities.

Quimbanda spirits are ambiguous and ambivalent. Seldom respectable, exu and pombariras are sorcerers, witches, prostitutes, and criminals—after all, the Devil himself as Exu Majoral stands at the center. Outsiders may consider these spirits demonic, but their celebration is a cult of life, not maliciousness or perversion. The spirits enter the material world through benevolent possession to enjoy the good things in life, to come on down, or rather come on up, and join the dancing, drinking, and partying.

To understand Quimbanda, even as a scholar, one must experience it—there are few books on the subject. Quimbanda re-enchants religious life, enacting a lost world of magic that contains benevolent spirit possession, midnight ritual drumbeats, sneaking around cemeteries, blood sacrifices, drinking with fallen spirits, and calling the Devil at the crossroads.

One popularizing author is Nicolaj de Mattos Frisvold, a Quimbanda priest of Norwegian-Brazilian descent, who has long been associated with European esoteric traditions and African Diaspora religions. He writes for readers in esoteric communities, mostly North American, presenting Quimbanda in a way compatible with esoteric practices, inspiring those esoteric readers to seek Quimbanda.

Quimbanda initiation is not a simple affair. In its lived practice, it is expensive, requires time and effort, and the rituals are not always pleasant.

In North America, initiates first undergo baptism or massanga, which takes several days and requires the initiates to be physically present. A further initiation involves the initiates being “seated” by their exu or pombagira, and through spirit possession, establishes them as vessels for the spirits, making them priests (tatas) or priestesses (yayas).

While both are initiations and both connect the ritual participant to exus, pombagiras, and ancestors, baptism—which does not require full possession—is not as intense as being seated. Baptism does not require further practices and obligations, such as the regular ceremonies and sacrifices performed by priests and priestesses.

North American Quimbanda practitioners and priests describe growing numbers of folk seeking baptism and initiation—hundreds, not yet thousands. However, while baptisms are more common than the “seating” initiations in North America, the opposite is the case in Brazil. Most North American seekers learn their individual exu or pombagira and maintain subsequent solitary Quimbanda practices, but go no further, making baptism the more appealing initiation. That said, most of my informants want to go deeper, saying they eventually want to be seated.

I consider the reception of Quimbanda in North America, especially among esoteric practitioners, to be part of a larger history of re-enchantment starting in the nineteenth century. Exploring Vodou in Haiti in the 1920s, the American writer William Seabrook predicted that the religion he observed would revitalize spirituality and inspire a re-enchanted world, breaking rampant meaninglessness and existential boredom.

I was baptized that summer, starting my Quimbanda journey through midnight ceremonies, staying awake for extended periods, partaking in blood sacrifices, and hearing secret songs to the spirits. Among all these extraordinary experiences, the most altering and transformative was perhaps more mundane: I was without a phone for days.

Did I meet the Devil when I arrived at my train’s location? Perhaps I did, but Exu Majoral was far from sinister. I did meet a vibrant and welcoming community seeking living relationships with ambivalent and amoral but powerful spirits, opening gateways to an enchanted world where magic is indeed here and now.