Mwalimu-G
Elder Lister
Long read
When Brazil declared war against Portugal, a young woman enlisted the help of her family to go to war in secret—disguised as a man.
OCTOBER 1822
Maria Quitéria de Jesus, 30, ran from the cotton field and into the farmhouse, dripping sweat in the summer heat of the sertão, the desert-like interior of northwest Brazil in the region of Bahia. She crouched at the top of the stairs, remaining out of sight as her father, Gonçalo, conversed with a man dressed in full royal regalia. Maria tucked her dark blue tafetá skirt under her heels and listened.
The visitor, an emissary of Emperor Dom Pedro I, came bearing news from the capital. Only a few weeks prior, Emperor Pedro attempted to sever Brazil’s ties to Portugal, looking to end its status as a colony. The Portuguese rebuked the move. For a small country like Portugal to compete with other European powers with economic satellites around the globe, Brazil was essential. To counter Pedro, strict orders were sent from Libson to the Portuguese army in Brazil: keep control over the Brazilian people.
But the Brazilian leadership refused to stand down. They were committed to following the lead of many of their neighboring countries that had recently established their independence—all from Spain. Emperor Pedro sent out a call to recruit soldiers.
The emissary read the decree aloud: The Portuguese wished to enslave and persecute us. As of today, our bonds end. By my blood, by my honor, by my God, I swear to bring about the independence of Brazil. Brazilians, let our watchword from this day forth be “Independence or Death!”
The emissary asked if Maria’s father or any male in his family would volunteer to fight against the colonial oppressors. Gonçalo explained he had no sons. For years, he prayed for sons, something he reminded Maria about often. He had seven daughters, but his only son, with his first wife, had died in infancy. Gonçalo would wait for the final result of the war and be a loyal subject to either victor. Like most farmers in the region, he thought little about national governance as long as the rulers did not meddle with their lands and their townships.
Maria hung on every word from atop the stairs. “I felt my heart burning in my breast,” she recalled later. Fighting for Brazil’s independence, being a part of the war against the Portuguese—that idea was thrilling.
As the emissary made toward the door, Maria bolted from her hidden spot. “It’s true, father,” she said. “You do not have a son. But I know how to handle weapons and hunting is no nobler than fighting for our country… Please, let me go to aid in such a noble fight!”
Gonçalo studied his daughter for a moment before replying. “Women spin, weave and sew. They do not go to wars.”
The emissary smiled warmly and praised her patriotism and bravery, but before he could say anything more, Gonçalo escorted him out. He then turned to Maria and told her she did not have the time for idle fantasizing. There was plenty to do on the farm, taking care of the cattle and overseeing the cotton crops.
For years, Maria witnessed the waning support for Portuguese occupation of Brazil. Violence between the two sides ramped up in Bahia, where the Portuguese maintained troops and governance. As the hostility and efforts by the Portuguese to silence any dissidents grew, so did the desire among the Brazilian people for independence. Earlier that same year, a nun, Joana Angélica, refused an intrusion by Portuguese soldiers into her Bahia convent. This resulted in her being brutally murdered—the horrific event became a local rallying cry.
Maria balked at the expectations of how Brazilian women, especially those in rural pockets, were supposed to behave. Be obedient, be subservient, be quiet. She could not accept why she was never taught to read, or why most people, men and women alike, agreed she and her sisters were not meant to make an impact in their town, let alone their country.
Facing her father, she decided she had heard enough. There would be no convincing her father through debate and argument. She would have to fight in this war and make herself into the leader, even if it meant risking everything to defy the system holding her back.
That night, Maria snuck out of the house to head to her younger sister’s home. Teresa, was expecting her first child with her husband, José. In some ways she would be the least likely ally, making it a risk to confide in her, but she was also Maria’s best hope for a co-conspirator.
Since childhood, Teresa was the perfect daughter—Maria’s opposite—reliably following the rules their father set for them and their five other sisters. The sisters were known for sharing mysterious eyes and long hair, but Maria had silkier brown hair and darker eyes. Maria viewed herself as a disappointment to her father. While Teresa and the other girls had spent most of their time indoors, Maria explored the surrounding wilderness. She learned to handle weapons and ride wild horses. Her mother, who came from one of the local indigenous communities, had abetted Maria’s misadventures from the time she was old enough to walk. She died when Maria was still a child. When her father remarried, Maria’s stepmother was adamant: girls should not use weapons nor explore the outdoors.
When she reached Teresa’s house, Maria was frazzled, talking fast, sputtering through an account of what had happened with the emissary and their father. None of it was surprising to Teresa, considering their father’s history of controlling their lives. This had particularly impacted Maria, who had never been able to shake the memory of a young man named Gabriel Pereira de Brito. The two had been in love as teenagers and planned to marry. But when the time came for Maria’s father to give his approval, he said the boy was too poor and ill-equipped. Maria had little interest in any of the other men in the area; she’d be alone in the years that followed and scolded by her family as Teresa and her other sisters married and started families.
This time, Maria would not back down. She told Teresa: I will join this fight, one way or another.
If Teresa balked at Maria’s ideas, either out of fear for Maria or for their family’s reputation, she could go right to their father and sabotage her dream. But despite the differences in their life choices, Teresa had always understood Maria on a deep level. As extreme and implausible as Maria’s plan was, Teresa expected nothing less.
The enthusiasm was infectious. “If what you’re saying is true,” Teresa said, “I’d probably want to join the fight as well.” They laughed at the thought of Teresa, about to have a baby, putting on a soldier’s garb. Together they formulated a plan: Maria would cut her hair short, and Teresa could secure one of her husband’s old uniforms.
In the small house that night, Teresa binded Maria’s breasts, stomach and waist by wrapping her tightly in a cloth and tying just above the shoulders. José’s old military uniform was four sizes too big, so they cut and tore the uniform at the seams and sewed it back together. It was still clunky and too wide, but it would have to suffice. Then they dealt with her hair. While Maria sat as still as possible on a wooden chair, Teresa cut her hair down to a few inches. It was uneven, with some stray curls falling around her ears. José was shocked, walking in on his sister-in-law, draped in one of his uniforms with an uneven haircut, stray curls falling around her ears.
Even with a ragged cut and a lumpy old uniform, a new version of Maria came into view, one that could pass as a man and do as she pleased, stripping away every restriction that she lived by.
The next day, Maria and her brother-in-law José traveled 50 miles to the Regimento de Artilharia, the artillery regiment. The military effort on the ground in Brazil already included a medley of personnel, with Dom Pedro engaging mercenaries from England and France. Local volunteers had responded in force to the call to fight, but they were still outnumbered and needed help from all corners of the world if they had a chance to repel the Portuguese loyalists. Still, however varied the troops and officers, they were all men.
As the soldiers looked up and down at the new prospect in the old uniform, Maria and José had to remain calm. The men asked her for her name.
“Private Medeiros,” she said, “the young son of José Cordeiro de Medeiros.”
The choice to pretend to be the son of her brother-in-law carried a quiet subtext. Maybe if her father had been more open-minded, more like José, she would never have needed to go behind his back. If her father had been less intransigent, she would not hide the pursuit of what she wanted--and not only when it came to fighting for Brazil. She might have been married to Gabriel by then.
There had been women of almost mythic proportions throughout history who had disguised themselves to fight in wars, including Joan of Arc in 15th century France and Deborah Sampson in the American Revolutionary War. These figures were unlikely to cross the mind of Maria, who was not looking to become a legend. She just wanted to do her part for Brazil. But now that Maria stood before the heavily armed force, the immediate risks to her safety became real. For millennia, militaries, even revolutionary ones, enforced strict rules, at the discretion of officers, against soldiers who made misrepresentations or attempted fraud. Maria could be risking incarceration and public shame for herself and her family. Teresa and José, who had crossed lines to support her dream, would be directly implicated.
ANA FRANCO is a Brazilian journalist and author who loves digging up Brazil’s hidden history. She writes both nonfiction and fiction.
When Brazil declared war against Portugal, a young woman enlisted the help of her family to go to war in secret—disguised as a man.
OCTOBER 1822
Maria Quitéria de Jesus, 30, ran from the cotton field and into the farmhouse, dripping sweat in the summer heat of the sertão, the desert-like interior of northwest Brazil in the region of Bahia. She crouched at the top of the stairs, remaining out of sight as her father, Gonçalo, conversed with a man dressed in full royal regalia. Maria tucked her dark blue tafetá skirt under her heels and listened.
The visitor, an emissary of Emperor Dom Pedro I, came bearing news from the capital. Only a few weeks prior, Emperor Pedro attempted to sever Brazil’s ties to Portugal, looking to end its status as a colony. The Portuguese rebuked the move. For a small country like Portugal to compete with other European powers with economic satellites around the globe, Brazil was essential. To counter Pedro, strict orders were sent from Libson to the Portuguese army in Brazil: keep control over the Brazilian people.
But the Brazilian leadership refused to stand down. They were committed to following the lead of many of their neighboring countries that had recently established their independence—all from Spain. Emperor Pedro sent out a call to recruit soldiers.
The emissary read the decree aloud: The Portuguese wished to enslave and persecute us. As of today, our bonds end. By my blood, by my honor, by my God, I swear to bring about the independence of Brazil. Brazilians, let our watchword from this day forth be “Independence or Death!”
The emissary asked if Maria’s father or any male in his family would volunteer to fight against the colonial oppressors. Gonçalo explained he had no sons. For years, he prayed for sons, something he reminded Maria about often. He had seven daughters, but his only son, with his first wife, had died in infancy. Gonçalo would wait for the final result of the war and be a loyal subject to either victor. Like most farmers in the region, he thought little about national governance as long as the rulers did not meddle with their lands and their townships.
Maria hung on every word from atop the stairs. “I felt my heart burning in my breast,” she recalled later. Fighting for Brazil’s independence, being a part of the war against the Portuguese—that idea was thrilling.
As the emissary made toward the door, Maria bolted from her hidden spot. “It’s true, father,” she said. “You do not have a son. But I know how to handle weapons and hunting is no nobler than fighting for our country… Please, let me go to aid in such a noble fight!”
Gonçalo studied his daughter for a moment before replying. “Women spin, weave and sew. They do not go to wars.”
The emissary smiled warmly and praised her patriotism and bravery, but before he could say anything more, Gonçalo escorted him out. He then turned to Maria and told her she did not have the time for idle fantasizing. There was plenty to do on the farm, taking care of the cattle and overseeing the cotton crops.
For years, Maria witnessed the waning support for Portuguese occupation of Brazil. Violence between the two sides ramped up in Bahia, where the Portuguese maintained troops and governance. As the hostility and efforts by the Portuguese to silence any dissidents grew, so did the desire among the Brazilian people for independence. Earlier that same year, a nun, Joana Angélica, refused an intrusion by Portuguese soldiers into her Bahia convent. This resulted in her being brutally murdered—the horrific event became a local rallying cry.
Maria balked at the expectations of how Brazilian women, especially those in rural pockets, were supposed to behave. Be obedient, be subservient, be quiet. She could not accept why she was never taught to read, or why most people, men and women alike, agreed she and her sisters were not meant to make an impact in their town, let alone their country.
Facing her father, she decided she had heard enough. There would be no convincing her father through debate and argument. She would have to fight in this war and make herself into the leader, even if it meant risking everything to defy the system holding her back.
That night, Maria snuck out of the house to head to her younger sister’s home. Teresa, was expecting her first child with her husband, José. In some ways she would be the least likely ally, making it a risk to confide in her, but she was also Maria’s best hope for a co-conspirator.
Since childhood, Teresa was the perfect daughter—Maria’s opposite—reliably following the rules their father set for them and their five other sisters. The sisters were known for sharing mysterious eyes and long hair, but Maria had silkier brown hair and darker eyes. Maria viewed herself as a disappointment to her father. While Teresa and the other girls had spent most of their time indoors, Maria explored the surrounding wilderness. She learned to handle weapons and ride wild horses. Her mother, who came from one of the local indigenous communities, had abetted Maria’s misadventures from the time she was old enough to walk. She died when Maria was still a child. When her father remarried, Maria’s stepmother was adamant: girls should not use weapons nor explore the outdoors.
When she reached Teresa’s house, Maria was frazzled, talking fast, sputtering through an account of what had happened with the emissary and their father. None of it was surprising to Teresa, considering their father’s history of controlling their lives. This had particularly impacted Maria, who had never been able to shake the memory of a young man named Gabriel Pereira de Brito. The two had been in love as teenagers and planned to marry. But when the time came for Maria’s father to give his approval, he said the boy was too poor and ill-equipped. Maria had little interest in any of the other men in the area; she’d be alone in the years that followed and scolded by her family as Teresa and her other sisters married and started families.
This time, Maria would not back down. She told Teresa: I will join this fight, one way or another.
If Teresa balked at Maria’s ideas, either out of fear for Maria or for their family’s reputation, she could go right to their father and sabotage her dream. But despite the differences in their life choices, Teresa had always understood Maria on a deep level. As extreme and implausible as Maria’s plan was, Teresa expected nothing less.
The enthusiasm was infectious. “If what you’re saying is true,” Teresa said, “I’d probably want to join the fight as well.” They laughed at the thought of Teresa, about to have a baby, putting on a soldier’s garb. Together they formulated a plan: Maria would cut her hair short, and Teresa could secure one of her husband’s old uniforms.
In the small house that night, Teresa binded Maria’s breasts, stomach and waist by wrapping her tightly in a cloth and tying just above the shoulders. José’s old military uniform was four sizes too big, so they cut and tore the uniform at the seams and sewed it back together. It was still clunky and too wide, but it would have to suffice. Then they dealt with her hair. While Maria sat as still as possible on a wooden chair, Teresa cut her hair down to a few inches. It was uneven, with some stray curls falling around her ears. José was shocked, walking in on his sister-in-law, draped in one of his uniforms with an uneven haircut, stray curls falling around her ears.
Even with a ragged cut and a lumpy old uniform, a new version of Maria came into view, one that could pass as a man and do as she pleased, stripping away every restriction that she lived by.
The next day, Maria and her brother-in-law José traveled 50 miles to the Regimento de Artilharia, the artillery regiment. The military effort on the ground in Brazil already included a medley of personnel, with Dom Pedro engaging mercenaries from England and France. Local volunteers had responded in force to the call to fight, but they were still outnumbered and needed help from all corners of the world if they had a chance to repel the Portuguese loyalists. Still, however varied the troops and officers, they were all men.
As the soldiers looked up and down at the new prospect in the old uniform, Maria and José had to remain calm. The men asked her for her name.
“Private Medeiros,” she said, “the young son of José Cordeiro de Medeiros.”
The choice to pretend to be the son of her brother-in-law carried a quiet subtext. Maybe if her father had been more open-minded, more like José, she would never have needed to go behind his back. If her father had been less intransigent, she would not hide the pursuit of what she wanted--and not only when it came to fighting for Brazil. She might have been married to Gabriel by then.
There had been women of almost mythic proportions throughout history who had disguised themselves to fight in wars, including Joan of Arc in 15th century France and Deborah Sampson in the American Revolutionary War. These figures were unlikely to cross the mind of Maria, who was not looking to become a legend. She just wanted to do her part for Brazil. But now that Maria stood before the heavily armed force, the immediate risks to her safety became real. For millennia, militaries, even revolutionary ones, enforced strict rules, at the discretion of officers, against soldiers who made misrepresentations or attempted fraud. Maria could be risking incarceration and public shame for herself and her family. Teresa and José, who had crossed lines to support her dream, would be directly implicated.
ANA FRANCO is a Brazilian journalist and author who loves digging up Brazil’s hidden history. She writes both nonfiction and fiction.
