Africa's Cape Verde: A culture driven by music and laughter

Danielle Demetriou is drawn to the Atlantic islands of Cape Verde by the voice of a barefoot grandmother

The sixty-something singer, also known as the Barefoot Diva due to her disdain of shoes, has become the international voice of Cape Verde. Queen of the deliciously melancholy morna ballads, she laments the plight of her "paradise of the Atlantic" and "islands of the wind, islands of my love". Seduced by her lyricism, I find myself flying thousands of feet in the air, somewhere nameless between Lisbon and Cape Verde, in the midst of an in-flight carnival.

The plane is resounding with the cries and laughter of high-spirited emigrant families clinking plastic cups to celebrate their return home for the holidays. Rosa, a matronly woman in her fifties, is visiting her homeland for the first time in 14 years. "It has been a long time, too long," she sighs, sipping a cup of tepid white wine. "But Cape Verde will always be in my heart, wherever I find myself living." It is a fitting introduction to a country that finds two-thirds of its population living abroad. Cesaria was true to her word when she sang that Cape Verde greets visitors with un bes d'sodade - a kiss of nostalgia.

I arrive at Sal, a tiny island that is currently home to the only international airport for the 10 islands and five islets of the Atlantic archipelago. Outside, the landscape is as barren as it is remote. For tens of millions of years, the island has been whipped by the wind and blasted by the searing sun. What remains is an expanse of flat and rugged stone plains in shades of brown, punctuated only by the odd straggly palm tree. Most visitors gather in Santa Maria, a small, windswept town with wide streets, African markets and a sweep of white beaches with perfect turquoise waters.

It is clear that the town is teetering on the brink of mass tourism. Young, knee-high palm trees line every street and where the old houses with their peeling pastel paint end, the building sites begin. Apartments, hotels and resorts - complete with aqua park and casino - are all being constructed in anticipation of a predicted travel boom. "Things are changing very fast here," says Luciano Simoni, an Italian architect who has lived on the island for more than a decade. "The island is preparing for a big increase in tourism." But while Sal is all about sun and surf, it is the siren-call of the island of São Vicente that attracts music-lovers from around the world.

I arrive here after midnight but the party is only just beginning. The sound of music fills the warm air as I wander past the atmospheric colonial buildings of the town of Mindelo. A team of fearsomely rhythmic female drummers are whipping the crowds into a whirling frenzy at a party in the Mindel Hotel. The influence of the four corners of the Atlantic is felt strongly in Cape Verde - from music and culture down to physical features - and the dance floor represents a microcosm of society: the small and the tall, the dark-skinned and the green-eyed, the pale and the freckly, the blonde and the ebony-haired, all moving in synch with the fast-paced beat. Jaqueline Silva, the party organiser and former assistant to Cesaria Evora, surveys the scene. "Cape Verdean music is very nostalgic," she says. "We are a country of emigration and every family has at least two people abroad. You can feel that loss in our music."

The party continues until after sunrise when musicians and revellers alike follow the early-morning tradition of eating cachupa, a maize dish, on the way home. The following afternoon, Jaqueline takes me to the home of Evora - known as Cize to her friends. Raucous laughter fills the air as I step into the cool, dark hallway of the pink house in which she was born. I am led to a round wooden table in an empty sitting room before Evora makes her entrance. Wearing a black animal-print headscarf and a long grey African robe, she is as tiny and round-faced as she is quietly welcoming. A discreet glance towards her feet reveals that the Barefoot Diva is wearing a pair of sparkly slippers. ("She has to cover them at the moment because of verrucas," a friend later informs me.)

Cigarette permanently in hand, she arranges for her assistant - a young man with a bleached Afro, a flowery apron and a Barbie tray - to serve coconut punch and goat's cheese with papaya jam. When pressed about her music and her country, she states firmly: "Music is in my blood. I may spend time in Paris, but Cape Verde is my inspiration. I always come back here. This will be my home forever." A crowd of young Cape Verdean musicians drift into the room and the afternoon passes in a haze of loud Creole jokes, cigarette smoke and cognac. Cesaria sits serene, sober and constantly smoking at the heart of her adopted musical family. Day slowly gives way to another night of music with Bau, the renowned instrumentalist, performing at an outdoor soirée until the early hours.

Sunday, 7am, Mindelo Port. The morning after the night before. An elderly man outsized by the bananas piled high on his back strolls past, whistling loudly. A group of bleary-eyed musicians clutching instruments follow close behind. The atmosphere of a lively market prevails as crowds of Cape Verdeans - many of whom have not yet gone to bed after a night of partying - jostle to embark the ferry to the neighbouring island of Santa Antão. Once on board, the music is switched on, and a man solemnly hands out small black plastic bags. It is a wise act. The journey may take less than an hour but the rough Atlantic induces a cacophony of vomiting across the boat. On arrival in Santa Antão, I squeeze into the back of a red aluguer, a communal truck commonly used for transport on the islands. Lilting "zouk love" music is playing full blast as we speed past the arid brown hills and begin climbing the island on a narrow cobbled road, before discovering a dramatically different landscape.

The temperature drops, the scent of eucalyptus hangs in the air - and I see the first rich, green vegetation since my arrival. Travelling across the heart of the volcanic interior, we cross deep, tumbling chasms filled with lush foliage, and pass small houses perched in unimaginably steep locations. For several hours we are shrouded in a fine mist as we continue to ascend, stopping occasionally - with a boulder placed behind the back wheel - for snacks of fresh apples and goat's cheese. I finally reach my destination, Punta do Sol, a small fishing village at the northernmost point of both the island and the archipelago. A woman, her hair in pink curlers, sits on a wall staring in a melancholy manner out to sea. Children splash in black rock pools. Fishermen sombrely sort their catches. And the dark mountains loom constantly behind them.

It is Eugène Maurais, an energetic man in his sixties, who adds spark to the village. Eugene spent decades toiling as an immigrant in Rotterdam to enable him to return to his native island to build the friendly Hotel Bluebird. As he takes me on a drive along the coastal road to the village of Paul, he regales me with tales of his love life before spontaneously bursting into song, in the form of his self-penned poems inspired by the land. "O-o-o-o, Pa-ul, jardim flor-ida," he bellows. Venturing inland, it is not his singing that takes my breath away but the landscape. The dull grey coastline gives way to lush, fertile valleys filled with towering palm trees, exotic flora yielding grapefruit, papaya and mango.

We continue on foot along the narrow cobbled road into the towering green valleys and some local children persuade us to accompany them to a "water festival". After turning a few corners, we come across the unexpected - and entertaining - sight of hundreds of youngsters dancing in and around a solitary municipal swimming pool amid the flourishing foliage of the valleys. "Zouk love" is blaring, the karaoke machine is switched on, barbecues are lit and drinks are flowing. As I sip on my Sagres beer, I consider the laughing mass of humanity in its incongruously remote setting. The words of one barefoot grandmother extolling the beauty of "Paraiso di Atlantico" [Paradise of the Atlantic] have never seemed more apt.

TRAVELLER'S GUIDE

GETTING THERE

Visitors from the UK have to fly via Europe. All flights arrive at Sal, although a new airport on the island of Santiago will soon open for international flights.

The writer travelled with TAP (0845 601 0932; www.flytap.com), which flies daily to Sal from Heathrow or Gatwick via Lisbon, once a day. TACV (00 238 60 8200; www.flytacv.com), the national carrier, also flies daily from Lisbon to Sal and weekly from Madrid, Paris, Amsterdam and Gran Canaria. TACV offers a domestic air pass of two internal flights from €35 (£25) each or a five-flight pass for €50 (£36) per leg.

STAYING THERE

Mindel Hotel, Praca Nova, Mindelo, Sao Vicente (00 238 232 8881). B&B from €61 (£43.60), including airport transfers.

Cape Verde Travel (01964 536191; www.capeverdetravel.co.uk) arranged the writer's stay at the following hotels:
Hotel Odjo d'Agua, Santa Maria, Sal (00 238 242 1414). B&B from €89/£63.60
Foya Branca, Sao Pedro, Sao Vicente (00 238 230 7400). B&B from €104/£74.30
Hotel Bluebell, Ponta do Sol, Santa Antao (00 238 225 1215; www.hotelbluebell.info). B&B from €40 (£28.40)
Cape Verde Travel organises 14-night trips to the islands from £1,085 including flights.

FURTHER INFORMATION

Cape Verde Consul (07788 428 932; www.capeverdeconsul.com).