Manihot esculenta Crantz goes by many names — aipim, macaxeira, castelinha, pão-dos-pobres,

maniva, and… mandioca. The term mandioca derives from mani-oca, a Tupi myth that tells the story

of the Indigenous girl Mani, whose burial in an oca (hut) gave rise to the root that generously fed her

tribe for generations. Each name reflects a time, a culture, a place, a way of relating to the plant that

has sustained Brazil’s food culture — and in Paraty’s case, continues to be the foundation of both

dishes and memories.

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The exhibition Lidas da Terra: Mandioca (Labors of the Land: Cassava) was born of the desire of Fazenda Bananal and Casa da Cultura de Paraty to tell a story that is grounded in the earth and attuned to its sounds — a story of land cleared for planting, where buried cassava stems take root, and of ears tuned

to the creak of the press and the crackle of flour in the pan — sounds that echo a way of life passed

down from generation to generation.

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Because growing cassava isn’t just about planting — it’s about living in circle. The flour houses are

the stage for this ritual: spaces of collective labor and belonging. Places where time stretches through repeated gestures — peeling, grating, pressing, sifting, and toasting. Communal work brings together families, neighbors, and “flour kin.” And there, amid laughter and hard work, a culture is kept alive.

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This is what this exhibition celebrates: the endurance of the traditional knowledge of Indigenous

peoples, quilombolas, and caiçaras. People who understand the rhythm of the plant, the firmness

of the soil, and the right time to harvest. Communities who learned from their elders and now teach

the young — not always with words, but with their whole bodies engaged in the doing. In a time when industrialization flattens flavors and haste erodes ritual, communal flour-making remains a symbol

of another way of living.

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Long before Europeans arrived, cassava was cultivated and processed with great skill by Indigenous peoples, who ingeniously found ways to eliminate the toxins that make the plant unsafe to eat. Here,

it became the true bread of the land — the “Indigenous bread,” as early Portuguese colonial texts

describe it. Beiju, pirão, tapioca, mingau, sopa d’água, and flour are all made from it. That same flour

still appears on the tables of the people of Paraty every day, served alongside fried fish and cooked bananas, and thickening the conversation around the table.

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It’s no coincidence that cassava is once again being recognized as an ally in food security and sustainability. A hardy and generous crop, it withstands drought, thrives without pesticides, and grows well alongside other plants. In Paraty, family farmers continue to invest in this alternative path, where production, territory, and community life go hand in hand. Their practices — once dismissed as relics

of the past — are now helping shape futures that are healthier, more just, and more deeply connected

to the environment.