Brazilian photographer Gui Christ’s photography mines a rich vein combining portraiture, iconography, activism and anthropology to document how Afro-Brazilian religions take a stand against intolerance. Between the 16th and 19th centuries, nearly five million Yoruba, Bantu, and Ewe peoples were forcibly brought to Brazil as slaves. During this period, colonial ideologies not only justified the exploitation of their bodies but also demonized their beliefs, branding them as evil forces to be eradicated. This led to the prohibition of Afro-Brazilian religions until the 1970s.

Christ’s own spiritual journey included overcoming his own inherited preconceptions which were challenged over 20 years ago when he was a student in Rio. Whilst documenting a street parade, the group he was following entered an Umbanda temple—an Afro-Brazilian religion with roots in Central African spiritual traditions. The priest told him he was welcome, but he hesitated. Eventually, he entered and what he experienced there was completely different than what he could have ever expected.

Afterwards, Christ says, “I started having crazy dreams about Brazilian deities. One week later, I returned to this temple and talked to this priest about the strange dreams and the priest told me, ‘Well, probably you are a M’Kumba, so when possible, return wearing white clothes, and bring your camera.’ He authorized me to take more pictures. And also he started to teach me about these religions.” Now, Christ is a priest in training, using his photography practice to educate and to restore understanding of the sacred word M’Kumba. In this interview for LensCulture, Christ talks to Rebecca Horne about his spiritual path, saying goodbye to the rules of photojournalism and developing a new work process.

The guardian spirits of the crossroads. Portrait of the Umbanda priests José Elias and Rosa Nagô embodying the guardian spirits of the crossroads—bohemian entities believed to protect sacred spaces and the lives of Afro-Brazilian practitioners. Despite their vital role, these spirits are often misrepresented as devilish forces by intolerant groups due to their mundane behavior. This prejudice fuels the persecution of these deities, who are among the most targeted in Afro-Brazilian religious practices. © Gui Christ
The guardian spirits of the crossroads. Portrait of the Umbanda priests José Elias and Rosa Nagô embodying the guardian spirits of the crossroads—bohemian entities believed to protect sacred spaces and the lives of Afro-Brazilian practitioners. Despite their vital role, these spirits are often misrepresented as devilish forces by intolerant groups due to their mundane behavior. This prejudice fuels the persecution of these deities, who are among the most targeted in Afro-Brazilian religious practices. © Gui Christ

Rebecca Horne: What does it mean to you, to be a M’Kumba?

Gui Christ: Being a M’Kumba is the way I express my ancestrality, and also the way I interact with our society. Like the United States, Brazil was a colony, and here we have huge social inequality and racism. Despite being a white man, being a M’Kumba changed my perception on how I could interact or stand against these social problems here in my country. We have a religious relationship and also a political one—this is the way I understand M’Kumba.

My grandmother was a white Catholic woman, she also used some racist terms and spread stories. M’Kumba, for us, is a sacred word. It means a meeting of wise men. But here in Brazil, it was turned into pejorative slang, especially for all the Christian extremist groups. They use ‘M’Kumba’ to attack us. People in Brazil say this word, but they don’t understand the story of this word. So this is another point that I have been working on.

The neophytes’ attire. Portrait of Flavio Junior wearing traditional Afro-Brazilian religious attire used during the Candomblé initiation process. These garments symbolize African ancestry and spiritual purity. Like Flavio, all neophytes are required to wear similar outfits for three months after their initiation, integrating their devotion into everyday life, whether at school, work, or elsewhere. Unfortunately, this sacred practice often exposes them to bullying in schools and on the streets, which can lead to social isolation and, in some cases, school dropout. © Gui Christ
The neophytes’ attire. Portrait of Flavio Junior wearing traditional Afro-Brazilian religious attire used during the Candomblé initiation process. These garments symbolize African ancestry and spiritual purity. Like Flavio, all neophytes are required to wear similar outfits for three months after their initiation, integrating their devotion into everyday life, whether at school, work, or elsewhere. Unfortunately, this sacred practice often exposes them to bullying in schools and on the streets, which can lead to social isolation and, in some cases, school dropout. © Gui Christ

RH: How did M’Kumba evolve out of your earlier documentary practice?

GC: At first, I only photographed practitioners, rituals and places, without many creative interventions or artistic reinterpretation, based on the guidelines of traditional photojournalism. But after suffering violence while wearing religious attire, I realized that even a white man in Brazil can experience racism because of being an Afro-Brazilian religious practitioner. Here in Brazil religious intolerance is awful. We don’t have any formal documents about the number of violent attacks, but in 2024, there were more than 2000 attacks recorded in Brazil. After that, I realized that I could start photographing myself, other practitioners, our mythologies and our rituals.

My new approach to the project developed after a spiritual encounter with one of the ancestral spirits of my community, Mr. José Pelintra. My community is rooted in both Candomblé and Umbanda religions. Some members enter a trance state and become vessels for these ancestral entities to manifest. These spirits can speak, dance and sing—bringing their personalities as if they were alive again.

The buffalo Mother. Portrait of Dalma Régia representing the Yoruba goddess of the Winds, Oya, in one of the streets of Heliópolis, one of the largest favelas in Brazil. According to Yoruba mythology, Oya transforms into a buffalo to protect her nine children from any harm. In the Brazilian peripheries, where the number of Afro-Brazilian single mothers is large, like Oya, these women must possess immense strength. They not only provide for their families material needs but also protect their children from the violence caused by racial inequality and social injustice. © Gui Christ
The buffalo Mother. Portrait of Dalma Régia representing the Yoruba goddess of the Winds, Oya, in one of the streets of Heliópolis, one of the largest favelas in Brazil. According to Yoruba mythology, Oya transforms into a buffalo to protect her nine children from any harm. In the Brazilian peripheries, where the number of Afro-Brazilian single mothers is large, like Oya, these women must possess immense strength. They not only provide for their families material needs but also protect their children from the violence caused by racial inequality and social injustice. © Gui Christ

So during a ceremony, I was talking to Mr. José Pelintra and I told him that I was not happy with my photojournalistic production. He said: “Oh, instead of photographing our problems, why don’t you start photographing our people using our understanding of the world?” I realized that I could use our mythologies, our visions. And then I broke with photojournalism and started to stage rituals. Since then, I have continued working independently on my personal long-term project M’kumba.

RH: Can you tell me about the process of making these images?

GC: I think I have two different approaches. The first is that I visit the religious community, I understand their rituals, and talk to the priest or with the community.Then we negotiate what pictures we can do. So for example, one of the pictures of the woman wearing straw attire. I didn’t know she had this attire—but when I visited the temple, she put it on. So I took this picture. But the second approach is, I have some ideas and talk to other practitioners—I make sketches, like storyboards, and we stage these rituals or deities. It’s a mutual construction. I have the idea and I ask for their opinion. As we have several kinds of traditions and mythologies, I cannot impose my understanding or my will. So I have to talk with them to have their authority, not only their legal authorization, but their religious authorization.

The Lord of the straw. Portrait of a representation of Obaluaê, one of the most feared Orixás among non-practitioners of Afro-Brazilian religions. Known as the Yoruba deity of healing and diseases, Obaluaê is often depicted with his body covered in straw, hiding the sores of smallpox. This portrayal leads some intolerant groups to associate him with disease, forbidden his name to be spoken and misunderstanding his true nature as a healer. Despite this, Obaluaê remains a powerful figure, revered by Afro-Brazilian religious communities for his ability to bring both physical and spiritual healing to those in need. © Gui Christ
The Lord of the straw. Portrait of a representation of Obaluaê, one of the most feared Orixás among non-practitioners of Afro-Brazilian religions. Known as the Yoruba deity of healing and diseases, Obaluaê is often depicted with his body covered in straw, hiding the sores of smallpox. This portrayal leads some intolerant groups to associate him with disease, forbidden his name to be spoken and misunderstanding his true nature as a healer. Despite this, Obaluaê remains a powerful figure, revered by Afro-Brazilian religious communities for his ability to bring both physical and spiritual healing to those in need. © Gui Christ

RH: I’m curious about the image titled N’goma calls those who live so far away.

GC: Drums, for us, are also deities. N’goma, is the name of Bantu deity—he was the only one who made God happy, because God was really sad about the creation of the world. And then one of his sons, Zazi, created N’ goma. When he played N’ goma, God started dancing, and he manifested the sacred. So we understand that when we are playing drums, we can access the sacred through our bodies. This dance manifests the sacred, our ancestors, and our deities. For a long time drums were prohibited in Brazil—the elders had to go to the woods to play their drums. So this is why the man is holding an ancestor painting, because this ancestor, in the old times, could only play drums in the woods. And nowadays we do have the freedom to play in our temples.

N'goma calls those who lives far away. Portrait of Valdemir Alves, an Afro-Brazilian religious drummer, holding a painting of an African ancestor revered in his community. These drums, called N’goma, are seen as sacred instruments capable of summoning deities from the spiritual realm. However, African drums were banned in Brazil until 1940. To preserve their traditions, Afro-Brazilian practitioners were forced to perform rituals deep in the woods, ensuring the drumbeats were hidden from authorities but still reached the Orisas and their deified ancestors. © Gui Christ
N’goma calls those who lives far away. Portrait of Valdemir Alves, an Afro-Brazilian religious drummer, holding a painting of an African ancestor revered in his community. These drums, called N’goma, are seen as sacred instruments capable of summoning deities from the spiritual realm. However, African drums were banned in Brazil until 1940. To preserve their traditions, Afro-Brazilian practitioners were forced to perform rituals deep in the woods, ensuring the drumbeats were hidden from authorities but still reached the Orisas and their deified ancestors. © Gui Christ

RH: One of my favorite pictures is the women in the river. Can you talk about that?

GC: Oshun is the deity of love and the rivers in the waterfalls and well. She was a kind of witch, and she used her powers to make everyone fall in love with her. When she saw Oya, the deity of the winds, she enchanted her. So this is a representation of this mythological tale. And we also have another version for man so there are two male deities. They’re very human. The Afro-Brazilian deities represent the multiplicity of human beings—we have all the genders, we have all the archetypes, from the little girl to the eldest woman, and also from the young boy to the oldest man.

Most of the African deities are so humanized—we have several different stories that go against the Catholic tradition. For example, drinking and smoking and being happy for us is sacred. The body is sacred, sex is sacred, and homosexual relationships are normal, so they are also sacred. We don’t have this sense that our gods are pure. Our Gods make mistakes, and with these mistakes, they learn. So our mythological tales are really rich, and present all these archetypes that the Catholic religion does not present.

When Oshun enchanted Oya. Portrait of Candomblé practitioners representing the deities of water, Oshun, and the winds, Oya. According to Yoruba mythology, Oshun is the goddess of love, capable of captivating everyone, even someone of her own gender. Unlike other religions, Afro-Brazilian mythology celebrates a plurality of genders, bodies, ages, and origins. This inclusivity often leads to attacks by intolerant groups, who mistakenly portray these deities as representations of sin or lust. However, they remain symbols of strength, beauty, and freedom within the Afro-Brazilian religious community. © Gui Christ
When Oshun enchanted Oya. Portrait of Candomblé practitioners representing the deities of water, Oshun, and the winds, Oya. According to Yoruba mythology, Oshun is the goddess of love, capable of captivating everyone, even someone of her own gender. Unlike other religions, Afro-Brazilian mythology celebrates a plurality of genders, bodies, ages, and origins. This inclusivity often leads to attacks by intolerant groups, who mistakenly portray these deities as representations of sin or lust. However, they remain symbols of strength, beauty, and freedom within the Afro-Brazilian religious community. © Gui Christ

RH: What’s next for you?

GC: I want to bring greater visibility to my project M’kumba, to generate social recognition and tangible returns for the communities I’ve photographed. I hope to contribute, in some way, to combatting religious racism by disseminating accurate and respectful information about Afro-Brazilian religions—to challenge the deeply-rooted stigmas that have been worsening in Brazil for years.

The photographs I created for this project are not solely my work—they are the result of a collaboration with traditional Afro-Brazilian religious communities that continue to fight to preserve their heritage and honor the memory of the five million people who were forcibly brought from Africa to live in slavery in Brazil. This project exists thanks to their legacy and I am honored not only to photograph it, but also to be one of them.

Editor’s note: We discovered this work when it was short-listed for the LensCulture New Visions Awards Humanity category. You can discover all of the winners and short-listed projects here.