It was Meklit Hadero who wrote a song that when Africans travel, their music goes with them. This is not only true when we travel willingly, but also when we are forced, abducted, or enslaved.

Nowhere is this more evident than in the rhythms of the African diaspora: in Jazz from the American South, Rumba from Cuba, Cumbia from Colombia, and the Samba of Brazil. But one family of genres often overlooked is Bomba y Plena (Bomba and Plena), the twin genres of Puerto Rico born through colonial violence and African survival in the U.S. colony in the Caribbean.

To understand these genres, we must first go back to the early 1500s, when the course of Puerto Rico’s history changed forever.

The island of Borikén, what we now call Puerto Rico, was originally inhabited by the Taíno people. The Taínos were skilled agriculturalists and artisans with rich social and spiritual traditions. The Taínos were estimated by modern scholars to number 'hundreds of thousands' when Columbus first reached the island in 1493.

Fifteen years later, 1508 precisely, a Spanish explorer Ponce de León, who had been on the original voyage with Columbus, led an invasion of the island, defeating a Taíno resistance.

What followed was one of the fastest genocides in human history. Within three years of Spanish colonization, the Taino population had nearly vanished on the Island.

It wasn't just one thing that destroyed them. European diseases like smallpox and measles swept through communities that had no immunity. An encomienda system forced them into grueling labor in mines and fields until they died from overwork, starvation, and abuse. Those who resisted were killed. Their entire way of life, families, food systems, and ceremonies were systematically dismantled.

By 1511, the Taíno population had been so decimated that Spain could not find workers for their plantations.  King Ferdinand's solution was predictable and equally brutal. He issued an edict authorizing the mass importation of enslaved Africans to Puerto Rico.

Over the coming years, thousands of Africans would be dragged across the Atlantic to repopulate the Island's labor force.

The enslaved Africans did not just bring their bodies for forced labor, but their languages, spiritual traditions, and most importantly for our story,  their music.

Bomba is probably the island's oldest surviving African tradition, and it's unlike anything else you'll hear. It was first documented in  African communities on the island in the 17th century.

At its core, Bomba is a conversation between a dancer and a drummer. But unlike other musical styles, the dance dictates the drumming. There is a reversal of power - the dancer leads, and the drummer follows. The lead drummer must instantly echo each stomp, twist, or gesture by the dancer.

Different rhythmic styles like Yubá (solemn), Sicá (steady), Holandés (festive), and Cuembé (playful) show the genre's incredible range and depth.

The instruments of Bomba also tell a story. There are the barriles de bomba, barrel-shaped drums made from old rum barrels discarded by the slave masters. The subidor (or primo) is the lead drum that must improvise in response to every movement the dancer makes. The buleador drums maintain the pulse while the cuá, wooden drumsticks, add syncopation. The maracas drive the whole thing forward.

Historians record that other instruments like the mbira, kora, shekere, and gonkegue may have shaped the genre's earliest rhythms.

Bomba is played in gatherings called bombazos, which historically is a sacred space where enslaved and free Africans could affirm their identity, share stories, and enjoy respite from the brutality surrounding them.

While Bomba emerged during slavery, Plena took shape in the early 20th century in Ponce, a city with a strong Afro-Puerto Rican community. Where Bomba channeled ancestral memory, Plena became a vehicle for storytelling and social commentary. It is nicknamed “the people’s newspaper.”

If you are familiar with Fela Anikulapo's writing style or Chimurenga in Zimbabwe, you will find Plena easy to understand. Its lyrics reported what official newspapers ignored. It talked about political scandals and injustices, births, deaths, neighborhood gossip, and so on. In a society where poor and Black voices were silenced, Plena provided a platform to amplify the thoughts of the community.

It is a call-and-response structured performance with the lead singer running the commentary while the band members respond, echoing its African traditions.

Although a simple instrument ensemble, its influence is powerful.

Panderetas - hand drums of varying sizes called requinto, seguidor, and punta - form the rhythmic foundation. A güiro provides texture with its rasping sound. Recent ensembles add trumpets and accordions to enrich the sound.

Until recently, both the Spanish and American colonizing elites hated it. They dismissed Plena as music of the underclass, too raw and unrefined for respectable society.

Both Bomba and Plena were long marginalized under colonial rule. Spanish and later U.S. authorities often dismissed them as primitive or disruptive, preferring to highlight European influences in Puerto Rican identity.

This led to folklorization, where African traditions are stripped of their political meaning and showcased as quaint “folklore” for festivals or tourism. Schools on the Island often ignored them, emphasizing Spain’s legacy in the genres over Africa’s. For generations, the history was silenced in official narratives.

But the traditions endured in local communities. Families kept rhythms alive. Cultural leaders like Rafael Cepeda and groups such as Los Pleneros de la 21 and the Ballet Folklórico Hermanos Ayala carried the music into wider recognition.

By the late 20th century, decades of community preservation and cultural activism ensured that Bomba and Plena were not lost but instead recognized as core expressions of Puerto Rican identity.

Today, both genres continue to thrive on the island and in the diaspora.

In towns like Loíza, Bomba remains the community's heartbeat, and the younger generations are reimagining it.

Traditional groups like Taller Tambuyé and artists such as La Tribu de Abrante blend Bomba with hip-hop and reggaetón, keeping it contemporary and politically resonant.

Meanwhile, global reggaetón stars like Bad Bunny have brought elements of these traditions to international audiences, with his recent albums explicitly incorporating plena and salsa alongside reggaetón.

Plena continues as the people's music, heard in parades, protests, and celebrations. During the 2019 protests that forced Governor Ricardo Rosselló's resignation, Plena was the soundtrack of the resistance.

Bomba and Plena are not just music genres; they are living archives of African survival, resistance, and creativity.

As Meklit Hadero reminds us, when Africans traveled, by choice or by force, their music traveled with them. In Bomba y Plena, we hear those journeys: the echoes of Africa, the resilience of a people who endured, and the celebration of life in the face of unimaginable hardship.

Bomba is a conversation between a dancer and a drummer while Plena became a vehicle for storytelling and social commentary.

The African Roots of Bomba y Plena in Puerto Rico

Bomba is a conversation between a dancer and a drummer while Plena became a vehicle for storytelling and social commentary.

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