It was 4am on a Monday and most of Rio de Janeiro was asleep. But in the Morro do 77, a favela on the gritty westside of town, the party was just getting under way as hundreds of revellers packed the community’s main thoroughfare to strut their stuff before a three-metre (10ft) wall of sound. Speakers and subwoofers pumped ear-shattering favela funk music into the dawn air. Partygoers drank pint-sized cups of whiskey and frozen coconut water. And as heads bobbed, bodies twerked and window panes shook, the rave’s unexpected name flashed up on a screen above the dancefloor in a distinctly British blaze of red, blue and white. “The Baile de Londres,” it said. “The Party of London.” “Sometimes people go straight to work afterwards,” said one of the DJs, Hyago Domingos de Lima, before his deafening setlist rendered conversation impossible. The Sunday night blowout – during which partygoers, including one wearing an England football shirt, danced until 7am – is one of scores of favela funk parties now named after cities and countries around the world. The trend began about five years ago when musicians in one of Rio’s largest favelas, the Complexo do Lins, founded the Baile da Colombia (the Party of Colombia), a reference to the Brazilian neighbour’s long-running conflict and the deadly violence that also blights many gang-controlled areas in Rio. Sensing a foreign name could increase their brand profile and attract larger audiences, event organisers in favelas across the city reached for their maps. In Chapadão they named their event after Egypt, in Parque das Missões, Poland, and in Parque Arará, Portugal. One favela opted for China and used the Chinese national flag to advertise its rave. Another chose Japan, in homage to a local gangster nicknamed after the east-Asian country. In São Gonçalo, a satellite city to Rio’s east, promoters picked US cities, including New York, Brooklyn and Las Vegas. In Rocinha they celebrated Russia with the Baile de Moscow. In Jacarezinho they created the Baile de Paris. “I think there’s one named after every single country in the world,” said Kaio Gonçalves da Silva. The 26-year-old DJ plays at funk parties named after Acapulco and Saudi Arabia in Duque de Caxias, a city to Rio’s north. On his customised Sonic the Hedgehog motorbike, it takes him five minutes to get between the two gigs. “There the Party of Canada. There’s Libya. There’s Korea … There’s Croatia. There’s Sweden. I think there’s an Italy one too … There’s Ireland. There’s Scotland,” said Da Silva, AKA DJ Kaio VDM, the composer of a recent hit celebrating the Brazil and West Ham footballer Lucas Paquetá. Luiz Júnior, a DJ and producer from a westside favela called Vila Aliança, said that by the time the area’s musicians decided to adopt a country, “there were hardly any left”. So they plumped for Romania. “To be honest, I don’t know anything about Romania. Lots of people here don’t even know what the capital is … [But] people really liked the colour of the flag,” said Júnior, whose sound system, Ignorant, rents out massive custom-made speaker systems to parties including Argentina, Mexico and Iraq. Lima, whose DJ name is HG, came up with the Baile de Londres while shooting the breeze in Morro do 77’s main square with his friends Fatty Psycho, Haze, Xiclaudio and Big Dave. At first they considered Guatemala. Then someone floated England. But the Portuguese word for England (Inglaterra) had too many syllables and was a mouthful for MCs, he said. So they opted for the Baile de Londres and a new UK-themed Rio rave was born, with fliers featuring pictures of of the Houses of Parliament and the London Eye. Lima, who like most of the favela’s residents has never travelled abroad, admitted his knowledge of the UK capital was patchy. “When I think of London I think of … all those big buildings and that lake with the bridge over it,” he said of Tower Bridge. Marcelo Henrique dos Anjos da Silva, a dancer whose mesmerising dance steps at the Baile de Londres often go viral social media, associated London with little but the cold. “It’s the sort of place you need a jacket and a scarf,” Da Silva, whose nickname is ML, said as he sat in Morro do 77’s plaza in flip-flops and shorts. The creation of the Party of London has given the Brazilian favela a curiously British feel. The main street, Francisco Brício Avenue, has been informally renamed the Retão de Londres, which roughly translates as London Street. Last year a local football team was founded: the Seleção de Londres or Team London. In true English style, they made it to the final of the favela’s annual tournament but then lost. “They thrashed us: 4-0 or something,” said Pedro Gomes, one of the team’s defenders, as he showed off the favela’s synthetic pitch wearing his union-flag-branded kit. Gomes, who works in a hospital pharmacy when not protecting London’s goal, said the baile was an essential form of leisure for overburdened residents of his deprived neighbourhood. “It’s a way locals have off enjoying themselves when all they do is work, work, work. People need to have fun too,” the 25-year-old said as the event’s giant sound system was assembled behind him outside the evangelical church Vida Em Graça (Life in Grace). Rio’s funk scene has long been criminalised and vilified by authorities and critics who accuse it of glorifying drugs, guns and sex, although in recent years the movement has been widely recognised as a culture treasure and even celebrated in one of Brazil’s top art museums. The parties are also a crucial economic lifeline for Rio’s favelas, which are home to about 20% of the city’s population. Twenty-four hours before the Baile de Londres kicked off, Adriana da Silva Lucena set off from her home in the Vila Ideal favela to sell drinks at the Baile de Acapulco. “Our lives are tough and if it wasn’t for the baile lots of people would be going hungry,” said Lucena, a 51-year-old single-mother in an area where many families depend on benefits. “It’s tiring. It’s stressful … When you get home you’re dead after working all night,” she said of her nocturnal shifts. “But I love this community. Acapulco is my life because, like it or not, I live off Acapulco.” Wagner Oliveira, the 32-year-old owner of a clothes shop in Vila Ideal named after the Mexican holiday destination, said: “People think bailes are just about taking drugs and boozing. But the bailes benefit so many people in the community.” A born-again Christian, Oliveira no longer attended the raves and was not a fan of the musical style and its sexually explicit lyrics. Nevertheless, he called the parties a vital part of favela life. “Only people who live here grasp how important this is. Outsiders just don’t get it at all.” Moments later, the volume was cranked up and partiers began to arrive for a night of unbroken hedonism. Oliveira shut up shop and headed home, placing Mexico’s Aztec-inspired tricolour in his shop window beside a note to would-be customers. “Be right back,” it said.