Running around like...

Saturday our teacher and his 2 young boys, 6 and 4, took four of us students to an indigenous town called Chamula. The Tsitsil people live there. We took a colectivo (something like a VW bus with about a dozen or more people crammed into it). First we went to the church in the town. The church is theoretically a Catholic church, St. John the Baptist. However, for the Tsitsil people, St. John the Baptist is more important than Jesus. They have combined elements of their native religion with the Catholic one.
It´s forbidden to take pictures in front of the church or inside the church. It´s also a no-no to take pictures of individuals without first getting their permission. This means paying them. If you take their photo without their consent, they´ve been known to grab cameras and hold them for ransom.
The church is on the large side. The floor is made of tile. On top of the tiles is strewn pine needles, the idea being that they make a nice odor when stepped on. There is also incense going full blast, so much so that the air is heavy with it. The place was jammed with people, both sitting and standing. There were no pews. All around the side of the church were statues to innumerable saints. These statues were inside protective glass cases. There must have been hundreds, if not thousands, of lit candles. Most of them were in front of statues with people praying in front of them. Some people had laid claim to a space on the floor, lit several dozen candles around themselves, and were praying loudly. Some were openly weeping. All were praying in the Tsitsil language. Of the hundreds of people in the church, there were only a handful of tourists, and most of them were Mexicanos. Although I felt uncomfortable being in the middle of them just watching, they were oblivious to me, and obviously quite caught up in their religious exercises.
Near the front on the side of the church was an accordion player playing what sounded to me to be the equivalent of funeral dirges. Men were passing around "posch," which is a homemade alcoholic drink. The kids were drinking Coca-Colas. Apparently, they do this because Coke and posch make you burp and thereby expel evil spirits from your body (Everything goes better with Coke?).
A young woman held a child with an obvious broken arm. She rubbed something on it (oil?) and prayed loudly. Apparently it is common to rub youself with bones, or oil, or eggs to remove whatever it is that´s ailing you. Nearby was an old lady on her knees praying in front of several dozen candles which were all stuck to the floor with the candle wax. She had a live chicken which she rubbed over herself and then passed over the candles. She did this many times, praying loudly, and bowing. She then wrung the neck of the chicken and continued to pass it over the candles, as it fluttered and flapped.
From there we went to the neighboring town of Zincantan. Our teacher knows a family there and he arranged a visit with them in advance. There were about five women there, of all ages, and a couple of very small children, including one of 2 months. The women wore their beautiful native costumes: black skirts, a brilliant green or blue blouse and then some sort of shawl. The embroidery work was amazing.
First, we had to drink posch, a mild alcoholic drink made from corn. Mine had cinnamon in it and didn´t taste half bad! Afterwards, we watched the ladies cook tortillas over the open cooking fire. We all sat on small stools around a small table. The ladies kept putting fresh hot tortillas in front of us and we put stuff in the tortillas accordingly. The tortillas were served with tomatoes, goat cheese, radishes, and something called pepita, which is pumpkin seeds, roasted and then ground up. I was mindful of what a gringo stomach can tolerate. But under the circumstances, there was no way I could turn my nose up in the air and refuse the offer of food. Naturally, it tasted very good. And fortunately, as I write this the next day, I have not (yet!) suffered any adverse consequences!
The head senora showed us how she makes her beautiful table cloths and clothes on her loom which straps around her back. It takes her about 8 days to make one tablecloth. After they make the cloth, they embroider all sorts of wonderful designs on them. Best of all (to my color challenged eyes) are the colors: deep rich blues, vibrant yellows and greens, etc.
It was fascinating to see and experience. But it was a bit like being a voyeur. They´re obviously subjecting themselves to this kind of exposure in the hope of selling stuff to us. I took lots of photos with my disposable camera. Now is when I definitely wish I had a digital cameral and could share some pictures with you. Too bad FedEx, DHL, etc., are so incredibly expensive; otherwise I would buy half a dozen tablecloths and send them home as gifts.
In the marketplace afterward, our teacher pointed out to us that (unfortunately) about 80% of the stuff sold in the stalls is made by machines in China. The stuff from China is also attractive and looks very much the same as the real thing. But unless you buy it from the makers themselves, you can´t be sure what you´re getting.
As beautiful as the table cloths were, I definitely do not have room in my backpack nor do I want to carry one or more large tablecloths around Mexico for the next several weeks!
This second town was much more attractive than Chamula. It was quieter, had no tourists, etc. The people here also work in hundreds of large greenhouses all around the valley (owned by a large Dutch company) where they grow flowers for export (remember the movie "Maria full of Grace"?), so they are relatively well off. I can´t help but wonder when you order tulip bulbs from some Dutch flower company if they don´t come from Mexico!
These indigenous societies are very closed and, of course, deprive women of any rights other than to make tortillas and clothes. The fathers of children arrange marriages when the children are 14 or 15. Daughters are sold for an agreed-upon price. As TV and DVD´s make their way more and more into these villages, it´s going to be inevitable (I think) that some of the indigenous girls are going to identify with Xena or Lara Croft Tombraider and want something more out of life. If a child breaks with tradition, they are forever expelled from the community. There is now a circle around the city of San Cristobal made up of desparately poor indigenous people who have been expelled, for one reason or another, from their indigenous villages. For those that move to the states for jobs,etc., they´ve permanently cut their ties. There´s no going back.
Hasta luego!