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Published: November 6th 2005
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Cemetery
(photo courtesy of Ami) Dia de los Muertos. I fell asleep last night with flutters of anticipation in my stomach. This morning it required a great deal of patience to sit through my Spanish lesson without fidgeting. I don't know how to adequately describe the anticipation I felt; all I can say is that it wasn't the anticipation a child has on Christmas Eve or the night before their birthday. This was a holiday that went beyond any holiday I had experienced in the U.S. I wasn't quite sure what to expect -- what I would see, how I would feel. I'm still not quite sure I can give today justice, but I will try.
Around 10 am I boarded a van with five Vida Verde students, four Vida Verde profesores, Brenna and Ami to head for a cemetery in the northern part of Quito. We were under strict orders to speak nothing but Spanish in the van -- no English, no German -- so the ride passed with a great deal of hilarity as I attempted to carry on a conversation with Brenna and Ami. I found that it was difficult to stick solely to Spanish while talking with these two people
Cemetery
(photo courtesy of Ami) I generally use English with, but somehow we managed. (We did, I confess, use English occasionally, but it was primarily so we could help each other out. I know, I know, it's still cheating!)
The driver of the van dropped us off at the mouth of the street that led to the cemetery. Vendors lined the street, selling wreaths, flowers and food. It was not unlike many other streets I've encountered in Quito, but the atmosphere was different. It was a subtle difference --
very subtle -- but present all the same. We gradually made our way to the cemetery entrance, up the steps, under the arch, and into the graveyard.
I have not spent a great deal of time wandering around in cemeteries, but even if I had previous experiences would not have prepared me for this one. It was small, open, completely lacking in vegetation. Crosses crowded one another; often there was hardly an inch of space between the graves, all of which were marked only with a name and a date of death. The walkways between the graves were crowded with people moving with a slow and steady purpose, carrying food and flowers. One man
Cemetery
(photo courtesy of Ami) carefully cleaned the tiles above a grave, while nearby several families ate lunch above and around their family member's grave. Above, the sun was merciless, bent on bleaching the land beneath it, and I could feel myself frying with every passing moment. In spite of all the people -- and the speakers blasting music -- the air was still, holding its breath. I felt as though I was balanced on the edge of the world, suspended between the equatorial sun and the world of the dead. A piece of me hangs there still.
*****
Before we drove back to Vida Verde we wandered around a street market where we experienced a new Ecuadorian food -- guaba. Guaba is a giant seed pod filled with black seeds covered with a fuzzy (looking), white, edible coating. They were quite tasty. We ended up at an artisan market whose vendors worked exclusively with a special bread dough that they fashioned into various objects, primarily Christmas ornaments. One of the vendors provided an explanation of the craft (of which I understood very little, as my current Spanish vocab doesn't include art-related words), and then we were free to roam about and spend money if we so desired. (I can't say what we bought, or if we even bought anything at all. I will mention that later on in the day, when a certain someone was attempting to do her Spanish homework a certain other someone insisted on laying out her purchases on the table and discussing them at great length with the homework person. It's a good thing the homework person likes the purchases person, tee hee hee.)
Once back at the school we gathered in the courtyard for colada morada -- a thick drink made of berries cooked down with various other fruit added to it -- and guaguas de pan -- bread that looks like large, fat gingerbread men with their legs stuck together. It was a quiet way to end our Dia de los Muertos excursion. As I cradled my mug of colada morada I felt my exhausted self gradually return to the world of the living. And later that evening I called two dear friends, Karen and Courtney, and the day was finally complete.
em
* ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** *
I fell asleep last night -- and woke up this morning -- with fragments of this poem running through my head. And while it does not exactly describe my Dia de los Muertos I wanted to share it with you anyway. Since I left the book with this poem in it at home I had to find it on the internet, so hopefully there are no major errors. I don't think there are, but you never can tell with bees 😊 Day of the Dead This is a witching season, the pivotal mouth as the world of the dead,
staggered with the living, opens. Children dressed as spirits and monsters suck
candy, parade the streets. Wind is electric, sharp as truth. Spirits play crack-
the-whip in the abyss. I have needed to talk with you but you are insanely
absent and I have become insanely mute. When I hold the compass you gave
me, the needle points in a direction that is neither yes nor no. The star
map has become symbols I can't describe because it delineates a system entering a
distant compassionate universe. I have built a fire in the cave of my body and
hope the devil wind gives it a chance. There is an underground river with blind
fish nearby. What do they choose in this season where there must be spirit fish
with wings? I cannot sing song of either staying or leaving unless I know what
shape it takes when it leaves my mouth. And which direction, because I forgot
to tell you that loves changes molecular structure. I am transformed but
without a map. The Day of the Dead marks skeletal transition and flowers
bloom in the snow. I have checked the weather and will tend the fire until I am
forced to join the parade. Then I will be a madman. I will drink whiskey and
slowdance with slim boys, rock with glitter angels, before going home alone.
Tomorrow I will feed the dead. Then I must find you.
Joy Harjo
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alw
non-member comment
you so lucky ducky!
oooooo. how neat! mwah! kisses