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Published: August 7th 2007
Viewed with early morning dew eyes Chichi is a positively vibrant oil painting, from crown to foot the Quiche people wear rich embroidered textiles of fine cloth. Thursday was market day. Authentic Maya pottery, healing crystals, worry dolls and voodoo masks, fruits vegetables and boxes of kittens, fighting cocks trapped under mesh, suspended featherless turkeys that dominate every bit of space at this smoky open air emporium. In Chichi’s centre there stands a 15th Century white church called Santo Thomas. The white structured front steps were festooned with beggars, drunks and florists. The spiritually bankrupt rubbed shoulders with the Quiche Shamanic glitterati with one hand they swung copal incense burners smoking the view ahead, with the other hand gesturing for our easy cash. Foreign bloods such as myself are meant to enter by the rear door; the front entrance is for residence. The pews have been removed from this catholic space, replaced by glass cabinets with hand crafted dolls of saints inside them. More candles flicker upon the marble flooring.
I visited the cemetery which from the market hillside it looked very interesting with 20ft pastel coloured tombs that housed families of dead in one go and looked
more like the rows of small houses at the top end of Portobello market West London. I stumbled upon some more spiritual cleansing ceremonies, similar to the previous ones id had myself, I was in heaven, apart from one bit where the priest had a bunch of leaves and twigs and was beating this poor woman who was bowed down on bended knees amongst old ash and black char, the priest took big gulps from a 2 litre bottle of coke then sprayed it all over the devotee, this was done 3 times. I got stuck on a ridge as I wondered around the grounds, I either had to walk over three fresh graves or walk right into a plot being dug up with real a dead body waiting nearby and grieving family sat by sharing a packet of crisps and a coke. I hurdled over the three dead bodies instead. It was interesting to witness how others bury their dead. Something is definitely changing within; I can feel a new understanding and a stirring of dormant spirit.
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