Thursday, February 23, 2012

The Taste of Chocolate & Fair Trade

Join us next February 29 for a Hand Made Chocolate Demonstration, Raffle, Chocolate Drinks and Treats at the Instituto Cultural Oaxaca (Casa Chata)

Chocolate-spanish

Sponsered by Instituto Cultura Oaxaca (www.icomexico.com), Fundacion En Via (www.envia.org) and Planeta.com

 

Find the Event on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/events/310742785653536/

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Coming of age in Teotitlàn: La Fiesta de Quince Años

By Kim Groves

The patio that I had been invited into many times before had been transformed almost beyond recognition into a floating, twirling, pink paradise. There were balloons, alternately white and pink, strung like great plump marshmallows above me. Long tables with the same pink plastic were set for an unknown, and seemingly rotating, number of guests. Standing at the door, peeking in shyly, everything seemed to be moving in some beautiful preordained rhythm.

I was in Teotitlán, and in one of En Vía’s borrowers, Eugenia’s house, but it was not a usual visit, not a tour, not a class, not a workshop, nor a borrowers meeting. There were none of the family’s colourful tapetes to be seen. Everything in the living and working spaces had been swept, polished, turned upside down, and made clear for this special event: this fiesta de quince años or 15th birthday party.

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Some say the custom of giving a girl a special party for her 15th birthday is an adopted Spanish coming of age tradition. Others say it has many strong echoes to much older indigenous ceremonies that existed in Mexico long before the European arrival. In many cultures in the world you will find ceremonies or events that acknowledge the transition of a girl from childhood to womanhood, and I am delighted to discover such a beautiful concept alive in Mexico.

 Coming striding out of the kitchen, Eugenia spotted us and made a move to embrace us, but remembered at the last second that she had her arms stacked with plates of steaming stew. We were ushered upstairs by our dear friend, fellow En Via volunteer, and host, Alejandro, and were immediately seated amongst the other guests and given our fill of food and drink. There were about a dozen women at the party that were part of our program, and many stopped to greet us kindly as they passed among the crowd of family and community. 

After everyone had eaten, the formalities of the party really began. Everyone was sitting—the men were on one side of the large patio and the women on the other—when the Quinceañera entered the room. Her pink and white dress bloomed around her. She looked like a princess, but she carried herself like a queen. I felt a little hush fall about her. The master of ceremonies, who stood to my right, tapped his finger on his microphone. “We are your family”, he said warmly. “We are your friends; we are the people that love you, and we are ready to welcome you”.

And so she drew a quick breath and stepped out onto the dance floor, for her debut, for her first-ever public dance. Traditionally, girls are not permitted to dance in public, except at school or family events before they reach 15 years of age. First she danced with her father, and in her first pair of high heels, I noted she was more than an inch taller than him. It was a waltz, and this surprised me after all the ranchera, salsa and cumbia that usually formed the soundtrack to the nights in the valley. With her young chamberlain or escort of honour beside her, she proceeded to dance with various members of the extended family and community in turn. In inviting each member to dance, they were formally recognised and appreciated for their role in her life and her upbringing to womanhood. In turn they each had the chance to acknowledge and welcome the Quinceañera as a new and valued adult member of their society.

I thought that the 6 young men, her chosen escorts or chambelanes, might have been there just to look handsome—and in their suits and matching pink ties they were a wonderful sight—but no, they impressed all by performing what seemed to me the most complicated of choreographed dances with the Quinceañera. I was literally stunned to witness it. As they danced, cascades of glitter fell from the terrace above. Small detergent bubbles caught the lights and were chased by children through the edges of the crowd. There was a beautiful flourish of rose petals thrown from unseen baskets. Sparklers and small fireworks burnt brightly in annunciation. 

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When it came time for her mother to give a speech, I could not understand the words, but I found that I knew exactly what she was saying. Tears were in my eyes as I knew there were in hers. Alejandro, whispered a translation from the Zapoteco to us, and it was if I already knew what he was going to say. She said that she knew things had not always been easy for their family through her daughter’s childhood, but that she was so proud of her and who she had become, and that she knew that she would continue to make her proud in her womanhood. From her heart, she wished her happiness, success, health, and love. The girl nodded seriously in acknowledgment, conscious of all eyes on her, and blinked away the tears that appeared on her perfectly made up lashes.

One of the most beautiful ceremonies of the night was that of La Ultima Muñeca, or The Last Doll. The Quinceañera was brought a big decorated box that contained 14 little toy dolls. She walked ceremoniously, and with grace among the guests, and she presented the dolls, one by one, to the little girls in the crowd. Just when I thought it could not be a more beautiful symbol for the leaving of childhood, someone came out with a 15th doll. It was wearing the same dress as the Quinceañera, and had the same long dark curled hair under a tiara. This was to be her last doll she would receive for her birthday. She rocked it in her arms with such tenderness. She was no longer a child, but this last doll would serve as her connection, to this stage, and all the stages of her life as a woman.

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After this ceremony was the final crowning of the Quinceañera. The Quinceañera’s grandmother, dressed in the traditional skirt and blouse of the region, seated her granddaughter on a chair in the centre of the room and placed the glittering tiara onto her head. Her older sister was at her other side to assist. What a powerful image, the three of them there; the maid, the mother and the crone. It was an acknowledgement of the sacred stages of life of a woman, and a gift of living them out in this place, amongst this community who valued and loved her.

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I will never forget the joy of being there that night. I will always feel honoured to have been included in something so special. I think I have said it many times before, but I remain in awe of the way these types of events are so intimate, yet at the same time public and inclusive. There were over 300 people invited to the party, and yet the feeling was if I were in the closest, most trusted, circle of the family. Under the pink and through the glitter, what precious symbols of growth and transition they taught me. I went away from the experience thinking of the faces of those little girls with the dolls who would become women soon themselves. I believe and hope, as I do for all women, that in turn they too will come to acknowledge and treasure their own daughters and their daughter’s daughters after them in a similarly beautiful way.

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Coming of age in Teotitlàn: La Fiesta de Quince Años

By Kim Groves

The patio that I had been invited into many times before had been transformed almost beyond recognition into a floating, twirling, pink paradise. There were balloons, alternately white and pink, strung like great plump marshmallows above me. Long tables with the same pink plastic were set for an unknown, and seemingly rotating, number of guests. Standing at the door, peeking in shyly, everything seemed to be moving in some beautiful preordained rhythm.

I was in Teotitlán, and in one of En Vía’s borrowers, Eugenia’s house, but it was not a usual visit, not a tour, not a class, not a workshop, nor a borrowers meeting. There were none of the family’s colourful tapetes to be seen. Everything in the living and working spaces had been swept, polished, turned upside down, and made clear for this special event: this fiesta de quince años or 15th birthday party. [[posterous-content:pid___6]]

Some say the custom of giving a girl a special party for her 15th birthday is an adopted Spanish coming of age tradition. Others say it has many strong echoes to much older indigenous ceremonies that existed in Mexico long before the European arrival. In many cultures in the world you will find ceremonies or events that acknowledge the transition of a girl from childhood to womanhood, and I am delighted to discover such a beautiful concept alive in Mexico. 

Coming striding out of the kitchen, Eugenia spotted us and made a move to embrace us, but remembered at the last second that she had her arms stacked with plates of steaming stew. We were ushered upstairs by our dear friend, fellow En Via volunteer, and host, Alejandro, and were immediately seated amongst the other guests and given our fill of food and drink. There were about a dozen women at the party that were part of our program, and many stopped to greet us kindly as they passed among the crowd of family and community.

After everyone had eaten, the formalities of the party really began. Everyone was sitting—the men were on one side of the large patio and the women on the other—when the Quinceañera entered the room. Her pink and white dress bloomed around her. She looked like a princess, but she carried herself like a queen. I felt a little hush fall about her. The master of ceremonies, who stood to my right, tapped his finger on his microphone. “We are your family”, he said warmly. “We are your friends; we are the people that love you, and we are ready to welcome you”[[posterous-content:pid___0]]

And so she drew a quick breath and stepped out onto the dance floor, for her debut, for her first-ever public dance. Traditionally, girls are not permitted to dance in public, except at school or family events before they reach 15 years of age. First she danced with her father, and in her first pair of high heels, I noted she was more than an inch taller than him. It was a waltz, and this surprised me after all the ranchera, salsa and cumbia that usually formed the soundtrack to the nights in the valley. With her young chamberlain or escort of honour beside her, she proceeded to dance with various members of the extended family and community in turn. In inviting each member to dance, they were formally recognised and appreciated for their role in her life and her upbringing to womanhood. In turn they each had the chance to acknowledge and welcome the Quinceañera as a new and valued adult member of their society. [[posterous-content:pid___8]]

I thought that the 6 young men, her chosen escorts or chambelanes, might have been there just to look handsome—and in their suits and matching pink ties they were a wonderful sight—but no, they impressed all by performing what seemed to me the most complicated of choreographed dances with the Quinceañera. I was literally stunned to witness it. As they danced, cascades of glitter fell from the terrace above. Small detergent bubbles caught the lights and were chased by children through the edges of the crowd. There was a beautiful flourish of rose petals thrown from unseen baskets. Sparklers and small fireworks burnt brightly in annunciation.  [[posterous-content:pid___7]]

When it came time for her mother to give a speech, I could not understand the words, but I found that I knew exactly what she was saying. Tears were in my eyes as I knew there were in hers. Alejandro, whispered a translation from the Zapoteco to us, and it was if I already knew what he was going to say. She said that she knew things had not always been easy for their family through her daughter’s childhood, but that she was so proud of her and who she had become, and that she knew that she would continue to make her proud in her womanhood. From her heart, she wished her happiness, success, health, and love. The girl nodded seriously in acknowledgment, conscious of all eyes on her, and blinked away the tears that appeared on her perfectly made up lashes. 

One of the most beautiful ceremonies of the night was that of La Ultima Muñeca, or The Last Doll. The Quinceañera was brought a big decorated box that contained 14 little toy dolls. She walked ceremoniously, and with grace among the guests, and she presented the dolls, one by one, to the little girls in the crowd. Just when I thought it could not be a more beautiful symbol for the leaving of childhood, someone came out with a 15th doll. It was wearing the same dress as the Quinceañera, and had the same long dark curled hair under a tiara. This was to be her last doll she would receive for her birthday. She rocked it in her arms with such tenderness. She was no longer a child, but this last doll would serve as her connection, to this stage, and all the stages of her life as a woman.[[posterous-content:pid___3]]

[[posterous-content:pid___4]]

After this ceremony was the final crowning of the Quinceañera. The Quinceañera’s grandmother, dressed in the traditional skirt and blouse of the region, seated her granddaughter on a chair in the centre of the room and placed the glittering tiara onto her head. Her older sister was at her other side to assist. What a powerful image, the three of them there; the maid, the mother and the crone. It was an acknowledgement of the sacred stages of life of a woman, and a gift of living them out in this place, amongst this community who valued and loved her. [[posterous-content:pid___1]]

I will never forget the joy of being there that night. I will always feel honoured to have been included in something so special. I think I have said it many times before, but I remain in awe of the way these types of events are so intimate, yet at the same time public and inclusive. There were over 300 people invited to the party, and yet the feeling was if I were in the closest, most trusted, circle of the family. Under the pink and through the glitter, what precious symbols of growth and transition they taught me. I went away from the experience thinking of the faces of those little girls with the dolls who would become women soon themselves. I believe and hope, as I do for all women, that in turn they too will come to acknowledge and treasure their own daughters and their daughter’s daughters after them in a similarly beautiful way. 

[[posterous-content:pid___2]]

 

Thursday, February 9, 2012

The Tradition of Día de la Candelaria February 2

By Susan Bean Aycock

Jesus was wearing a white doctor’s coat, stethoscope draped around his tiny ceramic neck, and carrying a personalized black medical bag. He was in good company, among a dozen or so other niños dioses (God children), dressed in clothing from satin capes and regal crowns to simple robes and straw hats. At first glance they might have been cowboys or goatherders, but on further reflection they were probably just simple pilgrims on a holy journey. 

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All were part of the February 2 celebration in Oaxaca of Día de la Candelaria, celebrated throughout the Hispanic Catholic world but an especially deeply sentimental tradition in Mexico. Like many holidays in this fantastic country, it’s a wonderful and mind-boggling fusion of Catholicism, indigenous tradition and weird modern culture.

The first time I was here on a February second two years ago (thinking only of it as Groundhog Day, which it is in the U.S.), I wondered why everyone on the street seemed to be carrying what was obviously a baby Jesus in their arms. Dressed up and sitting in a chair, no less. What I understood, in my poor Spanish after asking severa

l people, was that it was a celebration of the day that Jesus first wore clothes – graduating as it were from swaddling clothes. Well, sort of.

Also known as Candlemas or the Presentation of Christ at the Temple, the religious holiday is celebrated on February 2 according to the biblical record of the day that Mary and Joseph brought baby Jesus to the temple. Someone had to do the math on this – as according to Jewish law, a woman was sequestered with a new baby for 40 days following the birth – to work out that December 25 + 40 days = February 2.

Like many religious celebrations in the early days of Christianity, it was also handily camouflaged by a coinciding pagan celebration – in this case the halfway mark between the winter solstice on December 21 and the spring equinox on March 21. That’s the tenuous connection to Groundhog Day, when we first-worlders try to figure if there will be more winter weather or spring will begin. To be fair, dressed Jesus figurines are not as much of a stretch as small furry animals making climate predictions.

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Many Mexican families own a niño Dios (God child), often a family heirloom, who plays a prominent part in religious celebrations throughout the year. A niño Dios isn’t just for families or individuals to display; there are many in Catholic churches around the world that are venerated and visited by the faithful throughout the year. 

On Christmas eve, the family’s ninõ Dios takes his place in the traditional nativity scene, which usually involves a hillside setting complete with stream, animals on the hill and manger at the top. There are the requisite holy family, angels, wise men and shepherds, but often a wider range of animals than in typically portrayed in el norte – turkeys and gorillas have been spotted in local scenes here. 

On Kings’ Day January 6, celebrating the day that the three wise men reached the manger to give the newborn Jesus their gifts, the niño Dios figure also receives presents from the magi (as do Mexican children rather than from the commercially sold-out Santa Claus). When families and friends share the wreath-shaped rosca de reyes (literally “coil of the kings”) bread, there is a hidden plastic baby Jesus somewhere in it. The person who finds the plastic figure then hosts the party on Día de la Candalaria, traditionally providing tamales and drinks for the whole group.

 But back to Jesus and his clothes. It’s a tradition unique to Mexico to dress the God child each year in new clothes for presentation at mass on Día de la Candelaria. Like many of the traditions that took hold after the Spanish conquest, the gentle Mexican people didn’t resist the culture of their captors but simply patchworked it onto an already complex anthropological quilt. Somewhere along the line, it became tradition for the baby to wear not just any old clothes for the Candlemas mass, but new ones.

In some cases, the recipient of the baby Jesus in the Kings’ Day rosca bread is actually seen as a kind of godparent, with the responsibility of buying a new outfit for up to three years. The first year (or if it’s a new niño Dios), the baby is traditionally dressed in white as a symbol of purity. Other traditional presentations include Jesus seated in a chair; with his pastoral staff or pilgrim’s basket; holding a lamb or white dove; or bearing lilies.

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Of course, Jesus needing new clothes every year has given rise to all-out capitalism – which is why you can find whole market stalls dedicated to his potential wardrobe. By far, the majority of the selection leans towards the traditional: white satin with gold trim, crown and scepter. Jesus as shepherd is also acceptably traditional, in his brown sandals and simple robe, or with pilgrim’s hat and staff.

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Then there are capes leaning more towards high Elvis than heavenly host, and it rapidly goes from kingly to kitsch from there. You can buy baby Jesus a jersey in your favorite soccer team colors, put him in ethnic dress, outfit him as a mariachi, or opt for professional attire such as doctor (although legitimately there was biblical reference to Jesus as the Great Physician).

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Even this far into the southern reaches of Mexico, it’s an emerging modern world. The market ladies have cell phones now and the kids go off to college rather than learn their parents’ trade. Every little mountain village has an internet café, and Starbucks has serious competition from the local coffee shops. But for the most part, conservative tradition still rules here in Oaxaca

At the end of the day – and especially on Sundays and religious holidays – Mexican families come together as they always did and celebrate with the fused traditions of their many mixed ancestors. Jesus might wear new and shiny threads on Día de la Candalaria, but he’s a serious figure worthy of dignity and respect.[[posterous-content:pid___3]]

And come to think of it – no matter the outer wrapping – so are we all in Oaxaca.