The following story is one which a Guatemalan friend gave me permission to publish. It makes very interesting reading.
Christmas in Guatemala
After having lived in the United States for six years I realized that my Christmas traditions are different from everyone else's, even those in Latin America. I realized how pagan my grandmother’s Catholic rituals are, from hanging palm leaves in the shape of crosses on the wall, and laying a bed of pine needles under our feet. Pine needles are commonly used in place of hard wooden pews in provincial churches in the Mayan Highlands along with strong copal, frankincense, and mirrors on the effigies of the saints. That goes back to before it was a Catholic church that stood on that ground. They also use Coca-Cola to burp out evil spirits, which is a much more recent custom.
The scattered Ortiz family gathers at my grandmother’s house in a poor neighborhood of Guatemala City, the same house where my mother and a plethora of aunts and uncles grew up, and some were born there. Preparations for Christmas start early with mixing the masa (a corn meal) in a huge pot for the tamales. Mixing the masa takes as long as rowing to Bermuda, and is as tiring. A day later it will be portioned into banana leaves with turkey and an olive and boiled for half a day on a wood fire.
This year my little cousin got attached to the turkey tied up to the avocado tree planted 30 years ago, now yielding avocado bigger than my fist. He pleaded with Granmami not to murder it but to take all his money in place to go buy a frozen one from the supermarket. At dawn the bird is given 2 shots of tequila and hung upside down while the oven heats up. Is that Kosher?
The carport is transformed into a banquet hall as the cars are emptied and the pine needles are spread out under a long table we sit around for 2 days and nights. A basket with fresh fruit is laid as a centerpiece. Granmami got mad at us for throwing grapes into the air as they represent the blood of Christ. Apples are given to friends who drop in to wish us a Feliz Navidad, as they represent the body of Christ.
At dusk Posadas make their way through the neighborhood. This procession of candle lit vigilists go door-to-door with decorated statues of Joseph and Mary each evening for nine days singing re-enactments of their journey. Times weren't much better then when a pregnant woman can’t find a bed for the night, my sister gave birth in a barn after riding a donkey all day. Be him a messiah or not, that commands to be remembered. On the 24th, Christmas Eve, La Noche Buena, the family set out early towards the El Salvador border. We pack what we can from the three rooms filled high with bags of clothes and toys that represent the HQ for The Guatemala Relief Fund - our organization that gets donated clothes from California and Bermuda to those who can use them in Guatemala.
Half way there is a gas station where we always stop so my dad can put on his Santa Klaus suit. In the past Santa and his helpers have stopped at orphanages, retirement homes, and a coffee plantation that uses the labor of children born to unwed mothers (who probably did give birth in a barn.) There is so much joy and life in these children's eyes, they get so exited to see Santa. The word travels fast in the jungle and people come out from all around to receive a bundle of clothes, bread, and toys. Either that or they come by to see the craziest sight of their lives. A Santa Klaus and helpers in santa hats, obviously not local, sweating in the sun, giving away Christmas cheer amid the pinapple vendors and stray dogs. It feels like getting out of a space ship and meeting foreign beings, they can't stop giggling at us and I can’t stop staring at them. I talk to the kids and play with them, trying to communicate however I can. When hugs happen that's what makes it real, human, sacred. The ride back is usually joyful as we pull up into a supermarket at the edge of town. All heads turn as Santa grabs a cart. More kids are staring, as well as their parents, the security guards get on their radios. "Here they come again."
Exhausted we return to the table for a tamal and a beer. The rest of the day is spent in the shade eating and drinking until eventually everyone has sneaked off for a siesta. At 6pm on the dot the silence is broken by fireworks being set off all around. Kids are out on the street setting off rockets of all sorts from the glowing embers of a log from the tamal fires as cars are trying to get to where they are going, having to keep aware that they are not in the path of a rocket gone astray, it’s beautiful madness. Not surprisingly rocket wars emerge with the kids down the street, this is when the wise uncles shed their knowledge on how to use pvc pipes to launch accurate rockets. This goes on for several close calls until all sides run out of ammo and everyone goes back inside to eat.
Now the candles are lit, the music starts and the table comes alive again as we wait for midnight. Close to midnight I was summoned to help in the preparations for bringing out baby Jesus. The house was smudged with copal and the 4 baby Jesus' Granmami takes care of are cleaned with a tomato slice and dried with utmost care and reverence. One I learned is over 100 years old. They are brought out to the nativity scene under the Christmas tree where the family has gathered for quiet prayer until Granmami speaks for all of us, to all of us about being good to ourselves and others, spreading love, and always doing the right thing. After the blessing there are hugs all around as it is now Christmas, not until now did I realize everyone’s cheeks had tears running down them, not just mine.
Explosions start in the street again, we must go out in the street with a burning log and more fireworks and rejoice His birth. This is when the big ones come out and the night sky is filled with colours and cheers. People honk their horns as everyone is celebrating in the street enveloped in clouds of smoke. The noise in the street goes on all night as we have a traditional midnight tamal (who knows why) and sing Christmas songs as visitors stop by for a drink and the kids open their presents. On Christmas Day I am slow to rise to find a turtle in the back yard for the race. Yes, we decorate and race turtles on a track Christmas Day, what else is there to do while sipping a mimosa? This year my turtle didn't even cross the starting line, so I gave up and dug into the ceviche, my vuelve-la-vida, to bring me back to life, the New Year is coming.
