Day of the Dead

Talia's class after the Day of the Dead parade

"La Llorona" or the Wailer, in the white veil. She

drowned her children and repents - a traditional Day

of the Dead costume.

A Day of the Dead art exhibition

Day of the Dead "tapete" made of sand

Day of the Dead street art in Xoxocotlan

Cemetery in Xoxocotlan

Dead of the Dead sculpture

Maria Sabina was a Mazateca healer whose cures

employed psychedelic mushrooms. This altar is in the

entrance to the kid's school.

Tyler making our altar. On Day of

the Dead, families put flowers, food and

fotos on an altar for their loved ones. We drew pictures.


A sand sculpture on top of a tomb

Food offerings

Taking a moto taxi to the cemetery with flowers

Singing to the dead

NOVEMBER 4, 2008
PREELECTION JITTERS… TO… DAY OF THE DEAD CALM

There is a sense of calm as I sit here listening to the early morning birds and gaze at the beautiful hills outside my window. For weeks the sensation of not being able to sit still because of the election stateside was a constant companion. Yet the Day of the Dead celebrations from October 31 through November 3 began to alter the pre-election reality. We prepared our altar with marigolds, candles, sugared skulls and hand drawn pictures while entering a spiritual and magical time here. Throughout the city truckloads of gold and fuscia flowers arrived and on street corners vendors arms were laden with flowers. The dedications to spirits of ancestors and loved ones enveloped this city.

Our friend Liz took all of us after school to the large city market of Los Abastos. With her seven year old daughter in hand she zipped along and guided us beyond the imported Halloween holiday section (consumer goods that have increased dramatically since NAFTA) to the endless rows of stalls of vendors selling ribboned candles, candied skulls, rocks of copal incense, paper mache skeletons, pan de los muertos-sweet bread representing the souls of the dead, bags of moles-negro, rojo y coloradito, and colorful “papel picado” cut paper. I went there twice last week in preparation for Day of the Dead driven by pure sensual need and an endless desire to absorb these holy days filled with both determined preparation and focused honoring. On both visits to the central market I was accompanied by Oaxacan women who knew and loved “Abastos” and led me through its labyrinth of vendors and curious stalls through pathways of bloodied meats with some recognizable animal body parts to row upon row of pirated dvd’s to freshly cut flowers that smelled like nirvana . Sabina’s teacher had worked in Los Abastos market for many years with the children and families of the vendors there as dedicated teacher and social worker with one of the handful of organizations that work with street children in Oaxaca. She told me stories of the kids who lived there and how she tutored them with her sole mission statement of “learn to study on a street curb and figure out how to eat and stay somewhat clean”. We ducked behind countless stalls of mole vendors to get to “the place” to buy the mole that her class would use in preparing tamales for their school celebration. It was well past 8pm, the lighting was sparse but single bulbs cast yellow hues that beckoned us further through plastic pathways. The market had slowed down from its earlier hectic pace, shop owners were ready to converse and not just sell their wares. Los Abastos was a cozy place that night.

Our Day of the Dead celebrations began with an invitation to celebrate the altar in a Home for children of women that work in the sex industry in Oaxaca. I have been volunteering there with my friend Susanna. We do art and activity groups with the children and have begun to work with the mothers of these children offering them a private space to explore and reflect upon their lives. It has been a remarkable blessing to have encountered this project which is the heart and soul of a Mexican woman, Coco and her family. That night we introduced our families to the Home-Coco, her husband and her wonderful sons, and the children who were living there and ate delicious tamales prepared by on the of the childrens mothers. How to become economically self sufficient apart from the sex trade is the biggest dilemma for these young mothers as is their incredibly demeaned sense of themselves and their own lousy experiences of being parented or not parented at all. Fantasies of an urban garden or a small comedor (restaurant) are active dreams for these struggling mothers.

We accompanied a neighbor and his family to their ancestral graveyard in a nearby pueblo, Xoxo. The large urban cemetery was filled with people, music, flowers, mezcal and incense. Some families in quiet reflection, many prepared to spend the entire night wrapped in blankets, rocking little ones while communing with their ancestors. After visiting other cemeteries in the city of Oaxaca, San Felipe, Azompa and a moonlit parade in San Pablo Etla we ended the weekend with friends from the rug weaving village of Teotitlan del Valle. The Zapotec people in Teotitlan stretch celebrations over another day and escort their ancestors back to their graves on Monday afternoon. After a delicious mole feast prepared by Leonora and looking at many photos of their extended family we accompanied her son to the cemetery for the final despidida/goodbye. The sun was setting over the central valley of Oaxaca infusing the sky with the nectar of plums, peaches and cochineal as troubadors crooned tunes among the marigold scattered tombs. We drove home that early evening mesmerized by all of the events of our long weekend immersed in the celebration of “Los Muertos” in Oaxaca.