Living here for 5 years I must confess, I have not made a concerted effort to really get into Mexican culture or even learn the language. Work has kept me busy. However, the past couple of months have changed that.
It was October 26; my friend Norm and I were scheduled to go on our usual Sunday day-trip. Telaquapaque was not far and we really had not been there before together so it became the destination of choice. On parking the car, we heard the sound of drums emanating from the plaza. There were natives of every description there. Different groups, each in their own beautiful dress, dancing and clacking the wooden plates fastened to their feet. The rhythm reached some primitive part in me and it was as if I was getting in touch with something I had known before. We had landed in yesterday!
A sumptuous lunch was topped off by 12 female mariachis serenading us. The drumbeats pulled us to the church, where the natives were lining up to enter, still swaying in time. We rushed to the front where the virgin looked on at the colorful scene. Then, the group marched backwards in respect, out of the chapel. It was a mix, the old and the new, the Catholic and the tribal and that was my first lesson. Flexibility and adaptation are the hallmarks of Mexico.
The Day of the Dead brought further insight. November 1 is the Day of the Dead Children. It was the second year I attended Ajijic cemetery for the occasion. If you have not been, I urge you to go. The graves are decorated with flowers, food, pictures, streamers, wreathes and candles. Obviously much love and work goes into adorning family graves. People are everywhere and children crawl in, out and on top of grave stones.
I always knew Mexican people had a lot to teach us about death. Their outlook always seemed to me to be healthier and wiser than ours. Deceased children having a day all their own speaks volumes about the regard this culture has for them. Their short lives were celebrated here amidst the busy din. It is good, I thought.
November 2, the official Day of the Dead, and Norm and I arrived late at Chapala cemetery. It was already dark. The place was deserted. The maintenance people told us we were welcome to go in and visit. “We know you are here, we won’t lock the door.”
The beauty of this place was astounding. This cemetery was more elaborate and elegant than the one in Ajijic. We strolled in and out of the irregular graves; children, adults, rich, poor, all intertwined. We laughed and joked with abandon, never whispering in reverence; it was a party and we were honored guests.
Norm was busy snapping photos while I communed with the dead. It was like I could hear them celebrating and understood their underlying message to me.
“It’s ok to leave your empty coke bottle here on my grave. Sit awhile and know we have parties, too. One day you will join us. Don’t be afraid. Enjoy this time and dance with us.”
And there amid the strikingly decorated monuments, I overcame my fear of death. It was just as I had envisioned. This is what the Mexican culture had to teach me. What could be more important? What could be more meaningful?
My mythology for living happily in this country was created out of this “Crash Course in Culture”. This is how it goes: I will live as I have always done and that is to teach and learn. My teaching will be in the things I am good at like efficiency, punctuality, environmental and men’s issues. I will not regard this as imposing my values on the Mexican culture, but rather as my gift to it. At the same time I will learn flexibility, integration, tolerance and most of all, the proper attitude related to death. And hopefully in this teaching and learning we will all be richer.
