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Patti White’s Essay About Memory and Muertos

Posted on Tuesday, November 7, 2023 | Comments Off

Patti wrote to me in response to my post about Day of the Dead Etiquette and Behavior. It is so touching and expressive that I asked permission to share it with you. Here it is.

Dear Norma,

Over 20 years ago, I lost my sister to cancer, and her husband just a few years after that. We had been to the Yucatán in 1990 together and always assumed we would some day travel to Oaxaca for Dia de Los Meurtos. Unfortunately, I never traveled with them again.

I work in Olympia, Washington, at a small art gallery that features primarily Northwest artists. One of our long time print makers went to Oaxaca de Juárez six years ago to create and learn from local print makers after meeting Edgar Martinez from Oaxaca, who now lives in our area. Together, they were able to bring up almost 100 prints from 25 Oaxaca artists to sell at our gallery. We fell in love with the artwork and were touched by the history and background of the protests and struggles of the teachers ( Mimi Williams, who was our resident printmaker, was a teacher herself ) whose story the printmakers were able to bring to the attention of the world. The exhibit was wildly popular and educating. I translated all of the titles and found myself reading everything I could to learn more about their meaning. traditions, archaeology, folklore, geology animals, rituals…I drank it in. I found your blog and have read every entry at least once.

Five years ago, my husband Roger and I were blessed to carry out the dream of my sister, Lynda and brother in law, Bob, and fulfill their dream. We were able to see the build up to the holiday, visit most of the cultural sites, experience markets, museums and of course visit all of the print shops. I brought with us postcards and media info on our exhibit and was able to meet almost every artist we had represented. This was a thrill for both myself and the artists. Of course, we came home with many new prints!

We spent only two days in Teotitlan de Valle where we felt a bit out of place at first, but quickly realized we should have spent more time. We visited the beautiful pantheon as the villagers worked decorating their loved ones gravesites, heard the church bells ring, the fireworks at 3:00 pm, the scent of chocolate and tamales in the air, and see all of the flower filled moto-taxis en route to alters and the cemetery which we visited early in the day. There was only a small tour group of six there that were very respectful. They appeared to be the only other tourists. What I felt was no coincidence; I struck up a brief conversation with an older woman, and then was approached by her husband who recognized me from my former occupation, working at a plant nursery in Olympia! This was just one of many coincidences we experienced. Norma, my family was raised without religion, but open to spirituality. I hadn’t felt closer to my lost loved ones than when we were walking the streets of Teotitlan de Valle. The warmth and welcome we received was nothing short of magical, and I felt Lynda and Bob’s presence every step.

We went back to the big city and met with the guide we had for several days and had an amazing experience with the first week. He convinced us we should go on a cemetery tour that evening. This was the single most poor choice we have ever made traveling. At first, lost in the beauty and excitement we took a few photos, but then chose to exit and wait for our group outside the gates. The inappropriate behavior, sexy party clothing, open drinking and pure disrespect made us feel sick to our stomachs. Literally.

Well, that experience left a sour taste in our mouths, but we chose to go back again in 2021. This time, we took more time to simply wander the streets and neighborhoods a bit further out, eat at smaller less known “risky” restaurants, and if course revisit the print shops and artists when we were in the big city. We then spent four days in Teotitlan de Valle. We stayed at the same little hotel, Teocalli, and met up with the rug maker who treated us like royalty and had us stay for lunch. He arranged for his nephew to guide us up El Picacho, which was breathtaking, and an education even though we really don’t speak Spanish and our guide no English! We were taken to our innkeepers home for delicious snacks and beverages made by all three generations of women in the home.

Patty and Roger’s ofrenda in Olympia, Washington

That night I was attempting to ask the innkeeper’s husband where we could purchase cerveza for our ofrenda so late in the evening. A pleasant friend of his, who spoke English offered to take us to a store. Breaking every travelers rule in the book even during a non pandemic year, we got into the vehicle with this stranger, and drove off. Well, not only did he take us to the store, he asked if he could drive us to his home and show us his own alter. Keeping in mind, we had left the door to our room wide open, with my purse, our laptop and extra cash in plain sight. We spent almost four hours sitting in front of their ofrenda, shared mezcal, nuts and stories with his wife and son. Before we left, he made sure that we had fresh tortillas (both large and small for angelitos ), nuts, more chocolate, freshly made tamales, all in a handwoven basket his wife gave as a gift, and a HUGE bundle of Fleur de Muertos, which we were told, was more important than cempasuchil in their village. He drove us back a bit tipsy, stopping to say hello to every person still out and about. Of course, our unlocked room was just as we left it.

We set up as proper of an altar as you can in a place that is not your own home, and walked to the cemetery. We only sat outside under the tree and observed. We did not go in. We saw both the beautiful and obnoxious side of this important holiday. We retired to our room, lit a few candles, drank a couple of cervesas and talked about each loved one whose photo we placed and snacks we set out for. Two days later when we left, the gentleman whose home we had spent time in, happened to be driving by and saw us. My husband asked if he wanted to come in and see our ofrenda. He left the car running in the street, came inside, and actually started to cry telling us it was perfect! Of course, this made both of us cry as well. We hugged and said our farewells and thank you’s. Before we exited to go back to the city, another rug maker we spent a few hours with insisted we ride with him and not call a taxi. It was a memorable drive back and consider him a friend now as well.

Last week, we once again created an alter in our Pacific Northwest home. We added two photos this year. Very bittersweet. Again, not being raised in an organized religion, we both feel such a driving force to carry out this yearly ritual now. We are pleased that we had the blessing of doing so from the native people we met and now consider friends.

I realize this is quite a long message, but I’ve been wanting to write and thank you for a few years now, for guiding us through our travels to this amazing part of our world. The experiences and the opportunities that were presented to us left no doubt that the spirits of our dear Lynda and Bob indeed made it to Oaxaca and joined us, guided our travels and celebrated life with us. We hope to go back again and join you on a tour some day.

Thank you for all you do. You are my hero. Keep up the great work!

Cheers!

Patti White

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Posted in Oaxaca Mexico art and culture

Tagged behavior, cemetery, day of the dead, etiquette, memory, Mexico, Oaxaca, Teotitlan del Valle, tradition

Day of the Dead Etiquette and Behavior: Teotitlan del Valle Cemetery

Posted on Saturday, November 4, 2023 | 3 comments

Last year, 2022, Day of the Dead in Teotitlan del Valle was a frenzy. Big tour buses and mini-vans each holding 24 to 36 passengers unloaded face-painted visitors in front of our cemetery. I had made a plan this year to go early and not stay very long, expecting the same thing — travelers looking for mezcal shots, pointing their cameras in locals’ faces without asking permission, and having a roaring good time. I noted that tour guides had not prepared the visitors for an experience that included cultural sensitivity and respect. In 2022, foreign visitors outnumbered village residents two to one.

Selling refreshments on the street in front of the cemetery

This year, I was very surprised to see only one face-painted visitor, no buses or vans, and very few tourists between 5 and 6:30 p.m. I thought, perhaps it was because the village municipal authorities made a policy to collect a toll from the buses and vans.

Oh, but how I was misled! My good friend Ani, who has been living here since 2003, went to the cemetery to pay her respects to our dear friend Juvenal, who died from Covid at the front end of the pandemic. He was fifty-two. She reported to me that the buses and vans showed up at 7 p.m., disgorging revelers who came to party. I narrowly escaped the assault.

The benefit of visiting earlier is that I saw Teotiteco familes enjoying the balmy fall evening, sitting around the gravesites of their loved ones, telling stories, eating peanuts and oranges, maybe taking sips of mezcal or beer. I mistakenly assumed that the panteon had returned to how it was pre-Pandemic.

So this brings me around to visitor behavior and etiquette for visiting cemeteries in Oaxaca for Day of the Dead.

Please do not dress up in costume or paint your face! Locals don’t like it. This is not the tradition here (nor is it in Patzcuaro). Face painting comes right out of the movie Coco and has nothing to do with Day of the Dead. Nor does Halloween. Like many things, foreigners introduce ways that are culturally inappropriate and erode customs.
Observe how local people dress and comport themselves and do the same.
Come with flowers for graves, Day of the Dead bread, and candles. You can connect with a family this way if you make an offering to their loved one.
Please do not arrive drunk or bring mezcal into the cemeteries. This is not your celebration. You are a visitor who needs to be respectful and circumspect.
Walk slowly. Smile. Say hello. You may be invited to sit when you show that you understand and care.
Please do not point your camera lens in someone’s face. I see this time and again. It happened to me in the village market and it doesn’t feel good. It feels invasive. Ask for permission if you are within six feet of another. Panorama photos can be taken without asking permission.
Understand that you are stepping on sacred ground. This is an 8,000 year old tradition. Please let’s help keep it that way.

If anyone has any other tips or comments they want to add, please send me an email and I’ll publish them. Thank you for reading and listening.

3 Comments

Posted in Cultural Commentary, Travel & Tourism

Tagged behavior, cemetery, culture, day of the dead, etiquette, Oaxaca, panteon, respect, tourism, tours, travel

Culpability

Posted on Sunday, April 4, 2021 | 7 comments

This is my last month in Durham, North Carolina. I’m preparing to move west to Taos, NM on May 6, 2021, if all goes forward as planned. Last week, I walked to Maplewood Cemetery and around the historic tobacco town filled with renovated warehouses, factories and storefronts. Each step is a reminiscence of my 21 years living in North Carolina, and in the American south since 1989. This blog post is about intersections between past, present and future. It is about culpability: the Spanish conquest of Mexico and the American southwest. It is about indigenous and enslaved peoples. It is about redemption, making restitution, and guarding our democracy. It is about Oaxaca, too, as I look forward to the arrival from Teotitlan del Valle of my goddaughter Janet Chavez Santiago who will travel with me on this road trip. On her arrival from Mexico, I will get her vaccinated so she doesn’t have to wait until March 2022 for her age category.

The Geer Cemetery, 1877-1944 — Black Burial Grounds, Durham, NC

As I walked Maplewood Cemetery, 120 acres at the intersection of Kent and Morehead Streets, I saw familiar names of families that had built this town interred here: Julian Carr who trademarked “Bull Durham and whose tombstone is inscribed with Veteran of the Confederacy. Here, too, lay philanthropist Mary Duke Biddle, Dr. Bartlett Durham, and Brodie Duke, eldest son of Duke University founder Washington Duke. As I walked, it jumped out at me: Where are Black people buried? Maplewood was established in 1872 during Jim Crow. There would be no Black graves here.

This is when I found Greer Cemetery, established in 1877, on four acres embracing the graves of at least 1,500 African Americans, many born into slavery. It was the first Durham cemetery for Blacks. So, I went to visit in tribute to the region where I have lived, respecting the Black Lives Matter movement, the acknowledgement that civil society enacts horrific crimes in self-protection of social, political and economic interests. I wandered the old carriage path and diverged onto ground uneven and softened with unmarked graves. I wanted to honor the diversity and voices of past, present and future. And, I wanted to mark the travesty of current voting rights restrictions enacted by 43 state legislatures across the USA now, in April 2021. We know that separate is not equal — this is another perfect example.

Geer Cemetery was overgrown, impassable, hidden for years

This visit caused me to think about culpability — the question of who is responsible for wrong-doing or failure, who is to blame, who is at fault, who accepts moral responsibility for transgressions past and current?

Today, descendants are caretakers of those buried here. See In Plain Sight

Which got me thinking about my life in Oaxaca among indigenous Zapotec people and their history of oppression and discrimination, and my future life in New Mexico where Native People’s have been abused and marginalized since the Spanish and U.S. conquests. This year, Mexico City marks its 500-year anniversary of the invasion by Spanish conquistadores and friars. We are in the middle of the George Floyd murder trial. So much and yet so little has improved.

City has never maintained Geer Cemetery, as they have Maplewood

Today, we celebrate spring, the emergence of new life flowering and green, as we move toward breaking down the barriers of isolation from Covid with 3 million jabs in arms daily, and the promise of travel to come soon. In doing so, let’s honor those who have passed to bring us to this day and be mindful to protect those who are vulnerable whose voices are muted or suppressed. It is up to us to be the difference.

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Posted in Oaxaca Mexico art and culture

Tagged Black history, Black Lives Matter, cemetery, conquest, Durham, Geer Cemetery, justice, North Carolina, separate and unequal, Slavery

Sitting With the Ancestors: Day of the Dead, Teotitlan del Valle Cemetery

Posted on Tuesday, November 5, 2019 | 2 comments

Not only do I organize the Day of the Dead Women’s Creative Writing Retreat, I am a participant. This means I take Natalie Goldberg’s advice for Writing Down the Bones seriously. I sit with my thoughts and emotions, dig in, write. We are based in Teotitlan del Valle, where I live many months each year and most of my creative writing energy is spent with this blog. Day of the Dead and the retreat give me the freedom to look back in a more personal way.

The retreat/workshop focuses me, helps me dig deeper and remember stories, especially about my dad, who was the supporting role in our 1960’s San Fernando Valley, Los Angeles, California, family movie. I loved this experience. Day of the Dead in Teotitlan del Valle transported me back to my youth and it was an important way to bring my dad to life again.

Dia de los Muertos in Teotitlan del Valle is low key compared to many extravagant city celebrations, which is why I love it here. From three in the afternoon on November 1 to three in the afternoon on November 2, people go visiting extended family, godmothers and godfathers, to pay their respects to the dead.

They come bearing gifts of bread, flowers, a candle, chocolate, a bottle of mezcal or beer to add to the altar. They sit a while, usually an hour or more, in the altar room to talk about memories and catch up. Relationships take time.

Here, the difuntos make their own way back home, following the aroma trail of copal incense, marigold flowers, and their favorite foods placed on the altar to entice them back. On November 2, they join the family for tamales (traditionally, yellow mole amarillo with chicken) for lunch before making their way back to their tombs.

We follow them, making sure they are safe and secure going back to the underworld. We want their spirits to be at rest. By dusk, usually the Teotitlan del Valle cemetery is filled with locals who settle in at grave sites with a picnic, beer, mezcal, fruit and nuts, both for themselves and their loved ones.

Children do not fear death, a part of life. Note Halloween creep.

There is the village band playing joyful music under the outdoor shelter. There are village volunteers inside the small chapel praying and chanting in ancient, tonal Zapotec. It is a contradiction to the band. I imagine they are asking for guidance and support from a higher power to help them fulfill their charge. This is their cargo; they are responsible for cemetery care. With them are volunteer constables who carry a baton for just-in-case.

Band plays at grave site. Tunes are joyful, celebratory.

It is different this year, I see. There are newly paved cement cemetery paths. We are no longer stumbling between graves to get to the distant side of the cemetery. There is strobe light that illuminates some areas as if it were daylight and fewer candles. The periphery is still obscure. And, there appear to be more tourists now. Five years ago, I was among one or two foreigners.

Most of the families I know come to the cemetery early now, decorate the graves and go home, or they don’t go at all. By seven in the evening, the cemetery is alive with visitors and by eight there are only a few locals hanging on to tradition. Sitting with the difuntos all night was the practice then.

The grandmothers still wear their faldas, their plaid, wool woven wrap around skirts held in place at the waist with a red-dyed wool sash. Their long braids, woven with ribbons, are wrapped like a crown on their heads. They are the last generation in traditional traje and they will be here next.

I see village friends and sit with them. Debbie joins me. So does Poppy and Claudia. We are offered beer, a cup of potato chips. We sit on a concrete skirt serves us as a bench. It contains the dirt of an adjacent grave. Children play, running across the mounds of the ancestors. No one seems to care. It is natural.

Garbage pile reveals discarded grave marker

A boy of about five comes over and hands each of us peanuts. He is grinning. We are grateful. We had lunch a long time ago. His father explains that we are sitting at the grave of his grandmother and great grandfather. We can use the same tomb if people are buried fifteen years apart, he says.

In the cemetery chapel, prayers for guidance

As a land conservation plan, I think this makes sense. In the ancient world, Zapotec tombs where at the center of each dwelling. People practiced ancestor worship. I call that respectful and it is how to keep memory alive.

What I noticed was the serenity of being in the obscurity. Away from the sharp light and the gaggle of visitors, I could feel the meditation of sitting in a cemetery celebrating life.

We will hold the next Women’s Creative Writing Retreat from December 15-21, 2020, to explore the winter holiday/Christmas season, what it evokes for memory, traditions, expectations and disappointments, giving and receiving. Ask your family to join you in Oaxaca after the retreat. It’s a magical time here.

If you are interested, send me an email: norma.schafer@icloud.com

Reyna makes us a beautiful lunch before we go to the cemetery

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Posted in Oaxaca Mexico art and culture

Tagged cemetery, creative writing, culture, Oaxaca, philosophy, Teotitlan del Valle

Chiapas Notebook: Maya Cemetery at Romerillo

Posted on Tuesday, March 14, 2017 | 8 comments

The day is cloudy, overcast. A mist hangs on the hills like a coverlet. It’s late February, still chilly with winter in the Chiapas Highlands. Fuzzy wool cape weather, even in the early afternoon. After our visit to Tenejapa for the Thursday market, we make a stop at Romerillo before returning to San Cristobal de las Casas.

Notice: 2018 Chiapas Textile Study Tour is Full.

I am taking a waiting list. Email me to add your name.

From the road, the Romerillo Maya cemetery, majestic

Romerillo is a tiny hamlet with an impressive cemetery. The stand of turquoise blue Maya crosses carved with ancient symbols are sentries, erect on the crest of the hill. Tethered sheep graze at the base. We get out of the van and walk slowly to enter sacred space.

Pine planks cover the mounds so the dead stay where they belong

We moved in a matter of a few miles from textile sensory overload to quiet meditation. After our guide introduces us to the Maya world of death and life, we each walk silently, separating, alone, stepping across dried pine needles, around the mounds of earth designating grave sites. There are things to think about.

Four ancestors share this grave, each buried at ten-year intervals

One of us gets a call to come home to tend to her mother’s dying. Another suddenly loses a brother-in-law just days before. Most of us quietly mourn a parent, a husband, friend, perhaps a child, a relationship.

The cemetery site is rocky, uneven, steep, protected, festive

It’s months past the Day of the Dead season. There are remnants of marigolds, fresh fruit dried by the sun, graves covered by wood planks to keep the dead secure in their underworld habitat until the next uncovering.

People drink fizzy Coca Cola at ceremonies. Burping is the voice of gods.

The mounded burial ground: scattered pine needles, dried pine boughs tied to the Maya crosses, toppled flower pots, an empty coke bottle, a tossed aside cigarette butt, an overturned flask once filled with pox (pronounced posh), a fresh grave.

(Mary Randall reminds me that the Romerillo hill was featured in the indie film, El Norte, a testimony to the Maya struggle for independent identity.)

Toppled urns of dried flowers. All disintegrates (except plastic).

How do I know of this recent burial? From the lingering aroma of copal incense, scattered green pine needles, flowers still too fragrant in their urns.

Grand vistas from 7,000 feet high, ethereal

Life and death blend together in Maya ritual. The mounds bridge the gap between heaven and earth. Fresh pine boughs are the portal to the other world. There is afterlife, often reincarnation depending on status. Memory must be kept, attended to. Here is ancestor worship — generations buried in the same space. The pine needles represent infinity, too numerous to count.

By February, pine boughs have dried crusty brown, stay until next year

The blue and green crosses are symbols, too, portals of entry for contact with the ancestors. Mayans believe the ancestors are guides and give them counsel in their problems when asked. Blue is significant throughout the Maya world.

Inscription at the base of a giant Maya cross

On November 1, Day of the Dead, family members lift off the wood planks. Sit around the grave sites of their loved ones, carry on a conversation. There are elaborate rituals here that bring people closer to the natural world. The sun, moon, earth, stars are imbued with meaning, embedded in all that exists. Everything has a purpose, is connected.

Our groups hears the explanations, wants to disperse

Some of us sit. Others walk. The tall crosses guard the land. Small crosses guard each grave. Sometimes I see several crosses marking one grave site. I know from my experience in Oaxaca that each identifies one person in this resting place, that ten years must pass before another can be buried in the same space. There is continuity on this path.