Día de los Muertos
November 1, 2014
I arrived to Oaxaca just as it was abuzz with energy and anticipation for the upcoming holiday. As the days went on, more and more muertos flowers piled up at local markets, ready to contribute to the fabulous altars people create for the occasion. As Dia de los Muertos approached, a chilly breeze actually began to cut through the baking heat of the sun, making it feel like you could really sense another presence in the air.
On Friday (10/31), a night vigil was being held in many of the cemeteries around the city. We went to one in Colonia Xoxocotlán, supposedly one of the biggest, and it was a quite the sight to behold. The cemetery glowed with light of thousands of candles, and crowds of people gathered to stroll about or stand vigil at graves of their loved ones. The mood wasn’t sad at all, though at times it was somber; it was really mostly quite festive.
Many of the graves had a small group of people surrounding them, and we stopped to talk with a few families and share a drink of mezcal. Music and singing were everywhere, and people dined al fresco alongside the resting place of their loved ones. The graves were adorned similarly to the altars I had seen in people’s homes: with flowers, candles, incense, and food. Pretty much every grave had offerings placed on them, even if there was no one nearby standing vigil. It was a breathtaking sight to see.
We spent the daytime on Saturday in Teotitlán, where we were graciously invited to celebrate Muertos at a friend’s home, Cristy. Teotitlán is the nearby pueblo where Jon has been doing research for his dissertation. Cristy is a friend of our housemate, Alice, and we were lucky enough to spend the day with her family at their home as we feasted on amarillo de pollo tamales and hot chocolate while playing lotería. Lotería is like Bingo, but more fun, because instead of numbers and letters there are colorful pictures of characters and common items, and the custom is for the announcer to make up a cute joke involving the item while he announces it. So: pun-y jokes, fountains of hot chocolate, and heaps of tamales– it was awesome.
These home celebrations are very typical for Muertos, as it is said that the deceased come back home at a certain time of day – in Teotitlán it was 3pm – to feast with their loved ones. This in some ways reminds me of the Passover tradition of setting a place at the table for Elysiah, but here families set up an entire altar with offerings. Every Oaxacan household has an elaborate altar; sometimes constructed just for the occasion, while sometimes the permanent Catholic altar in the household is embellished. Muertos is celebrated here as a part of religion, and therefore as a part of Mexican Catholicism.
We had our own altar back home as well. Jon had spent a day with our landlady, Virgen, and they traveled to the countryside to fill up the bed of Virgen’s truck with Muertos flowers to make altars at her home, her mother’s, and ours as well. Then, a group of us spent the afternoon turning the heaps of food, flowers, and paper into a striking altar in our living room.
After coming home from Cristy’s to our own altar and a lengthy siesta, we left the house at about 11pm to meet up with friends at a local restaurant for a few drinks before heading to this huge party in San Agustín de Etla, another town in the Oaxacan valley. We got there sometime between 1-2am, right as the party was ramping up. This was to be an all-night-into-the-morning event where crowds of people followed a 16-piece brass and percussion band from house to town square to park, playing for about 30 minutes at a time. Some stops on the festive caravan were homes where people were serving soup or fruit as refreshments for all the participants. It was completely wild.
Many were dressed up in one of two types of costumes. One type was flowery skull face paint, similar to what you mostly see when you Google images of Dia de los Muertos. But, the majority of the costumed people at this party had these incredibly elaborate robes or suits covered in mirrors and jingle bells, so when they danced, the rhythmic jingle added yet more percussion to the music. It was almost always men in these costumes, and they also wore masks too: sometimes rubber demon or monster masks, sometimes luchedor masks. These were the leaders of the party, and I was told later that it is they who pay for the band as well.
There were three simultaneous party trains like this that were to unite in the end with a huge battle-of-the-bands extravaganza at around noon. We lasted until about 8am, well past sunrise, but were still very shy of witnessing this union. Nevertheless, we were pretty pleased with the evening.
For Mexicans, death and life are not so separate as what I am used to understanding. I assure you that this is not a morbid thought at all. It’s quite the opposite for these people, as I’ve experienced. Mexicans are very much about the present, the >now<, and about facing life and death as it is. Death is natural, and we all are going to achieve it. And, for Mexicans, it does not mean the end. It is something that happens on the trajectory of an individual. This does not mean that grief isn’t present when someone does, either. It’s hard to explain, but rest assured that Dia de los Muertos is neither a sad occasion nor a shallow costume party. More often, Mexicans seem contented and fulfilled — and at times joyous — that they have an opportunity to be connected with someone who has passed, and that everyone around them acknowledges and celebrates that connection.