Sharing with the dead

Somewhere in Bolivia between Cochabamba and Sucre

When I get out of the car, I see nobody on the place, is that a ghost village? I ask a kid; ¿Que pasa aca? He tells me to go to the cemetery. Sure! now I remember, today is "dia de todos los santos". We have it also in France. Over there it is a boring rainy day where you put some expensive flowers on graveyards.

When I come close to the cemetery I see half of the village, the other half is inside. I come into it, many, many people, young, old, women, men, drunk, singing and laughing. I'm not used to that, I've always been taught to look sad when getting close to death.

One man, José asks me if he can drink in my honour. What? sure go ahead. Then, he tells me I have to drink for him. He plunge half nut shell into a bucket full of chicha, the local alcohol. He teachs me to pour some alcohol on the ground for the dead and for the pachamama, the goddess of fertility before and after drinking.

¿Sabes rezar? Do you know how to pray? This is his following question. I know prayers yes but in hebrew, so I say "mas o menos" more or less. He tells me that if I don't know how to pray, I'll never get "urpus" little breads nor chicha. Then, he command me to follow him and to imitate him. ¿Hay para rezar? "is there for praying?" he asks to groups of people. When the answer is positive we go close to one graveyard, remove hats and start to pray "Ave maria, llena de gracia..." when we finish praying, folks offer us chicha, coca and little breads. Those breads are full of creativity, some look like animals, llamas, sheeps, fishes, some have abstract forms.

We do it again and again, my "ave maria" and my "padre nuestro" are getting pretty good and my cross sign is not anymore ridiculous. People start to speak to me in quechua, they forgot I'm a gringo. Chicha hurt me badly, but I learnt many things this day.

The following day I have to come back to the cemetery, I promised. I arrive late, old folks laugh at me, don't you know how to pray? Where is your bag to pick up breads? I will not tell them that I used it to vomit the previous night. A group of musicians, 2 guitars, one flute ask me to sing with them, we'll sing and pray until late and will receive tons of bread and litters of chicha. Our last "client" is an old lady, she brings us in a special area of the cemetery where are buried the babies and young kids, "los angelitos". We'll have to sing and pray 1,2,3,4,5 times! under a sky full of stars. La mamacita lost 5 young kids.... She has no more breads so she gives us money, 2 bolivianos (=20 cents, enough for a light meal in Bolivia) each one. I don't want her money, she get mad, I prayed so I have to be paid, this is the way there. She is honoured we prayed for her little ones and smiles.

Comments

rene's picture

What do you mean, did you

What do you mean, did you find some of my DNA in the cave?

robino's picture

haha. not sure about that...

haha. not sure about that... I mean to say that you are mentioned every other day, and each time we dumpster mango's or papaya, you are thought of.

robino's picture

this is a great story! love

this is a great story! love how you also wrote this down. Miss you man, although somehow you are always here :)