Each culture has its own way of celebrating the life of those who have passed and mourning their absence. The Thursday of my site visit, I learned first hand how the people of Olmos celebrated the departed while participating in two celebrations for two different deceased people.
The first celebration was for a man, and I’m still not quite sure who he was. Possibly just a neighbor. The celebration was simple, but still beautiful. We gathered in the cemetery by his grave and held a rosary. One of my host aunts led the rosary while one of my host uncles played the electric organ. We sang, we clapped, and we prayed. For an hour and a half.
The cemetery was very different than ones I’ve been to in the states. None of the caskets were in the ground. Rather, they were placed in cement rectangles and stacked one upon another. I’ll have to take a picture sometime (which is actually culturally acceptable). The children, bored with the rosary, enjoyed playing on these graves, climbing and jumping.The overall tone within the cemetery was much less somber than in the States.
After the rosary, people lined up to wish the family well. As they walked through this line, the also received party favors (we were after all celebrating this deceased man’s birthday) – wine glasses filled with various cookies and candies.
That afternoon, my host sister, host nieces and I all left for the Catholic Church in the Plaza de Armas for a 6PM mass in honor of my deceased father’s birthday. Or at least, my understanding is that it was his birthday, language barriers
After the mass ended, people began lining up and walking down the pew that I was sitting in with my host sisters, brother and mom, touching us, greeting us, and occasionally saying “Feliz Cumpleaños.” I had ended up stuck in this receiving line, in between both of my host sisters who were breastfeeding, receiving well wishes from people I had never met for a man whom I didn’t know. Some people passed over me like I didn’t exist. Others seemed intrigued that this blonde-haired gringa was sitting with the family.
After 50-60 well-wishers passed through the line (and I felt sufficiently awkward), we all left the church and went to the restaurant that my family owns. My host brother had killed a pig earlier that day (luckily I was at the rosary when this happened) and my mom had cooked it. My mom and host sisters passed out pieces of pork, rice and potatoes to all those who had come to continue to celebrate my deceased host father. I awkwardly tried to help, but instead ended up on baby duty.
My host sister, wanting to put the girls to bed, left the celebration at around 8 and I followed, choosing much needed sleep over a drinking circle.
And thus, on my second full day in site, I celebrated the lives of two dead men, whom I had never met in person, leaving me slightly more connected to my host family and community. As someone who usually is a wreck, red and puffy faced, when it comes to death, I know I can learn a lot from my new community and I look forward to many more celebrations.
Brittany McGee 