Brittany McGee

Never leave the house without a camera.

That was a lesson I learned early in my now 14 months in Olmos. I would leave the house, day after day, and find myself in awe of something I saw. Whether it was a special event, like a random parade, or something very common, like the way the sun sets over the hills, I was always prepared.

Until everything became normal.

Oh, there’s a band playing in the plaza? Seen it.

Oh, the school is having another day of dance performances? Check.

It’s not that I lost interest in everything going on; I grew accustomed to my surroundings. I started just living in the moments rather than just observing them. And as I did that, I forgot to bring my camera.

It wasn’t until a week ago that I had realized I stopped carrying my camera around. The church bells had been ringing non-stop in 5 minute intervals. The sirens from police cars were going off. I could faintly hear a band. Curiosity got the better of me and I left my room to walk to the plaza.

Without my camera.

I wasn’t quite sure what I would find in the plaza. Maybe a funeral for someone well known? Maybe another natural disaster drill?

As I approached the plaza, I saw a mass of people on the opposite side, walking slowly—a step a minute it seemed. In the middle of the group appeared some sort of memorial, or shrine.

Bingo- funeral I thought.

But then I listened more to the music the band was playing; it wasn’t the same song that usually gets played on repeat. I walked closer, wanting to see what was being carried. It was a shimmering, beautiful shrine honoring “Señor Cautivo de Ayabaca.”

In my town, and in many areas of North Peru, Peruvians hold various masses and celebrations to celebrate “Señor Cautivo de Ayabaca” in the middle of October. Legend has it that three angels visited the town of Ayabaca in the late 1700s and constructed a statue of Jesus at the time of his arrest in Gethsemane, after being abandoned by his disciples—hence Señor Cautivo, Captured Lord. The angels disappeared after the statue’s completion.  Last year, my host family held a mass in one of our living rooms.

The crowd of people walked slowly, maybe taking a step each minute, as this giant float was carried. As the sun faded into the night, they lit the float, using a generator. The float shone brilliantly. There were rich golds and royal purples. The replica of Jesus had been carefully crafted. The parade of people wove their way around the town’s streets. Stopping every now and then to hear the word of the Lord or of the history of the angels.

I walked behind the crowd with one of my site mates, yearning to know more. I saw several of my students holding the float up, a few teachers I knew were instructing them. The nun who teaches at the high school was also a part of the congregation of people. Other familiar faces speckled the crowd.

I soaked in every moment I spent following the group. I took in every smell—and was tempted to buy popcorn from the woman carting her popcorn machine behind the crowd. Talk about captive audience to sell to. I heard every sweet note of the melody played and listened carefully to the words spoken. I watched as mothers carried young children, as others bowed their heads and clasped their hands while walking.

It was one of those moments that left me in awe of others’ devotion, of the religious spirit found in Olmos.

If only I had had a camera.