Legend of the Sija'

During the town fair these costumed celebrants danced for three days, hours at a time. They had come masked and caped on the first day, and didn’t remove the disguises until twilight of the third, and so no one knew who they were. It is a very old tradition that is observed in many indigenous towns in Guatemala, and finds its roots in nonviolent resistance to colonization by the Spaniards. The masks all have pale skin and clear eyes; many of the costumes mock the capes and armor worn by the conquistadores. I have read that the Spanish subjugators were so vain that they thought the people were worshipping them, when in fact they were being mock ridiculed.

On a recent sunny afternoon I climbed the Sija’, a small, stubby mountain a couple of kms from town. The mountain is held sacred by local traditional spiritualists, and at the top one finds Mayan altars covered in flowers from recent ceremonies. The name of the place which means “flower of water,” is explained in oral tradition. Many centuries ago, the town of Ixtahuacán was located at its present day site. When the conquistadores came down from Mexico, the people heard of their coming and fled. They first went to a site on the far side of the Sija’, and to test the quality of the land they jammed a cane down into the earth. Soon water flowed out from the cane, and they knew the land was bountiful. But they soon feared they had not yet escaped the Spaniards, so they continued further down into the mountains, to the valley where the town of Antigua Ixtahuacán was built. The town remained there for hundreds of years until Hurricane Mitch triggered a sinking of ground that destroyed many houses, and damaged countless others, leading to the relocation of the majority of the town’s population to the current (and historical) location in the high, treeless plain known as Alaska. As the entire town was built by a coalition of international NGOs in 1999 and 2000, it is a planned community, with straight wide streets, and residential neighborhoods ringing a core of commercial, communal, and municipal buildings. Here is a photo of the town I took from a rocky altar on the Sija’.

It is the season of the corn harvest, which means fresh corn on the cob. Roasted or boiled, it is always delicious and sustaining. Some eat it plain, some rub it with lime and salt, and others douse it in ketchup, mayonnaise, and hot sauce (a preparation I have sampled and wish not to try ever again—though I do recommend lime as an excellent substitute for butter to my North American friends!) One bright morning last week, I went out to the fields with my friends Victoriano and Cata to pick some fresh elotes. Victoriano is one of my best friends here, as well as my K’iche teacher.

Cata is one of his granddaughters and a daily playmate. The youngest of five children, her father abandoned the family when she was still a baby, which endears her to me even more.

We brought the elotes back to the house and shucked them, roasting them on the hot coals. The kids crawled on my knees, begging me to play horsie. We ate our corn, cupping our hands around the cobs between bites to warm our chilled hands. The women teased me in K’iche about my supposed girlfriends and who from the village I was most likely to marry. Rosa offered me her fifteen year-old daughter, a twinkle in her eye; I have explained to her many times that cultural taboos and legal issues would prevent me from taking the girl back to the States as my wife. There is no doubt that my extended host family has accepted me as one of their own, for which I am very grateful. I hope and pray that this post finds readers well. With Love from Guatemala!