Then the house is prepared and the food is made for the fiesta. For their part, the young man’s parents make preparations too. They bring something for the girl as an engagement present: usually something given to the young man when he was born. They also bring a live lamb and another already prepared to eat. The dough for the feast is made into larger tamales than usual and they usually make about seventy-five of them. These tamales last a long time: they will last the girl’s parents about a week because they’re big and don’t go bad, or at least the outside does but not the inside. These big tamales give a party feeling to the meal.
These seventy-five big tamales brought by the boy’s parents weigh about two or three quintals altogether, because each tamal is about eight pounds in weight. For us Indians, each tamal represents a sacred day. We count the days that we ask the earth’s permission to sow our crops, the eight sacred days a baby is with his mother, the sacred days of our fiestas and the ceremonies throughout a child’s life from birth to marriage: when he was born, when he became a member of the community, when he was baptized, his tenth birthday, and so on. Each child has his own sacred day. Even if he’s working, it’s still his sacred day. These days are always sacred for him. In addition, we count other sacred days, like the day we ask the trees’ permission to cut them down because we need to clear the land for cultivation. For us, all things have their sacred days even if, because of our circumstances, we don’t have the time to observe their rituals very faithfully. Then there are all the saints’ days, from the Catholic Action. But ours are not the saints of the pictures. We celebrate special days talking about our ancestors; for us in the month of October, a whole part of the month is sacred because this is the time they used to worship and keep their silence. We preserve this tradition too. All the sacred days of the year add up to seventy-two or seventy-five days, and each tamal represents one day.
So the young man’s family brings seventy-five tamales, a live lamb and one ready prepared for eating. They also usually bring a large earthenware jar of soup made from the lamb when it’s killed. Altogether this is a pretty big load. They take the cooked meat to a place set aside for it and one person is put in charge of it. The tamales need at least four boys in charge of them, so a whole lot of them line up for the job. But not just any boys are chosen, they have to be ones who are respected by the community. They will serve the drinks and give out the cigarettes at the fiesta after the ceremony. They are usually the young man’s brothers or cousins, except if any of them are naughty, or not very sociable, he won’t be chosen to help at the fiesta.
When the guests arrive, they come in in a line. First comes the representative of the young man’s village with his wife, and greet the girl’s parents. Then the father kneels in a corner that has been specially prepared. If they still live in the same house where the girl was born, this will be the place where they put the candles when she was received into the natural world. If it is the same place, the parents will still have the remains of those candles and will use them now. This is still not the marriage rites, however, as there are still certain customs to perform. They come and kneel down in the corner where the candles are, without saying a word or acknowledging each other. The doors are opened and the rest of the people come in and kneel down. Then the girl’s mother and father come in. The mother’s role is very important here, because she is someone special, the person who has given life to her daughter and in whose image her daughter must live. She is the one who goes to each person and asks them to get up off their knees. She goes first to the young man’s mother and asks her to stand and then goes to each person who is kneeling, individually. The father shows them where to sit. They can’t sit just anywhere all mixed up, because the order in which the cups of guaro are drunk is very important and the elderly people have to be served first and then the rest. We drink a lot of guaro, more than anything else. Some guaro is clandestine: forbidden by the Guatemalan government. We Indians make it and use it for all our ceremonies. This guaro is very strong, and it’s very cheap. They don’t like us making it because it lowers the price in the cantinas. It’s made in the mountains, in tree trunks and in earthenware jars. It’s made from fermented maize and the bran we use to feed our horses, or from wheat–the chaff of the wheat. It can also be made from rice or sugar cane. It’s always very strong. The parents provide enough guaro for everybody.
The mother asks the boy’s mother to stand first, then his grandmother and then all the other people. The girl’s father is busy showing everyone where to sit. There is a special seat for each one. The ceremony begins. The girl goes out. The young man remains on his knees. She comes in again and kneels some way away from him. They remain kneeling for about fifteen or twenty minutes. The ceremony begins with the grandparents’ account of their suffering, the sadness and the joy in their life. They give a sort of general account of their life–that at this moment or that moment they were ill but they never lost hope, that their ancestors had also suffered in the same way, and many, many other things. Then the couple who are getting married say a prayer: ‘Mother Earth, may you feed us. We are made of maize, of yellow maize and white maize.’ And then the couple says other prayers to our one God, the heart of the sky who embraces the whole natural world. They talk to the heart of the sky, saying: ‘Father and Mother, Heart of the Sky, may you give us light, may you give us heat, may you give us hope and punish our enemies–all those who wish to destroy our ancestors. We, poor and humble as we are, will never abandon you.’
They make a new pledge to honour the Indian race. They affirm our importance. They say it is the duty of each one of us to reproduce the earth and the traditions of our ancestors, who were humble. They refer back to the time of Columbus and say: ‘Our forefathers were dishonoured by the white man–sinners and murderers’ and: ‘It is not the fault of our ancestors. They died from hunger because they weren’t paid. We want to destroy the wicked lessons we were taught by them. If they hadn’t come, we would all be united, equal, and our children would not suffer. We would not have boundaries to our land.’ This is, in part, recalling history and, in part, a call to awareness. Then they make their vows and say: ‘We will be father and mother. We will try to defend the rights of our ancestors to the last.’ ‘We promise that our ancestors will live on through our children and no rich man nor landowner can destroy our children.’ When they’ve made their vows, the young people get up. It’s the turn of the girl’s grandmother and the boy’s grandfather to help them up and lead them to their seats. Then the ones giving out the drink serve the first cups to the grandfathers, grandmothers, the village elders, the village representatives, and the parents. When they are on their third drink, the couple kneels down again and begins kissing the hands of all those present at the ceremony. They ask forgiveness for any occasion on which they may have abused traditions, and admit they might not have paid enough attention to many of the lessons and advice of their parents. They say: ‘We did not apologize to such and such a person…’ or: ‘We offended the laws of the natural kingdom.’ After that they ask forgiveness from their parents and for help with bringing their children up in Indian ways, remembering their traditions, and always remaining true to their race no matter how much trouble, sadness and hunger they endure. And the parents answer: ‘Generations and generations will pass but we will always be Indians. It is our duty as parents to keep our secrets safe generation after generation, to prevent the ladinos learning anything of our ancestors’ ways.’
Then the grandparents tell us many things that they’ve been witness to, things which must be passed on by their children. They are witnesses that our ancestors were not sinners, they did not kill. They apply past experience to the present. They say: ‘Today human life is not respected, now people are killed, our children die–our younger brothers and sisters. Children haven’t always died young. Our forefathers told us that our old people used to live until they were a hundred and twenty-five, and now we die at forty or thirty. You younger people must ask your
selves why this is so.’ The elders examine our lives now. They are given the floor because of their experience, their example, what they know of life. They say: ‘Our ancestors always asked the permission of every living thing before using it to help us feed ourselves.’ This is no longer so and our ancestors are saddened and troubled by it. Many of our race now know how to kill. The white man is responsible for this. They blame the white man for coming and teaching us to kill. Even now we must prevent him from teaching us how to kill. It is wonderful listening to this, because it is the elders’ opportunity to unburden themselves about what they have lived through. When the parents receive the guests of honour, only adults are present, but when the elders start speaking, everyone comes in to listen. The children wait outside during the first part and then are all called in. Our little house is full to bursting. All this takes about half a day.
There is a lot of smoking; and the drinking is very significant. With each drink goes a sort of prayer. First they say: ‘This is the sacred wine of our ancestors, they were not forbidden to grow their own wine, to make their own drink. Today everything is different. Now we are not allowed to make our drink.’ So they say this drink is sacred and it makes us think a lot. The prayer for the second drink is different. It says: ‘We promise to defend this drink. We will go on making it even if we have to do it secretly, and our children will continue to make it throughout the generations.’ With the third drink, the engaged couple take their vows. At the fourth drink, the grandparents are given the floor to say what they wish. Then it’s the turn of the village representatives and they too make various recommendations to the couple: ‘You must have children for our ancestors’ sake, so that our seed does not die or be effaced. The first child must bear the name of the boy’s parents and the second the name of the girl’s parents.’ After them come more rounds of speeches–the parents, the uncles, and the members of the families who serve the drinks. We younger ones are also given a turn to speak but we don’t usually say anything because we’re used to respecting our elders, and our words might show a lack of respect. So we don’t join in very much.
The bride and bridegroom get up. Remaining on their knees until the elders have finished speaking has been a sort of penance for them. Now they get up, take their seats and the ceremony becomes a general talking session–a whole day of sitting and talking. They say: ‘This is what our ancestors were like; this is what the white man did; it’s the fault of the white man. Our ancestors used to sow enough maize, there was enough for each tribe, each community. They all lived together. We had a king and he used to share everything out among everybody. Now we no longer grow cocoa, it belongs to the white man, to the rich. We can no longer sow tobacco. Before there was enough tobacco for all our people. Before we weren’t divided into communities and languages. We understood each other. Who is to blame for all this? The white man who came to our country. We must not trust them, white men are all thieves. We mut keep our secrets from them. We had no artificial medicines or pills before, our medicines were the plants. Our king sowed many plants and our children need to know about them too. Animals used not to bite us before, but now even that is something which happens.’ The last part of the ceremony is rather sad because our grandparents remember all this with great feeling and begin to tell what things will be like from now on. It worries them a great deal. Now our children don’t live very long. Will it be like that from now on? Now a lot of people go around in cars. Our old Guatemala wasn’t like this. We all went around on foot but we all lived very well. They killed our most important, most revered ancestors. Because of this, we must learn to have respect for the natural world–trees, the earth, water, the sun, and our brother human beings too. We must respect our elders. The discussion is for everyone. We all join in, and give our opinions. We stop drinking. We don’t drink all the guaro brought. It is a sacred fiesta so nobody gets drunk. When all our close friends and neighbours (i.e. most of the community) have finished discussing, we start eating. The brothers and sisters and secondary uncles and aunts get up and bring in the food. We eat the food offered by the bride, not the food brought by the bridegroom’s family. It’s all prepared, we pass it round and eat with great pleasure. After the meal, the parents and neighbours go on talking, with a lot of feeling. It’s a common dialogue. At four in the afternoon, everyone goes home.
In my sister’s case, after the second ritual we all had to go down to the finca. We spent four months on the coast, so it was five months later that we celebrated the third ritual. The same people were present as for the second and we had a lot of food and drink. They bring a lot to drink, but not many tamales. It was the time for starting to sow our land and everyone came again. The engaged couple saw each other again after four months. My sister was very mature. A child becomes an adult very early among our people. We have no adolescence. We have a lot of responsibility from an early age. My sister was very mature and she knew that if she didn’t see her betrothed, it was because of our circumstances, so it was quite all right. When he got back, the young man came to visit us again. It was quite normal, nothing strange at all. The young man said his parents were ready for the third ritual and everyone agreed on a day. We had to get our maize in very quickly because it was raining hard and the maize rots. The boy has to work for the girl’s parents for a few months as a member of the family, so as the second ritual was over, he said: ‘I’ll come and live with you now.’ After three months he went back to his family. It was just as if he’d gone to the finca.
The third ceremony is when the boy and girl make their vows to one another. It’s rather like the Catholic Action wedding ceremony when the couple make their promises in church. Our vows aren’t made before God, though, but before our elders. The girl says: ‘I will be a mother, I will suffer, my children will suffer, many of my children will die young because of the circumstances created for us by white men. It will be hard for me to accept my children’s death but I will bear it because our ancestors bore it without giving up. We will not give up either.’ This is the girl’s promise. The young man promises: ‘I will be responsible. We will see our children die before they have grown, but we must still go on following Indian ways.’ Then they both promise: ‘We will try to leave two or three seeds to reproduce the lineage of our ancestors. Although some of our children will die young, others will live on. From now on we will be mother and father.’ This is their joint vow, taken before our elders. It demonstrates the mixture in the life the couple will lead, the life their children will lead, whereas the previous ceremony was trying to enact our ancestors’ traditions from the very beginning, all the things they used, all the things they conserved. To represent this mixture, they bring crates of lemonade, a bit of bread, some bought guaro, bought candles–all those things we Indians find so outrageous–and explain the meaning of each of those things. First they show these candles made of artificial wax. They are not like the beeswax candles used in the birth ceremony and the engagement ceremony. Ours have to be of natural wax, not those you buy in the market. Everything we use is natural, everything is our own. Our cooking pots are earthenware, made by grandmothers, mothers or aunts. We make our own guaro and light our cigarettes with little stones. Tortillas are shown to symbolize the maize, sacred to man, his food, his life. The modern things that are shown are the fizzy drinks, the bought guaro, eggs, chocolate, bread, coffee. According to them, coffee didn’t exist before. Everyone gets together and gives their opinion on these things. For example, our grandparents say of Coca-Cola: ‘Never let your children drink this dreadful stuff because it is something which threatens our culture.’ They say: ‘These things are made by machines; our forefathers never used machines. The fincas mean an early death for our people. They provide food for white people, and white people get rich from them.’ We never let our children eat or drink these horrible things. This is what the ceremony is about. When they talk about the bread, they say: ‘Bread is very meaningful for the Indian, because of the fact that it was mixed with egg, flour
with egg. In the past, our ancestors grew wheat. Then the Spaniards came and mixed it with egg. It was a mixture, no longer what our ancestors ate. It was white man’s food, and white men are like their bread, they are not wholesome. The blood of our most noble ancestors was mixed with the blood of white men. They are a mixture, just like their food.’ This is the grandparents’ lesson to us about the bread. Then they say: ‘They put the juice of our crop, our natural sugar cane, through a machine and made sugar. They put sugar in the cane and it became mixed. We must not mix our customs with those of the whites. So we don’t eat bread. It is not our tortilla.’ They say: ‘Don’t let our children get used to eating bread; our ancestors had no bread.’ All this comes first from the grandparents. Then comes the turn of the parents. They say: ‘We never taught them to eat bread. We didn’t give them any, we didn’t have any. Why not? Because it is not ours. It is the white man’s.’ All these recommendations are made to the couple about how to bring up children. The uncles bring in a bit more about Catholic customs. They show a small picture, the likeness of a saint. They say: ‘This is such and such a saint–Saint Judas, saint Augustine or Saint Anthony, for example; this one does the most miraculous things, this one does the most good works,’ depending on what ideas prevail about them among the people. They say: ‘These are some of the saints, but they’re not the only ones. There’s the god of the sky, and the god of the earth.’ They explain everything–that they all lead to the one God, the only God, and that the saints are channels through which we communicate with the one God. Then the couple make its vows to one another. Now there’s only the marriage itself to come.
I, Rigoberta Menchu Page 10