The Shaman’s Realm

August 2012 - We are traveling in Chiapas, in southern Mexico, searching for fine artisan crafts for Chiripa.  

The global economy is gradually seeping into the remote corners of Mexico, including Chiapas. But much of Chiapas is still a place apart -- a place of mystery and tradition -- a place that speaks of another time and a very different way of life. 

Village Cemetery, San Juan 

de Chamula, Chiapas

In much of Chiapas, corn is planted by hand on impossibly steep hillsides. Women and children collect large bundles of firewood from the forest, and carry the bundles for long distances on their backs. Corn is ground by hand, and mixed with lime to produce tortilla dough.

In a rural kitchen, a woman kneels on a dirt floor and tends an open wood fire. The fire heats a comal on which a woman fries the tortillas that she has formed and pressed. The dark room fills with smoke and the smell of warm tortillas as the rain falls outside. 

Making Tortillas, Chiapas

In Chiapas, things are not always what they seem. As we enter the quaint village church in San Juan de Chamula, we immediately find ourselves in a very unexpected world. No photographs are allowed within this space. The interior is dark and mysterious, and hundreds of candles flicker everywhere. 

Village Church, San Juan de Chamula

From out of the darkness we hear low repetitive chants -- not the usual chants that one might expect in a Catholic church, but deep-throated chants that remind us of Tibet or Mongolia. And then, unexpectedly, we hear the distressed screech of a chicken. 

 

Church Entrance, San Juan de Chamula

As our eyes adjust, we see tables covered with beautiful flowers (from the neighboring village of Zinacatlán, which gets charcoal from Chamula in return). The floor is covered with pine needles. Candles burn everywhere on tables and floor. As they burn down, and the wax runs across the floor, some of the pine needles begin to smolder. No one seems concerned.

Village Church, Zinacatlán

We gradually perceive family groups huddled on the floor (there are no church pews). Each group sits in front of a small makeshift altar of candles, flowers and Coca Cola bottles. Penitents drink Coca Cola to make them burp, because the burping is thought to expel evil spirits (a cynical local acquaintance once told us that the Coca Cola distributor had one of the largest houses in the village).

A shaman holds the wrists of a young girl, trying from her pulse to ascertain the source of her malady. Parents and family members kneel nearby, praying for a cure. A doomed chicken, soon to be sacrificed, is held firmly by its legs and neck. The sacrificial and curative rights will cost family members a large share of their weekly income.

Centuries-old statues of Catholic saints line the church walls, but traditional Catholic doctrine holds little sway here. Catholic priests no longer preside in this sanctuary, and from the village of Chamula many evangelical christians have been expelled. For this is the realm of the shaman, and he rules with a strong hand. -- JM