Día de Independencía

So I realize this blog is monstrous, but I really couldn´t decide what to leave out, the Independence Day is such a big deal here. So I tried to break it up into section to make it more readible. And this should make up for a month of nothing!

The Countdown

September 15 is the Independence Day for Guatemala. I knew this for a long time, but what I didn't know is that it would be more accurately named “Independence Month”. The first signs began at the end of August when an arcade randomly appeared in the street beside the house (a bunch of game-machines housed by a rickety wooden structure built on the spot) and gradually in the following days stands selling homemade sweets, burned CDs or knickknacks began to appear in the streets. Eventually, a couple rickety, chipped-paint hand-operated tiny ferris wheels and a merry-go-round (recycled from the States where they were probably used in the 1950s) popped up. More and more I began to hear the bands (mostly comprised of drums and trumpets) practicing their loud patriotic ballads, sometimes until 9 pm in the rain. Each night after dinner, as I helped the sister wash the dishes in the pila, the topic of conversation was mainly how many days were left until the Independence Day activities began in my town.

The Concurso

Now Independence Day is in general the most important holiday in Guatemala, more celebrated than Christmas, but even so, I think my town celebrates it with more fervor than average. At least within the 8 or so villages that make up my municipality, our Independence Day is famous for being the biggest.
On September 5 it all officially started, with the “Concurso de Bandas” or band competition. Bands from the elementary schools of the 32 “parajes” or districts of my town marched down the street to the town center. Each one had its own costumes and style (ranging from sleek black slacks and jackets with bow ties, to all-white outfits with red bandannas, cowboy hats and sunglasses, to girls in beautiful same-colored trajes and boys in formal suits). For the “Concurso”, each band performed about 3 songs, accompanied by flag-bearing dancers. I was very impressed the uniformity and quality of their performances.

The Bailadas

Shortly after that, I attended the first “bailada”. I didn't really know what it was, only that it would be occurring in the evening, most of the town went, and it somehow involved dancing. The bailada took place in a large indoor hall of the town center's elementary school. A long wooden catwalk had been built leading to the stage at one end of the hall and covered with pine needles. There was a live band that included a marimba to one side and the whole hall was adorned in light blue decorations (the color of Guatemala's beautiful flag). The hall was packed on each side of the catwalk with most of the townspeople (standing).

My first bailada was put on by the town center's elementary school. I was only there for a few minutes when a lady spotted me (I think perhaps the mayor's wife) and swept me up to sit in one of the seats off the side of the stage, across from the mayor himself and other town government representatives. I know she was trying to honor me, but I would have been much more comfortable back in the crowd with my host family, especially since the whole time I was nervous I would have to get up and give some kind of impromptu speech (which luckily, for this first bailada, I didn't).

About the closest American definition you could give a bailada would be a : “beauty pageant/school performance/cultural fair/talent show/high school dance”. I quickly learned that the bulk of it is the presentation of the different “queens”, (roughly along the same line of thought as prom queens/beauty queens). These “queens” were chosen by their schools and they each represents a different group or theme (some of them include: Queen of the Feria, Queen of the School, Queen of Sports, Queen of the Parent Directive of the School, Indigenous Queen of the Community, etc.). Each queen is accompanied by several damas, or “ladies-in-waiting.” Each one was wearing a very beautiful (expensive) traje and her black hair was elaborately done up, usually with small fake flowers twisted into it and covered in sparkles. First the MC would announce the damas, and one by one, each would do a slow rhythmic step down the very long platform to the chiming marimba music with every eye on her while the MC announced facts about her and her family until she finally reached the stage where she would gracefully bow to everyone and take a seat. The youngest damas were no more than 3 years old, and some of the queens couldn't have been more than 7 (while others were young adults). My own little 6-year-old host sister was a dama for the “Niña de Deporte” (the Queen of the Sports). It is a great honor for the girl and her family to be chosen, but I'm sure some of them must have been terrified by that long slow walk.

Once all the damas were at last seated on the stage, the queen would be announced and do her slow dance-walk down the platform, accompanied by a young man (about her age). Once up front, the incoming queen would give a speech (first beautifully greeting and acknowledging every important person and group present, from the mayor to the band), usually on some social issue. Then last year's queen would give a welcome speech to the new one, and there would be some ceremony of the transferring of the reign. Then the young man that accompanied the new queen would come up, kneel before her and take her hand, and recite a traditional poem that is a love-sick ode to her beauty and wisdom and give her a rose. The various queens and damas and their gentlemen would remain seated on the stage throughout the bailada until the very end, when, one-by-one each dama and queen would be announced and make the slow dance step back down the aisle.

Between queens, there would be other entertainment arranged by the school, which were anything from cultural dances to hip-hop lip syncs to skits. When the official ceremony ended, the lights would dim and the band would begin to play many of the current hits and the entire crowd would gather around the area in front of the band to watch the tiny group of brave souls that were dancing. Really, about 10% of the crowd danced while the other 90% watched (most of them from the platform above the dance floor).

I attended 4 bailadas (certainly not all of them), and they each followed this formula, although the specific entertainment definitely varied, and the Institute where I work had by far the most entertaining, including a skit entirely in K'iche' which had the whole crowd cracking up the entire time (except for me, I just smiled). For my Institute's Bailada, I did have to finally make that impromptu-speech I'd been dreading the whole time. The young father of my house gave me a very gracious introduction, and then I had to fumble through the proper greeting of everyone present, which roughly went, “Señor Mayor and his corporation, representatives of the Parent Directive, Director of the Institute and faculty, and general public, I wish all of you a very good evening,”... only in Spanish (I left out the Independence Day Planning Committee and the band). A good part of the crowd, mostly children, laughed each time I pronounced something strangely, but then the majority would clap to encourage me, so all in all I guess it wasn't that bad.

Dancing in the Spotlight

And I danced at 2 of the bailadas, which I'm still not sure was wise. Leading up to the 15th, I can't say how many times I got asked by girl students from my school if I was going to dance. I would always answer probably not, just watch, and they would act so disappointed. So, at my second or third bailada, my feet started itching to the music that was playing and one of my fellow teachers hunted me down a dance parter, and I figured what the heck. So I danced, with about 10 other people, with about 100 people watching (I am truly not exaggerating). The second time I made my dance debut was the last bailada, the Community Bailada. This time there was a bigger dance floor, but it was roped off. Admittedly, more people danced this time (maybe 20?) and there was more space... but there was also a few cameras filming the whole thing for the local tv station. I danced with a high school kid that was probably about 20 that I have absolutely no interest in beyond being a dance partner. I only danced for a while, but I'm not sure how long until I live it down. Not do the people here in town still like to mention that they saw me dancing, but I've had students from two of my institutes in two other communities several miles away tell me that they heard that I danced or saw me dance. And they just love to ask who my partner was (I don't even remember his name!). Ahhh... cultural matters.

Honorary Eating

Prior to my Institute's Bailada, I was invited to the honorary lunch of the Institute's queen (one of my students) and the honorary dinner of the queen of the Parent Directive. The lunch went okay (wasn't asked to speak and there was a big crowd, although I of course was put at the table with all the important people), but the dinner was definitely awkward for a few reasons. First, besides the two queens, I was the only woman seated. The rest were the mayor's representative all the older men of the Parent Directive, the father of the queen, the Institute's director and only the male teachers. Secondly, the director introduced me and I had to give a little speech (I really hate those). Thirdly-- and this one really takes the cake-- I was sitting on a plastic stool on my jacket. I needed something from my jacket pocket. I stood up a little and reached under me to remove my jacket. I knocked over the chair and DIDN'T REALIZE. I fell. (I didn't fall all the way on my butt, but enough to make a spectacle of myself.) At least everyone had a good laugh and did some joking about it. (And if anyone was worried that I lost my soul-- a Maya belief about being startled-- no one made matters worse by doing a ceremony to retrieve it for me.)

Gimnasia

Another random thing I got involved with was the young dad of my host family, also a teacher at the Institute, asked if I would help with the girl's gymnastics routine for the town parade on the 15th. I know NOTHING about gymnastics (which I explained to him), but he thought I might be good at it since I like to exercise. I decided, as I so often do here, what the heck. I went to a couple of practices and ended up spending a couple of hours coming up with a new routine to add to the list and trying to teach it to them. Then, the day of the parade, the hookup for the speakers on the truck didn't work and the poor girls didn't get to do the routines they worked so hard preparing. They generally looked like a bunch of wilted flowers, but with some encouragement they did some occasional half-hearted steps to the band music of the parade. But later that day, the dad arranged for them to do a short routine at the soccer game's half show. One of the songs was for the routine I had prepared, but without my guidance they completely forgot it and ended up improvising. Oh well, it was fun to feel like I got to “help out” a little (though it was mostly just moral support).

El Quince

I spent the entirety of the 15th in town activities, beginning with marching with the sad-faced gymnastics girls. The parade ended at the town center where people just milled around for a while and countless students asked to have their picture taken with me (most of them I didn't know). I really am a celebrity in this town. Then I handed out snacks to all the Institute's parade participants. In the afternoon I went to the soccer tournament (because no Guatemalan Feria is complete without soccer) and then walk around the food stands with one of the teachers from the school and her son. That night I went to the town bailada for my last dance.

My Town

Despite the many awkward moments, the awful impromptu speeches, watching the 10th queen sway down that long long platform, the fuss I caused by dancing, and almost every night going to bed to thumping loud live music since I live right across from the event hall, I loved the Feria. There was something so heartening about being at these events with this town that is beginning to feel like my home, about looking around the crowd and seeing faces of the ayudantes (assistants) from the camionetas (buses), seeing the lady I buy my vegetables from every market day, seeing the shop owners and my students and the little kids that ask me how to say things in English every day, all mingled together and recognizing this community that is becoming my own. And I have my place in it. I'm their gringa, their one and only.

One night, after returning from a bailada, I went up on my rooftop and looked down at the straggling people strolling around the lit-up food stands, talking and laughing; listened to the thumping upbeat Latino music coming from the hall and saw glimpses of the dancers through the elementary school windows; looked down at my town, under the dark shapes of the mountains and the distant stars, and felt like I was happy to call it home.