"God has no religion" Mahatma Gandhi
Back in the Sierras in the little settlement of Nueva Colonia, we got up the next morning and each went off to use the outdoor facilities among the fir trees. In the whole time I was in the Wirarica communities I never saw a bathroom anywhere, not even anything that resembles a bathroom. Bathrooms are a significant advancement and major health benefit in areas where fecal matter can contaminate groundwater sources and thus spread disease from person to person. Deserts around the world seem to be one of the topographies where there is still a consistent underavailability of bathroom facilities. Who knows if, because of the heat and the lack of water, they are somehow not quite as necessary as elsewhere. This is a topic I will reflect on in a later blog, but suffice it to say I quickly adapted to life without sit down toilets. Toilet paper is a necessity I have not learned to do without and in fact have learned never to leave home without!
After having a couple of slices of the bread that Linda had brought from San Antonio, my first multigrain spelt bread in months, washed down with hot chocolate made on our 'luxury' accomodations' one burner propane stove, we donned our Wira clothes becoming Tewaris Wirizado instead of what is more common, Wirrarica Tewarizado -- Wira folk dressed in Western clothes. I had the blue outfit I had worn during the pilgrimage. Linda had left her Wira clothes in San Antonio but borrowed an outfit from their compadre's newest wife. It was a beautiful red and green outfit, made of a textured red cotton with tiny green Christmas trees all over it. As I would soon find out, Christmas fabric is a popular favourite among the Wira women, who wear it all year round, because of the vibrant colours and the patterned borders which are often seen decorating the bottoms of their skirts. Masauke's outfit was the traditional for men , white with brightly coloured embroidered designs of sacred symbols in pinks, reds, greens and blacks.
It took us 20 minutes to walk from the settlement to the edge of the cliff overlooking the valley were Las Latas is situated. As I stood on the side of the mountain before we began our descent into the valley I paused for a moment in awe at the perfect strategic location of the community. It had taken us 2.5 hours by van, then 20 minutes on foot to get this far. It would take another 2 hours to descend into the valley below [our descent was much slower than that of the surefooted, altitude adjusted, Wira folk who passed us nimbly going down the steep path as we, especially Linda and I, often struggled to keep our balance on the rocky donkey trail]. This was indeed the perfect place to retreat when the Spanish conquistadores were ravaging the lands of the indigenous people of the lowlands of Mexico and later when the Church and State was attempting to ensure that indigenous cultures and traditions became a thing of the past.
The Wirarica people managed to maintain their indigenous language, cultures and ancient traditions almost completely intact until today precisely because of their brilliant retreat to many similar location with the ideal topography for disuading all but the most persistent visitors from venturing forth. As we stood at the crest of the hill and Masauke yelled 'Yacko' and a reply came back up from the barely visible figures in the valley below, I further appreciated the reverbrance of the bowl shaped geography. If potential intruders could not be seen, which we could be, then it was likely that they would be heard.
We descended quite slowly pausing at a huge rock that represents the half way mark and passing the campsite where the pilgrims stay on their final night before returning to the village. Everything was new to me, the stories, the history, the landscape. I was like a kid in a candy factory, inhaling every sound, gobbling up each new sight,trying to keep my eyes peeled on the breathtaking valley that was coming ever closer, while at the same time attempting not to land on my butt as the loose rocks scattered beneath my huarachas , traditional sandals made of recycle car tires soles and leather thongs, which continue to be used by most Wira folk. After sitting down on the job a few times, but without falling over the cliff, at last we reached the bottom of the hill.
More to follow ... stay tuned!
No comments:
Post a Comment