San Lorenzeo Zinacantan is a municipio (municipality) in the southern part of Central Chiapas, populated primarily by a tribe called the Tzotzil Maya, an indigenous people with cultural and linguistic ties to other highland Mayans. Zinacantan literally means “land of bats” in Tzotzil.
In pre-Columbian times, before the arrival of the conquistadors, Zinacantan had strong ties to the Aztecs of Central Mexico, trading their salt and amber with them forsilver and gold. The earliest missionaries in this municipio were Dominican Friars who settled here in the 16th century. They were expelled by the Mexican government in the 17th century, but returned to continue their pastoral work in the mid-seventies. The presence of the Roman Catholic Church’s influence is evident in the fact that the main church in the center of town is Catholic.
Looking out into the valley here, we could see small, tin-roofed houses scattered amongst what looked like farms. Our guide explained that this region is famous for its flowers, and the flowers grown in this little community are exported to places in the United States. Produce like radishes, carrots, brocolli, cabbage and lettuce are also grown here. Some of the land is terraced to improve drainage for cultivating, and we could see men building stone walls on a terraced slope nearby.
Our first stop here was to visit a family of women who were weaving and embroidering in their backyard. Our guide, Pepe, who was also a Mayan, spoke with them in Tzotzil. The father in this family had died a while ago and so these women (mother and three daughters) were on their own, making a living by selling their embroidered shawls and clothing. They were friendly and cheerful, answering our questions (through Pepe) and allowing us to take photographs of them.
Pepe explained that there have been international efforts to help this community in form of land donated by a previous Spanish landowner, co-operatives formed to help local farmers get better prices, and education initiatives to help teach the local adults Spanish. Pepe himself had worked with the Swiss conservationist and photographer Gertrude Duby. Duby apparently spoke two Mayan dialects fluently and spent a large part of her life helping out the indigenous peoples in Chiapas, including protecting the people living deep in the Selva Lacandona (Lacandon Jungle) in the eastern part of Chiapas, near the border with Guatemala.
This particular comunity appeared to be rather well-suported and prosperous compared to others. I remarked that life here must be relatively stress-free, and Pepe told us about a man who had lived to be 127 years old. It’s not unusual, he said, for folks to live into their eighties or nineties.
This family showed us some of their finished products – beautiful shawls and blouses embroidered with blue, green and purple flowers. In exchange for the family’s generosity, I wanted to purchase of of the shawls thye brought out. I bought a traditonal shawl for 350 pesos and gave one of the daughters 400 pesos, thinking I’d get back 50 pesos in change. Instead, I got no change back, but a second shawl (albeit it a “second-hand” one, which I assumed was a used one) stuffed into the bag, and no change. Ohe well, I thought, everyone is smiling, and those shawls, which were made from hand woven wool and embroidered painstakingly by one of the daughters would probably end up as wall hangings anyway.
We then went for a long hike through the fields, passing by many greenhouses and acres of cultivated land. We stopped at a couple of interesting sites – a sacred well where people go to pray at and to draw water for the sick, and a stone and rock alter that had three twelve feet tall wooden crosses decorated with flowers and brances of pine. Pepe explained that the cross was in fact not Christian, but was one used by the Mayans to symbolize the four directions, the spirits of which shamans had to invoke to bless the planting and the harvest. The upper part of the cross stood for heaven, the middle part of earth, and the lower part for the underworld.
Our walk took us to an open-air stall owned by a local family who invited us for lunch. Well, more accurately, we were first treated to three different flavored poshes (cinnamon, vanilla & hibiscus bootleg whiskey ), a locally made liquor with a 40% alocohol content. A small plastic cup was filled and passed along as a community cup and each one of us took a small sip from it. No need to worry about germs there, with the high alcohol content. Lunch was then served inside one of the family’s adobe buildings which functioned as the kitchen. A young girl sat on the floor by a charcoal-fueled griddle, making tortillas. The hot tortillas were served with goat cheese, ground roasted pumpkin seeds, and black beans. We were touched by the generosity of these people, and left with delight in our hearts. Many of us purchased a variety of products from them (placemats and embroidered shirts); I got to try on a traditional Mayan bride’s outfit, which brought on a few giggles form the children.
After lunch, we walked around the town square and took some photographs of the church (there is always a main one in the town center) and the main town square. Three young girls ran up to us and offered to have their photographs taken, for compensation of course. Happily, I gave them ten pesos each and we were all happy. It was a good deal.
Our next journey was to the town of Chamula, specifically to visit the local igelesia (church), and this had to be the most interesting single experience of my whole trip so far. This church, the Templo de San Juan, was originally a Catholic church, but somewhere along the line, the Chamulans broke away from the RCC and established their own brand of Christian-pagan religion, combining Catholicism with Mayan rituals. To enter, you have to pay a small fee at the local tourist office and show your ticket to an official at the door.
It was a multi-sensory experience entering the templo. The first thing you notice was that there were no pews. Instead, there were perhaps two hundred people, gathered in what appeared to be family groups, sitting on the floor, which was strewn with pine needles. Each group lit rows of candles stuck onto the floor (each candle represnting a family member) and performed prayers and rituals. There was also chanting in an archaic dialect of Tzotzil and humming, and the occasional procession led by a shaman or curanderos entering the templo.
The air was thick with smoke from the candles and from resin incense burnt at the altars. Lining each side of the church were glass-encased wooden statues of patron saints, a saint representing each illness or problem that people want to get help on. For instance, there was a saint who looked after unmarried women. Women are married between the ages of 12 and 15 in this community, and someone who was unmarried by the age of 20 needed al the help she could get. Often, a woman would have had several children by the age of twenty.
Occasionally, we heard shrieking in the templo, and Pepe explained that it came from chickens sacrificed to cure family members from illness. The curanderos would prescribe different remedies for different problems – such as candles of different sizes or colours, or flower petals and feathers. In dire circumstances, he would take a chicken, pass it over the candles (thus the shrieking) as he prayed (thus the bird would absorb all the sicknesses (any medical, psychological or “evil-eye” afflictions) from the candles), and then swiftly break its neck.
Photography is strictly forbidden inside all churches in Mexico, but especially this one. This is surely a scene that will be etched in ones head forever though, so no need for pictures. I forgot to mention that the pine-covered floor was also littered with Coca-cola or Pepsi bottles (this is another story), as in recent years pop drinks have replaced the traditional posh as the beverage of choice in religious ceremonies. My partner noticed that there were no stations of the cross in this church, and the only statue of Jesus was at the front, to the left of the main patron of the church, San Juan de Bautista.
Smoke and incense, candles, chanting, drumming, humming, Coke and Pepsi, statues of saints, medicine men and chickens – a scene from another era in the present day. Surprising, intriguing, compelling, and a little frightening.
