No this is not a post about the city in Texas but I hope the
title garnered a few extra readers.
The small nearby town of Pujilí had their annual festival
this weekend. It is honoring the Holy Communion and is celebrated with a large
parade, music, dancing and drinking. It is a rather well known celebration and
dance teams from other South American countries come to show their stuff.
Last week my friend asked me to dance in the parade with him
and his high school. I was happy to accept the invitation and showed up at his
house early Saturday morning. There we ate a giant breakfast to “give us the
necessary strength” to make it through the day. We gorged ourselves on “jugo de
carne con huevos tibios” or meat juice with soft-boiled eggs. It seemed like
too much food but in hindsight I probably should have eaten even more.
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| Dance group from last year |
We donned our ponchos, indigenous hats and pounds of
sunscreen and we were out the door. We arrived at the starting point and I was
introduced as a special guest to the crowd. Our specific group was comprised of
the parents of the students of the school. They were to dance with large stalks
of sugarcane. I don’t know how many times I got hit in the face by the long
leaves.
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| Danzantes |
My position was up front with my friend and 3 teachers of
the school. I asked the women how I was supposed to dance. I had accepted the invitation
to be in the parade and at the last minute I realized I had no idea what I was supposed
to do. The instructions given to me were simple, dance the way the music makes
you feel. Clearly the Gringo heard the music differently than the rest of the group.
There was a lot of arm flailing and shuffling to the beat from this guy.
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Throughout the parade my friend would dart around yelling to
the crowds and leaving me alone out-front. At times it appeared like a Gringo
was leading the high school in the parade. In those moments I would yell to the
crowd “Viva Corpus Christi” to which the crowd responded “Viva!” It felt odd
yelling, “Long live the corpse of Christ” but when in Pujilí, do as they
Pujilense do...
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| Can you spot the Gringo? |
Dancing under the strong equatorial sun for more than 2
hours really took its toll on us. We were exhausted. At the terminus of the
parade we congratulated one another and made our way back to the where my friends
were watching the ongoing parade. I finally was able to sit down my and was
just about to eat lunch when friend informed me that the dance team from his
high school would be passing by and we should support them by parading with
them past our group of friends.
Sure, why not?
Once I saw how happy my friend was to start the parade over
again I realized what I had gotten myself into. Our small gesture of support
turned into another 2 hours of dancing. People immediately recognized the
indigenously-clad Gringo and no doubt wondered why he was taking a second lap. This
time the dance was a bit different. Every 10 minutes we had to stop and pick
people out of the crowd to dance with. This was always awkward and I tried to
only pick women who would be eligible for AARP.
At the end of the second lap I was beyond exhausted. We once
again returned to our friends who were watching the last bit of the parade.
Once the parade ended we all went indoors for dinner. A bowl of chicken soup
and fried pork awaited us. Fritada has never tasted so good.
Over dinner my friend and I were able to reflect on the day
and entertained our friends with our tales. As we spoke I realized that this is
what integration feels like. Even though I didn't even live there I felt a part
of the community and a part of the family.
It is hard to believe that this was my second Corpus Christi
and I won’t be here for the next one. I don’t know where the time has gone. I
suppose as long as it is spent making memories like this it really doesn't
matter.
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