Observaciones Sobre Guadalajara No. 3

Since the concept was first introduced to me in high school Spanish class, the Mexican traditions surrounding the Posada have remained somewhat mysterious to me. Vague assertions were made about candlelight processions, piñatas, and feasts in the evenings leading up to Christmas. But in all of my superficial inquiries, no one has ever explained to me exactly how a Posada works. Now that I was to be living in México, I hoped to be invited to take part in a neighborhood Posada so that I could see what it is all about.

Having just moved into our neighborhood, I knew I’d have to ingratiate myself upon my neighbors quickly to establish sufficient rapport in time to be invited into their homes by December 16th, which is when I was told the nightly Posadas begin. Eagerly, I began introducing myself around. At the bakery a few doors down I steered a friendly conversation about sweet breads to Christmas plans. “So, will you be having a Posada this year?”
“Yes, of course,” she said. “Mine will be on Tuesday.”
I stood a few moments, waiting for her to do the only polite thing. No offer came. “So tell me, what time do the Posadas usually start?” I shamelessly encouraged.
“Oh, they usually come around 8:00.” She handed me my change, smiling.
I couldn’t stall any longer; I took my change and my rolls and left, weighed down by my status as a stranger.

Subsequent conversations with my neighbors Pepe, who runs a lunch stall outside his house, and Jesus Lara across the street, were equally fruitless. The morning of 16th, in quiet desperation, I threw myself upon poor Irena, the tiny old woman who owns my favorite dry goods store. As long as I kept thinking up items I needed, then she was obligated to answer all my questions. “Do people have to be invited explicitly? Does everyone just know where to show up and when? What does the host offer to the guests? How long does a Posada last?” Overwhelmed, Irena finally suggested that I seek out Doña Maria who apparently serves as a kind of coordinator for the Posadas that occur in our neighborhood. But Irena’s advise that I ask around door-to-door until I found Doña Maria, seemed to take my curiosity a step too far.

And so, around 8:00 in the evening, I settled into the front room of our house to see if I could learn anything by watching activity on the street. Across the way and a few houses down, I noticed groups of children began to gather around a non-descript door. As more children arrived, they grew rowdier and louder. The door opened, a woman stepped out and told them all to be quiet, to line up against the wall and be patient. Several minutes later she emerged again, carrying a platform that had statuettes of Mary, Joseph, and the Baby Jesus. She asked which of the children would like to carry it. The kids snapped to attention and pleaded to be given the honor of carrying the statues. Then, they started singing Christmas carols as the woman lead them off down the street, around the corner, and out of sight.
Each following night it was the same – around 8:00 children gathered beneath glowing Christmas lanterns at the same door, the woman that I decided must be Doña Maria emerged to lead them off toward that evening’s Posada. Sometimes a few parents of the kids would accompany them. I watched from inside the house, too curious to miss the ritual, too embarrassed to trundle along after them for the main event.

It wasn’t until Christmas Eve, the culminating night of the Posadas, that I was given a straightforward explanation of what happened after that procession turned the corner. We were invited to have Christmas Eve dinner with the family of Noah’s co-worker, Monica. Over spicy shrimp soup and brandy, I finally got definitive answers to my questions. Posadas are primarily attended by children, sometimes with their parents. The holy family statues are carried to the door of the host of the Posada (arrangements are made well in advance to determine who will host the Posadas each night) and the children begin singing a carol asking for shelter for the night. From the other side of the door, the host’s family sings back to the procession, until they open the door and allow the group in. Everyone sings a rosary, then more carols, then another few rosaries. Atole (a thick drink made with corn flour) or Christmas punch is often served with tamales or pozole (a hominy stew). Wrapped balls of candies are given out. The kids traditionally break open a piñata representing the Star of Bethlehem. A final rosary is said, the children leave for home, and the statues remain with the host for night.

“Where there any Posadas in your neighborhood?” Monica asked me.
“Oh yes, every night,” I replied.
“And you didn’t want to go?”
“Maybe next year.”

  

Posted by Megan Smith at December 29, 2005 05:10 PM