If colours could talk

Life in midst of chaos

The broom, swooshing against the floor, collecting dust, with intermittent clunking bellowing against the pews emanates more prominently than the constant hum of faint conversations. There is a smell of fresh wood varnish in the air. The church glistens in gold, creating a warm atmosphere in the late afternoon sun. A woman, a Oaxacan woman, kneels in front of the statue of Mother Mary with a depiction of baby Jesus, (peace be upon them both). She is perhaps asking for what everyone dreams of. Of forgiveness, of peace, of tranquillity and riddance from debt. The aspirations of man are not so different. Maybe it's the need for a greater power that defines our religiosity. Some pray with the aid of depiction; others don't rely on them.

If colours could talk, in Oaxaca, they would scream. Overpowering all senses, of sight, of smell, of the tumultuous cacophony of sounds. The periodic rumble of V8 engines from trucks passing the narrow alley-like streets, concrete block-paved, uneven to walk on, even dangerous to stand on if unaware of one’s surroundings. The scene could be a part of a Hollywood blockbuster.

Being in Mexico to me is getting a sudden burst of energy. My perceptions of the place, formed around what a certain politician repeats of its people, have shattered. It is the opposite. It is here that I find the welcoming faces of its inhabitants. I find women at the forefront of trade, of a society that is perhaps struggling economically and with poverty, but their hearts richer in faith, with tradition and roots that go far beyond most of today’s civilisations. A place where 16 different indigenous languages are spoken, painting a picture of the resilience and diversity of its inhabitants.

However, life is still harsh, and religion compensates. Offering a reliance on hope, from fear of poverty, loss of trade, finding love and remembering ancestors, Oaxacans, and perhaps to a greater extent Mexicans, in general, seem to embrace what understanding they can muster. Churches and indigenous beliefs live side by side. Murals depicting skulls, flowers, hummingbirds and faces of indigenous culture remind one of the strong connection to their roots. Inside the churches, centred around the depictions of Christ and Mother Mary (peace be upon them both), are representations of the saints and the noble. Perhaps this is the separation from the common man, of church and its authority.

Most prominent is Santo Domingo de Guzmán, the 15th-century church that has seen its share of turmoil. Over its history, it has been converted into a stable, a military warehouse and back to a church that stands tall today. No murals of indigenous culture are inside. Rather, the walls and ceilings are laden with 60,000 sheets of 24-carat gold leaves depicting saints and scenes. A sharp contrast to the poverty and struggle just outside. Where a diversity of colours dominate. From clothing being worn and being sold to the market stalls to businesses and to shops. The regular Oaxacan struggles, just as similar to any other from the developing world. A contrast between the rich in society and those struggling to make ends meet is obvious here, evidenced by the rundown buildings next to the modern clean lines of its neighbour. Volkswagen Beetles from a bygone era contrast with new models imported from all over the world. Market stalls are abundant. Marcado (market) is held daily, with some selling foods, other artisan items. Those who cannot afford a stall inside vend whatever they can on street corners. This is a place where families come together, to eat and perhaps reminisce.

The party atmosphere starts in the evening. Weddings are held in churches with the blessings of the indigenous culture. Led by women in most cases, their processions are impossible to miss. The colours of clothing, and oversized sculptures paraded bring the party to life. Music played by bands compete for attention, with regular processions up and down along the alleyways, the loud thumping of drums and music as ingrained as colour here. Celebrations are just an excuse away. From those living to those dead, all get a celebration, during which food is integral, the baking of bread an offering to the dead. Strangely, the culture in this part of the world is somewhat similar to the Indian subcontinent where Hindus celebrate Pitru Paksha, a 16 lunar day, by honouring their ancestors with food offerings. Perhaps the most striking connection is the use of marigolds that both use, whether on Hindu funeral pyres and sites or lining Oxacan graves.

Family ties run deep. The passage of generational businesses going through economic challenges is obvious. Oaxacans sustain a diversity of trades. A fifth-generation tin sculptor reminds me of the Tin Man, for it wouldn't have been beyond her ability to have made the original. Perhaps this was an ability that she was never recognised for. Andrea Agüero has faced her fair share of challenges, being a woman, she was denied entry into competitions, but she has worked with her father since the age of 12. Now 49, she is still going strong. Her workshop is also the place she calls home. With extended family in the background, she works at her table, striking the delicate tin to shape her next masterpiece. This is perhaps an example of how the tin makers and cotton weavers who continue to create hand-made products in Oaxaca have defied all odds. Of how generational roots have remained strong. Of how Indigenous culture has remained alive, or how colours are still woven into the fabric of a society that cherishes celebrations with food and music and art, for the living and for the dead.

If colours could talk, in Oaxaca, they would scream!