HOW ABOUT EVERYTHING?
There it was, a sad procession of Mourners led by a crying widow, men carrying a heavy wooden coffin, and a band of Mariachis playing slow, somber melodies. This could have been just another Hispanic funeral. No different than Mexico, Nicaragua and perhaps also in some quarters of the United States.
But this was Guatemala.
The funeral was as different as almost everything else in this colorful, enchanting but at the same time also dispiriting little Latin American country.
We just happened to be there at the right time. It was a hot, dry, early afternoon hour. The air stood still as we were sweating our way across the backcountry. We stopped in Sacapulas for a late lunch as there was no other place around. Few people stop at this small village on the Rio Chixoy and off the beaten track. Back in the bad old days of the 80s & 90s the entire valley was strictly off limits – a war zone pitching the ruling Junta against local Marxist guerilla forces. Besides the notorious history, there’s nothing unique about Sacapulas. An old crumbling Bridge, a small white Cathedral, a tiny square with a big Banyan tree in the middle, few back alleys, and that’s about it.
Lucita in the sky with diamonds
We were looking for a quick bite as we heard the faint distant sound of a brass band. Curious we went over to see who was playing in the middle of the holly siesta. When we cleared the corner, we faced gazing at the most colorful procession ever to attend a funeral march. Forget black. Forget any other dominant color. It was “Lucy in the Skies with Diamonds” – the Telenovela version!
The indigenous Indian tribes of the area are known to wear colors – each one with its unique pigment combinations and patterns. But this? This was on a whole different scale.
Completing the odd package was a former US Yellow School bus turned service transport. In Guatemala they call it “Chicken Bus” and their drivers are known to be semi-suicidal. I have no idea if the guy in the casket was one of them. Nor did it matter much.
Reexamining the picture I took years later, the grievers’ faces portray a clear impression of anguish and sadness. And yet, the bright, almost psychedelic splash of colors, coats the whole scene with almost festive qualities.
Is this due to my own cultural bias? Could be.
I’m almost sure that this simplistic explanation is just part of the story.
Have you got an idea?