The tradition of Posadas has a long history in Mexico, originating with the Spanish who conquered the country in the 1500’s with the intention of converting the local Indian population to Christianity, by any means necessary. “Posada” means “dwelling” in Spanish, and re-enacts the journey made by Mary and Joseph from Nazareth to Bethlehem in search of a place for Jesus to be born.  The “novenario”lasts nine days (corresponding to Mary’s nine months of pregnancy) and starts on December 16, ending at Midnight mass on December 24.  As with many Hispanic fiestas, the rich symbolism draws on both Catholic and pre-Colombian indigenous traditions.

Posadas take place on the streets of Oaxaca nightly during this period, and we were excited to be invited to one that was sponsored by the owners of the restaurant across the street from our apartment. An elaborate nativity scene had been set up on the street in front of the restaurant, guarded at night by seven or eight “Policia Vial” armed with AK-47s.

A typical posada is a procession led by children or young adults dressed as Mary and Joseph, mounted either on horses, donkeys or in an open pickup. These can be simple affairs or full-blown floats with neon lights flashing, and little girls dressed as angels waving beatifically to the crowd. Three homes are chosen as stops along the way, and prayers are sung to ask for shelter, as in the traditional Nativity story. The families inside  the first two houses respond by saying that there is no room. Finally, at the third home they are welcomed inside and  traditional foods and drink are provided to everyone- Tamales,Posole and Menudo.  At the end of the evening, sometime near midnight, Seven pointed star Pinatas ( representing the seven deadly sins)  are smashed by the children- – and God’s sweetness , in the form of candy, rains down on the innocent children.

On Christmas Eve we rushed back from the Zocalo ( the town square), where we had all been consuming a fair share of Margaritas and Mojitos, to make sure we arrived by 8pm when the festivities were to begin.  A band was setting up the loudspeakers, the restaurant was getting the huge pots of food ready and chairs were set up around the Nativity scene.  Children were sitting on the ground.  An old woman with a wizened brown face was seated in a wheelchair with a microphone in her hand, leading the singing of “Go Tell it on the Mountain” in Spanish, and the crowd joined in enthusiastically.  A second, younger woman, dressed conservatively in a white blouse and modest skirt, took the microphone and proceeded to exhort the children.  “Christmas is not the day that Santa Claus comes, No, No.  It is the day our savior was born. Santa Claus is not Christmas.”  Prayers went on for another twenty minutes, led by a serious -looking man standing next to her.  He was a bit older, with a stern,concentrated expression, never looking up from his prayer book. He was undeterred by the fact that the microphone crackled and then went dead.  This was for me a much appreciated heavenly intervention, since the microphone was much too loud and the prayers droned on too long.

 

Where were the horses, the procession, the dancing and craziness that I’ve come to expect from these types of ceremonies?  Obviously this was not going to be happen. Plates of food  were passed around, first to the children and then the adults.  I decided to go up to my room to sleep and not wait for the breaking of the piñata and the dancing.

The next night was our own Christmas fiesta  on the rooftop of our apartment complex with fourteen of Richard and Esthers friends from Vancouver,New Zealand and Germany who had come to Oaxaca to celebrate their 35th anniversary with them.  The meal was a group effort with Chanukah latkes(made by me), Stuffed Chile Poblanos (Esther),Roast Chickens from the mercado, roasted veggies and a delicious chocolate cake from the bakery (courtesy of Devorah and Franco).

Ingrid and Devorah had the brilliant idea of having a gift exchange .  But this was no ordinary gift exchange- this one had elaborate rules and regulations.  We were all given numbers and picked the gifts which were displayed in order of our number. The twist was that each consecutive person could choose either to “steal’ the gift chosen by the previous person, or choose a new one. Immediately I rebelled- I did not like this idea and I couldn’t concentrate on all the do’s and don’t of this “ritual”.  Ingrid kept on saying” Don’t worry, this will be fun!”, and Devorah was nodding furiously trying to convince us, each time a new “rule” was explained. 

My head was getting dizzy.  This was fun?!  Okay. Be a good sport and just accept. I was number 3 and when my turn came I carefully  and anxiously opened my gift box wrapped in tin foil, and to my dismay, inside was a black Rubik’s cube.  What?  Now I was really grumpy.  Who would buy such a weird gift?  Apparently others felt differently, and as the game proceeded it was stolen from me  almost immediately, while I got to “steal” a cute hand painted wooden cat. The group dynamic became more and more animated as the popular gifts ( the Rubik’s cube; a Day of the Dead doll, Catarina, with articulated body; Day of the Dead pink scull candle; and Day of the Dead Tin Musician figure) were eagerly traded back and forth.  Esther was the loudest, most dramatic,  and kept us all wishing it would move along because she took forever to choose her gift -which was promptly stolen in the next turn by Paul.  At this point we were all yelling, laughing, guarding our gifts from sight lest anyone try to steal them. (Unless of course you didn’t want it, then you held it out in full display). Back and forth it went- gifts being “robbed” and “stolen” at a rapid pace and me wondering when it would all finally end.  I DID NOT want anyone taking my little cat- and I DID NOT WANT any of the Rubrik cubes or the mug with marshmallows .  (Which was apparently was safe since Caroline was a marshmallow fanatic and she was the owner of that particular gift)

I must admit things got a little of of hand with the cajoling,grabbing, and hiding- prompting one  Canadian guest to complain to the apartment manager the next day “I didn’t know Canadians could act like that!”

In today’s world there is no room for cultures to collide. The Mexican people have been so warm and welcoming to us. I pray for more understanding and inclusiveness in the New Year.

Prospero Ano  y Felicidad a todos!