22 Julio 2011

Today was a local celebration of the cleaning of the canales. As the water system is such an essential life source, it is celebrated yearly through a community voluntary cleaning. I would consider it a beautiful tradition, if everyone in site wasn’t stupid drunk.

There was a morning parade to begin the festivities. Different community groups competed in which yours truly was featured. I bounced around with a shovel at the head of my family’s group in some sort of an attempt to duplicate their dance style. We won third place and a bundle of sodas.

It was then that I caught wind of a rumor that I am Don Juan’s daughter from a relationship he had before he met Doña Juana. Naturally, Don Juan and I find this hilarious, and Doña Juana, not so much. Funny how everyone seems to know me now, but they still haven’t quite figured out what I am doing here.

The second part of the tradition is drinking like maniacs, and then hiking up to the spout of our mother canal, cleaning it, and making an offering. I intended with all my heart to make the hour and a half hike, but failed miserably. As I had been a featured dancer every little old woman with a bottle of chicha and every gentleman with gazillion proof alcohol insisted I take a drink with them. Saying, “no” would have been a huge disrespect, so I sipped away and tossed many a glass over my shoulder. I was only feeling mildly tipsy when it was becoming time to start the hike, but by then the men were well past tipsy. As the touchy-feelyness increased and my host dad had to continually save me from uncomfortable situations, I excused myself and headed back to the house to avoid the ridiculousness.

The rest of the day I worked on numbers for the greenhouse project. As night fell Roxana came in the room and begged me to go with her to find her parents in the drunken mass of people who had returned from the offering site. I can’t say no to the girl, so I wrapped myself in blankets, and off we went. Don Juan y Juana were tired from the hike and easier to pull home than we expected. But, Elvis was still missing since midday. Round two, once Roxana put her parents to bed we headed to get Elvis from the group of kids playing soccer in the plaza. Ready for a fight, I took a wide stance and hollered, “Elvis, it is time, love.” And without the slightest argument he followed me back to Roxana. I think he knew hot chocolate and strawberries would be waiting for him in my room… and they were.

I have written about the drunkenness before. I have written about how sad it is that the children have to take care of their parents. How money that could go to bread, fruit, and vegetables gets spent on rubbing alcohol for shots and beer. I couldn’t believe how much of our barely harvest went straight into the chicha brew.
Today, I reached a different understanding. As a daughter figure, and loving Juan y Juana, I am fearful to leave them drunk wondering the streets. What if they fall? So, it forces me into the community of drunks that scare the crap out of me. No wonder Roxana doesn’t want to go alone. She hates it as much as I do and every other child in the community.

In my opinion, what is the best way to fight this? Some say anti-alcholism campaigns, but it is such a huge part of the local tradition, I don’t see that working. Personally, I think they drink because they are bored. Their life is habitual, and they want to shake it up and feel something. So, what is my solution to the alcoholism? Art. If they had another way to express themselves, feel, enjoy themselves without the additional need of alcohol, perhaps they wouldn’t drink so much. My little atfterschool program is based on games and art, but I don’t think it will quite be enough to drown out this heavy cultural alcoholism. But, perhaps it is a beginning baby step.