A major theme here in Chiapas is that of protecting and honoring traditional knowledge. This is a land forged by the revolution of the zapatistas, a movement that gave voice to a massivly oppressed population. The indigenous of Chiapas and Mexico continue to be persecuted as witnessed by the rage in Oaxaca where protesters are currently burning government buildings, or by the unpublicized massacres that are occuring in the jungle. BOrn out of these struggles are many organizations that are fighting to maintain traditional knowledge as well as create economic opportunites for the impoverished peoples of Chiapas. For example is OMIECH an organization directed at preserving indigenous knowledge related to medicine, including the practice of midwifery and use of herbal medicines. OMIECH has created an ample museum discussing the cosmovision behind Mayan healing techniques, as well as an herbal apothecary where you can purchase your cough syrups or tea blends for what ails you. Invested into this interest is a desire to retain this knowledge in the hands of the people who are born into it, i.e. the Mayan midwives. A term that is commonly used in the world of ethnobotanists, herbalists, and anthropologists is bio-piracy, described as the appropriation of biologically based knowledge by outsiders (read pirates) for their economic benefits, such as a pharmaceutical company prosepecting for new drugs. The fear is that these pirates will capitalize on these ventures without giving anything back to the communities ($$). While bio-piracy is a true threat of which I have genuine interest, no topic is ever cut-and-dry. Since arriving in San Cristobal I have attempted to make a conneciton at OMIECH to try to reveal local plants that can be used for very common disorders affecting pregnant women ( anemia, swelling, promoting labor) to be used by local women, only to have the door closed on me. Let it be known that my motives were well described with information provided on the organization that I am working with. My intellectual question is, ¿is there a point at which protecting knowledge be comes concealing it, contributing to a further loss of knowledge, or one that causes this knowledge to become theoretical rather than practiced because it is not shared? Is the desire to have a finacial reward for knowledge prohibiting its dissemination, and worse preventing its access to its very community? These are topics that I dwell on as I find myself religated to books to try to discern useful medicinal plants, rather than having the honor to learn from those who tightly hold onto this knowledge.
On another note, we welcome to the world this morning Octavio, born into the simple home of Angelica. THis birth was a reminder that the miracle of life transcends any economic situation, that the spark of life is perceivable in all corners, rich or poor. The act of this birth was also a deep reminder of the ecstasy of love...how the moment of birth is a sexual experience, brought on by love, propelled by the horomones of sexuality, how the child is birthed through orgasm, at which point that new little life enters into the world to be brought to the breast of its mother who calls out to her child "aye mi rey" (my king).
hugs and kisses, abrazos y besos
Monday, November 27, 2006
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Bienvenido al Mundo
In the mornings that I have spent in the workshop space at Luna Maya I have read on the white board the words "para cambiar como vivir, debemos cambiar como nacer" to change the way we live we must change the way we are born. These have been very poignant words as I have delved more deeply into the world of midwifery and birth here in San Cristobal. I have faced this issue by looking into the many facets of how we birth. One aspect is who we birth with. In the united states most women choose to give birth in a hospital environment, in case something goes wrong. The midwives here at Luna Maya and I have discussed this concept thoroughly. To choose a hospital just in case, is based on a general assumption that something will go wrong, that as women we do not have the capacity to birth. When we know, either consciously or not, that hospitals can offer c-sections and emergency care, it begins to chip away at our resolve to push our babies out into the world. The united states suffers from one of the highest rates of c-section in the western world. Those countries that have the lowest rate of c-section (nederlands and scandanavia) are those in which women are attended to primarily by midwives. So where does Mexico fit in this picture? Mexico suffers from the second highest rate of c-section world wide after Chile, between 40-70% depending on the hospital. To choose to give birth in a hospital is akin to signing a waiver allowing a physician to slice into your belly to bring your child into the world. Mexico, though, still relies on midwives in various rural and impoverished areas. This midwives are often refered to as "traditional" midwives who have received information passed down from elders in their communities. A prominent issue with traditional midwives is what i have deemed "el sindrome de estar en medio" or the sindrome of being in the middle. This is a complex of symptoms that I have seen played out all over mexico and developiong countries. To be put simply, when globalization or development influences a loss of traditional customs and knowledge in exchange for "newer and better" ideas often leaving entire populations in the middle. For example, urbanization: people give up their simple homes in rural areas to move to the city. They exchange good soil and access to water for a hovel in the city where water must be purchased in order to work for an industry and earn $$; another example is a woman that is brought up in a family that has left its traditional community in which she would have seen women birth babies and breasfeed, to be in a more modern community in which birth is not discussed. In the moment that she is faced with actual labor her level of fear is so great that she needs to be constantly coaxed back into her body, she has never seen a woman breastfeed and relies on a male doctor in a hospital who is not trained in lactation to attend her. To bring this discussion back to the tradtional midwives, many of them have been trained in western medical techniques such as the use of injections of Pitocin, a synthetic version of Oxytocin a hormone that is released during labor to promote contractions. It is now assumed that when a woman in labor goes to a traditional mayan midwife she will receive an injection, when an injection is not provided her skills are brought into question. With this reliance on modern medicines her knowledge of normal, unassisted birth declines. Not only is she left in the middle with a loss of her communities traditional knowlegde and a mis-managment/understanding of western medicine, but her patients are also left in this limbo, being hung between the worlds of tradition and medical science. Basically they are jodido, stuck in the middle with nothing!
This last thursday i was given the honor to be at my first birth here at Luna Maya. She was a fifteen year old mexican woman whose family had disowned her when she ran away from home to be with her boyfriend. They decided to get pregnant, coming to Luna Maya at the first signs of labor. Not only had she virtually had no prenatal care, she had no idea what to expect during birth. After three days of ¨practice contractions¨she returned to the clinic to truly birth. She was supported by a fabulous team of myself, cris the midwife, her spanish muslum assistant Sayida, and another apprentice jennifer. It took all four of us to support her through the birth, remind her to breath, and tell her that she could do it as she gazed out the window between contractions. The beauty of this birth was watching how a woman who has been given no training, and who has no understanding of birth or her body could actually bring her child into this world with the right support team. She labored for apporximately 12 hours and then pushed for one. She had no desire to connect with her baby, and didn´t talk to him after he was welcomed into the world by his midwifery team. It is beleived that a common cause of hemorrhage post birth is this lack of connection with one´s baby, a complication that occured and was easily handled in the clinic. Almost a week later the baby still doesn´t have a name, but is grow healthily here in San Cristobal. This young woman seemed to embody this sindrome de estar en medio, having been brought up in a community that has lost the ability to share the womanly arts of birthing and breastfeeding, having no experience or knowledge, leaving her dangling in the middle. Her birth was not that of an empowered woman wanting to take back birth, nor was it of an indigenous woman who was confident in her body´s abilities. All that said, it is still a miracle to watch a new life take its first breath...Bienvenido bebe!
This last thursday i was given the honor to be at my first birth here at Luna Maya. She was a fifteen year old mexican woman whose family had disowned her when she ran away from home to be with her boyfriend. They decided to get pregnant, coming to Luna Maya at the first signs of labor. Not only had she virtually had no prenatal care, she had no idea what to expect during birth. After three days of ¨practice contractions¨she returned to the clinic to truly birth. She was supported by a fabulous team of myself, cris the midwife, her spanish muslum assistant Sayida, and another apprentice jennifer. It took all four of us to support her through the birth, remind her to breath, and tell her that she could do it as she gazed out the window between contractions. The beauty of this birth was watching how a woman who has been given no training, and who has no understanding of birth or her body could actually bring her child into this world with the right support team. She labored for apporximately 12 hours and then pushed for one. She had no desire to connect with her baby, and didn´t talk to him after he was welcomed into the world by his midwifery team. It is beleived that a common cause of hemorrhage post birth is this lack of connection with one´s baby, a complication that occured and was easily handled in the clinic. Almost a week later the baby still doesn´t have a name, but is grow healthily here in San Cristobal. This young woman seemed to embody this sindrome de estar en medio, having been brought up in a community that has lost the ability to share the womanly arts of birthing and breastfeeding, having no experience or knowledge, leaving her dangling in the middle. Her birth was not that of an empowered woman wanting to take back birth, nor was it of an indigenous woman who was confident in her body´s abilities. All that said, it is still a miracle to watch a new life take its first breath...Bienvenido bebe!
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Dia de los muertos
El dia de los muertos...Noche de Muertos...Day of the Dead
In Mexico the day of the dead is a widely celebrated holiday beginning on November first through the second. It is reknowned for being celebrated the most diligently in the state of Michoacan by the purepecha indigenous women living around the lake of Pazcuaro. Because the celebrations begin in the late evening and continue until early the next morning, I packed my bags up, checked out of the hostel in Morelia and set out to Pazcuaro with a fellow traveler to spend the entire night watching the festivities. At the last moment we chose the touristy route for celebrating the day of the dead, heading out to Pazcuaro to visit the artesan market that was full with delicious local candies, cookies, and sweets, including a variety of sugary skulls and skeletons used to decorate grave sites, and elaborate Catrinas, painted female skeleton statues. After spending hours reveiwing the local handicrafts we began an hour walk down to the dock in Pazcuaro where we boarded a lancha (long motor boat) to the island of Janitzio. The energy at the dock was very festive, with live Mexican brass bands playing, chattering spanish, and excited children. I noted that as part of the "touristy route" most people visiting the island were Mexican, not foreigners. The boat ride was about 40 minutes, strangely, on a lake to an island that I had never seen by day light. Once on the island the mood differed, it was a bit more subtle, yet not solemn. No brass bands playing, yet music still chimed out amidst the shouts of Purpecha women selling chili rellenos, fried fish, and quesadillas. The island itself is a small hill, born out of the water, covered from top to bottom in small concrete homes. Staircases climb in a circular labyrinth culminating at a large statue of Morelos, the patorn of Michoacan and hero of Mexican independance. Half way up the island hill was the cemetary, the panteon, which we had all come to visit. It is on the evening of the day of the dead when Purepecha women sit vigil at the graves of their loved ones through the entire night. They come to the graves, arms full with marigolds, flor de terciopelo, fresh fruits, breads (pan de muerto), and sweets to pacify the souls of the dead. It is beleived in Mexico, as it is in many cultures around the world, that this day is when the veils between the worlds of the living and dead are thin, so that the dead may travel across into the world of the living. The bright yellow marigolds that harken visions of pumpkins, ripe fruit, and autumn moments in the united states, are used to guide the dead to their grave sites where their families await them, their scent calling the spirits. The goodies, such as their favorite beer and tobacco, and pan de muerto are left as offerings to the espiritus. Beginning at around midnight families begin their procession down to the graveyard, setting up their alters, lighting candles, and bundling themselves up in their rebozos to hold their vigil until the morning. It is a quite ceremony, no singing, little talking, mostly held by the grandmothers (abuelas), mothers, and young women of the community. We held vigil in the cemetery with these women, hiking to the top of the hill and back to the twinkiling white candles of the cemetery, constantly shocked by the richness of color and tradition that met us in the cemetery. As light began to fill the sky and bath the small island, I saw it for the first time through the light of day. I realized that I had never spent a night in a cemetary, and that I had celebrated the day of the dead as these Purepecha women had for generations: watching the morning light dance over the graves of their beloved ones.
A few thoughts of mine on the Day of the Dead in Michoacan:
Their reverance of the dead and the transitions of life are a powerful lesson for a western minded women such as myself and many others who have never been taught to speak of death. An english woman that I met said that she was fascinated by the ritual, yet found it really creepy. When we discussed it more it was due to this fear of death with which we are enculcated from a young age.
I thought of the dedication of the familial unit in Mexico. How family is so important that even the dead are honored and revered. Secondly, that this reverence isnt a passing event, but an annual ritual shared with all of its members. Specifically for women, it is their role to light the candle of rememberance and ensure that it reamins burning through the generations of their families.
The use of plants in ritual is a potent reminder of the tranistions of life and death through the change of the seasons. The marigolds are full with life at this time of the year, equally with many foods such as pumpkins and apples, whereas many other foods begin to ferment and die as the season changes into winter. They are a tangible reminder of the fruitfullness of summer and of what is to come for winter.
Thanks for reading! Sleep well knowing the dead have been pacified with tequila and sugary skulls for yet another year!!
In Mexico the day of the dead is a widely celebrated holiday beginning on November first through the second. It is reknowned for being celebrated the most diligently in the state of Michoacan by the purepecha indigenous women living around the lake of Pazcuaro. Because the celebrations begin in the late evening and continue until early the next morning, I packed my bags up, checked out of the hostel in Morelia and set out to Pazcuaro with a fellow traveler to spend the entire night watching the festivities. At the last moment we chose the touristy route for celebrating the day of the dead, heading out to Pazcuaro to visit the artesan market that was full with delicious local candies, cookies, and sweets, including a variety of sugary skulls and skeletons used to decorate grave sites, and elaborate Catrinas, painted female skeleton statues. After spending hours reveiwing the local handicrafts we began an hour walk down to the dock in Pazcuaro where we boarded a lancha (long motor boat) to the island of Janitzio. The energy at the dock was very festive, with live Mexican brass bands playing, chattering spanish, and excited children. I noted that as part of the "touristy route" most people visiting the island were Mexican, not foreigners. The boat ride was about 40 minutes, strangely, on a lake to an island that I had never seen by day light. Once on the island the mood differed, it was a bit more subtle, yet not solemn. No brass bands playing, yet music still chimed out amidst the shouts of Purpecha women selling chili rellenos, fried fish, and quesadillas. The island itself is a small hill, born out of the water, covered from top to bottom in small concrete homes. Staircases climb in a circular labyrinth culminating at a large statue of Morelos, the patorn of Michoacan and hero of Mexican independance. Half way up the island hill was the cemetary, the panteon, which we had all come to visit. It is on the evening of the day of the dead when Purepecha women sit vigil at the graves of their loved ones through the entire night. They come to the graves, arms full with marigolds, flor de terciopelo, fresh fruits, breads (pan de muerto), and sweets to pacify the souls of the dead. It is beleived in Mexico, as it is in many cultures around the world, that this day is when the veils between the worlds of the living and dead are thin, so that the dead may travel across into the world of the living. The bright yellow marigolds that harken visions of pumpkins, ripe fruit, and autumn moments in the united states, are used to guide the dead to their grave sites where their families await them, their scent calling the spirits. The goodies, such as their favorite beer and tobacco, and pan de muerto are left as offerings to the espiritus. Beginning at around midnight families begin their procession down to the graveyard, setting up their alters, lighting candles, and bundling themselves up in their rebozos to hold their vigil until the morning. It is a quite ceremony, no singing, little talking, mostly held by the grandmothers (abuelas), mothers, and young women of the community. We held vigil in the cemetery with these women, hiking to the top of the hill and back to the twinkiling white candles of the cemetery, constantly shocked by the richness of color and tradition that met us in the cemetery. As light began to fill the sky and bath the small island, I saw it for the first time through the light of day. I realized that I had never spent a night in a cemetary, and that I had celebrated the day of the dead as these Purepecha women had for generations: watching the morning light dance over the graves of their beloved ones.
A few thoughts of mine on the Day of the Dead in Michoacan:
Their reverance of the dead and the transitions of life are a powerful lesson for a western minded women such as myself and many others who have never been taught to speak of death. An english woman that I met said that she was fascinated by the ritual, yet found it really creepy. When we discussed it more it was due to this fear of death with which we are enculcated from a young age.
I thought of the dedication of the familial unit in Mexico. How family is so important that even the dead are honored and revered. Secondly, that this reverence isnt a passing event, but an annual ritual shared with all of its members. Specifically for women, it is their role to light the candle of rememberance and ensure that it reamins burning through the generations of their families.
The use of plants in ritual is a potent reminder of the tranistions of life and death through the change of the seasons. The marigolds are full with life at this time of the year, equally with many foods such as pumpkins and apples, whereas many other foods begin to ferment and die as the season changes into winter. They are a tangible reminder of the fruitfullness of summer and of what is to come for winter.
Thanks for reading! Sleep well knowing the dead have been pacified with tequila and sugary skulls for yet another year!!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)