Day of the Dead in Teotitlan

I step into a living area saturated with chocolate aroma. It feels inopportune but Ester has ushered me in so she can finish detailing the custom-made wool rug I ordered from her two days earlier at the market. Many of her beautifully crafted rugs are scattered on the floor in a collage of shapes, patterns and colors. Church bells ringing signal the arrival of the dead on this day. It is an important tradition in Teotitlan del Valle, Oaxaca, but she still invites me to sit down, as she is busy pouring the chocolate into cups.

Ester’s altar is the most vivid I have seen of many, having lived in Mexico nearly my whole life. Hers is very different to the purely decorative, stylized setups of my urban world. All at once the beliefs I have known as folklore come to life with real significance. There are warm tamales, steaming red enchiladas, tlayudas with the freshest of ingredients, coca cola in glass bottles covered in condensation, and the richly dense hot chocolate I have now been offered.

The choir of the bells reaches a higher note and I feel anticipation. Without a trace of lament, Ester tells me her father passed earlier in the year, joining his late wife. Today is special because her parents are making their first journey back together. The pack of cigarettes on the altar is to welcome Ester’s father. The sugary breads are a special treat for her mother. I see them in a grainy photograph at one end of the altar as Ester is now illuminating their way home by lighting a splendor of candles.

She removes one of the dishes, replacing it with a fresh one straight from the stove. I’m curious, so I ask why. She explains that scent guides the dead home, so meals that are piping hot ease the way. It appears obvious and I sense my question was a little absurd but she is kind so she has offered a real explanation. Everything is ready and she turns to me asking about my preference of fringe on my rug. I want the fringe and she takes off to the loom outside, while I sit finishing my chocolate.

The bells descend to a faint cry until they fully halt, indicating that for the next few hours the dead will visit among the living. Ester returns with my rug, accompanied by her young boys who were playing outside. Her work is perfect. I pay, thanking her for her intricate and speedy work. She thanks me for my business and we say goodbye, as the children wave enthusiastically. I walk away in debt for the intimate glimpse of her traditions.