Young Boy Transformed into Carnival Bride in Mexico

For the third time in nine years I am in Oaxaca, Mexico for the Carnival Workshop taught by my friend Mari Seder and her colleague Humberto Batista.  We are here to explore painting and photography and to enjoy the unique Carnival celebrations in this part of Mexico.

Last Tuesday, Feb. 28, we traveled to the village of San Martine de Tilcajete where the carnival celebrations include a parade led by a mock bride and groom (both men) who lead a noisy and ribald crowd through the village followed by “Devils” and costumed celebrants and a brass band.

Usually the man who is dressed as the bride—a great honor—is in his 30’s and plays the role comically.  I’m told it began as an annual parody by the peasants of the richer classes and their behavior.  The parade stops at the Mayor’s house and involves lots of drinking and sharing of local gossip in rhymed couplets. But this year the role of the bride was taken by a young boy of 13, Zutiel Jimenez Ortega, who had caught the bouquet thrown by last year’s bride.

 

For the first time I was at the home  in the primitive cluster of stucco huts that make up his family compound, along with about 20 other photographers, early enough to see the boy prepared by his family members for the transformation into this all-important Carnival role. 

Clearly he was nervous, scared, and reluctant to put on the garb of the bride.  I can’t remember ever before crying while photographing a story, but seeing him/her sitting on a bed surrounded by dolls and toys, all alone in this new persona, brought me to tears. 

His  mother (in the turquoise top) came into the room to advise him and she proudly showed the photographers outside a photograph of the boy, four years before, (on the left) when he was only 8 and was one of the grease-covered "devils" who tagged along in the parade. 

  

But as the morning progressed, after encouragement from family and friends, the Carnival bride rose to the occasion and took her part at the head of the parade with great élan.

The "mock wedding" is a tradition in many countries at Carnival, when roles are reversed and cross-dressing is encouraged.  (Witness the two six-foot-tall cross-dressers below, with friends.)  The bride role played by the boy here is not about homosexuality, but it is more poignant than usual, it seemed to me, because the person playing the starring role was at a threshold, considering with mixed feelings, the life that lay ahead of him as an adult.

Carnival and Christ in Puebla, Mexico

( please click on the photos to enlarge)



I recently wrote about the “Fat Tuesday” celebrations in the village of San Martin Tilcajete outside of Oaxaca, featuring a “faux” wedding, devils, noise, dancing, gossip, ribald behavior and lots of pre-Lenten craziness.

After eight days in Oaxaca, we (students and teacher of our art course sponsored by the Worcester Art Museum) went on to Puebla, a larger city 80 miles southeast of Mexico City which boasts ornate colonial architecture featuring tiles and beaux-arts rococo plasterwork and the famous Talavera pottery.

Here in Puebla, carnival celebrations were in full swing and on Sunday Feb. 2 , as we prowled the large flea market and antique area, we ran into a parade featuring local beauties in white dresses dancing with men dressed as devils, Indians and Spaniards. Their costumes trumpeted the names of their neighborhoods on their cloaks. The costumes were less gruesome than in Oaxaca and the devils far less threatening, but the bystanders were having just as much fun.

That night, as we went to the Zocalo of Puebla, which has been named a UNESCO World Heritage Site, the large plaza was chock full of costumed dancers and music, fountains spurting and children delighted with the carnival activities, balloons and ice cream treats. Clearly families had dressed up the children and driven in from outlying areas, and as we enjoyed margaritas at a sidewalk restaurant, we felt privileged to be included in the Lenten hilarity. Among the mask for sale was a spooky Michael Jackson face.

I’m also including a photo I took from our balcony at the Hotel Colonial of a grandmother and her granddaughter on a bench below. At first I thought she had a baby beside her, but then I saw that it was the family’s Christ Child doll, that she had brought out for a stroll—or to be blessed in church. I’ve learned that the Christ Child doll lies down on the family altar at Christmas but is then put in a sitting position on Candlemas (Feb. 2) and he needs a new set of clothes at that time. The Christ Child in his new clothes needs to be taken to church to be blessed before the beginning of Lent, but this grandmother seems to have overlooked the deadline—or perhaps there’s a dispensation on Sundays?

In Mexico, the symbols of the Catholic religion are everywhere, and while leaving the Zocalo that day I snapped a photo of a woman sitting in a store that sells religious objects. She was almost hidden behind a life-size statue of a bleeding crucified Christ lying on the counter.

(My next post will be: Angels in the Architecture in Puebla, and under the volcano in Cholula.)