Men in Masks

Saturday morning dawned and I begrudgingly dragged myself from my bed, beset by an unpleasant mixture of head cold and hangover from the night before; a riotous affair involving prolific table dancing and the death of my camera, returned to me in the middle of a nightclub with the lens bent at un unseemly angle. Today was the day that I and my fellow teachers were to engage in the procession of the Parachicos, another piece in the convoluted jigsaw that constituted the Fiesta de Enero. My unsuitable awakening was driven by the advice of my Madre that we would not be able to get a costume unless we rose unsociably early. I was preempted at the door by a surprisingly chipper Martin, given that it was his 8th party day on the trot, and we shambolled down the road to my familys´store.

The rest of the gang arrived in dribs and drabs and within minutes we were standing in an Aladdins Cave of costumers; the same place room which I´d previously been rejected in my application for a Chunta costume. After trying on a range of elements of the Parachico outfit that we were required to wear to participate in the procession and reflecting with hilarity on the excessive diameter of my head, unsuitable for all but the largest hats, we dispersed with the intention of reconvening to dress at around 11.30; I went straight back to sleep.

Donning our costumes somewhat later than expected due to the tardiness of our group that was to become characteristic of the day, it became immediately apparent that the outfit, thick and heavy, would be uncomfortable worn as intended in the heat of the mid-day sun; a thick blanket, trousers and long sleeves, a gigantic hat that resembled a blonde afro and a heavy wood carved mask were all conducive to immediate and extensive perspiration. The mask, in particular, induced instantaneous pain as it was tightened into place, mashing my nose into an unnatural shape and pressed tight into my forehead by my giant hat. The other logistical issue was my field of vision, abysmal through the tiny apertures in the eyebrows.

Armed with "chin-chins", a metallic rattle, we blundered out into the street and attempted to locate the procession. Incubating my illness behind my mask and within my heavy, hot clothes I began to feel grumpy.

We eventually located the procession, a huge convoy of similarly dressed people dancing to the familiar sound of drums and whistle flutes. Still flailing around with a non-existent field of vision we plunged into the procession and lost each other almost instantaneously in a field of ornate masks, everyone indistinguishable from everyone else. I doggedly laboured forwards within the press of bodies, shaking my chin-chin, attempting to dance and pick out the words within the muffled cries that emanated from callers within the crowd as the relentless sun beat down upon our insulated shoulders, cursing my hangover, illness and willingness for participation. It was a strange, unsettling affair, the movement and dancing constricted by the costumes and the sounds repressed by the masks. I began to experience a strange feeling as I moved with the costumed and faceless multitudes, one that I heard echoed by the others after talking later with them. They described it as a spiritual feeling, a moment of acute awareness of the self. Within my costume, anonymous to the outside world, I felt safe and introverted in the knowledge that no-one knew who I was (the antithesis of the night of the chuntas) but I was surrounded by a great crowd of similar people, all isolated in the same way as me with no hope of connection with their external similarities and suppressed field of vision. I was alone, but felt overwhelmingly to be an intrinsic part of something much greater.

I continued on for a while, caught up in the feeling until the intolerable heat of the costume forced me to the roadside to lift my mask for a short while and see if I could identify any of my friends. While I was standing watching the tide of Parachicos passing by I noticed one particular participant shuffling forward, head moving side to side and noted, with a degree of perverse satisfaction and delayed inevitability, as they walked smartly into the back of a parked truck.

Incredibly, I managed to pick Abi out of the crowd from her shirt and we shuffled and shook our way to an undercover contraction in the street where a marimba band was serenading the passing Parachicos. The noise, heat and crush of bodies were too much, and it was with a degree of relief that we eventually emerged to a crossroad where the procession seemed to dissipate. We removed our masks and hats and, red faced, sat in the shade to take lunch and watch the world pass.

It was a wonderful spectacle. Strings of flags flutter ed overhead in the breeze framed by clear blue skies. Groups of parachicos strode past, shaking chin-chins and uttering muffled cries, caught up in some purpose beyond my comprehension. Groups of women and children in beautiful traditional dresses and stunning with their hair held back with headpieces showing their clear, dark skin flocked about the scene. Music drifted from bars and stages and mariachi groups resplendent in their matching suits wandered amongst the chaos. Everybody was clearly taking such pride in their involvement, looming fathers and their diminutive sons comically standing beside each other in identical costumes. The energy, commitment and natural dancing movement of the children was a sight to behold; an inspiration to apathetic English youth.

We eventually came upon the others, engaged in heavy drinking having abandoned their masks some time before and we proceeded to fritter the rest of the afternoon away in a haze of tequila, dancing and people watching. As Laura and I walked to a taco stand in the growing dusk still in costume, the rest of the group having fragmented to get changed, we received warm smiles and requests for photos; with our masks removed we were once again in the spotlight, but there was an overwhelming sense of respect from the Mexicans for our commitment to participating in their traditions.

Chiapa de Corzo

19th January 2009