I, Rigoberta Menchu Read online

  That’s when my father met my mother and they got married. They went through very difficult times together. They met in the Altiplano since my mother was from a very poor family too. Her parents were very poor and used to travel around looking for work. They were hardly ever at home in the Altiplano.

  That’s how they came to settle up in the mountains. There was no town there. There was no-one. They founded a village up there. My village has a long history–a long and painful history. The land up there belonged to the government and you had to get permission to settle there. When you’d got permission, you had to pay a fee so that you could clear the land and then build your house. Through all my parents’ efforts in the fincas, they managed to get enough money together to pay the fee, and they cleared the land. Of course, it’s not very easy to make things grow on land that’s just been cleared. You don’t get a good yield for at least eight or nine years. So my parents cultivated the land and eight years later, it started to produce. We were growing up during this period. I had five older brothers and sisters. I saw my two eldest brothers die from lack of food when we were down in the fincas. Most Indian families suffer from malnutrition. Most of them don’t even reach fifteen years old. When children are growing and don’t get enough to eat, they’re often ill, and this…well…it complicates the situation.

  So my parents stayed there. My mother found the trees and our amazing mountains so beautiful. She said that they’d get lost sometimes because the mountains were so high and not a single ray of light fell through the plants. It’s very dense. Well, that’s where we grew up. We loved our land very, very much, even if we did have to walk for a long time to get to our nearest neighbour. But, little by little, my parents got more and more people to come up and cultivate the land so there would be more of us to ward off the animals that came down from the mountains to eat our maize when it was ripe or when the ears were still green. These animals would come and eat everything. My father said that one of them was what they call a racoon. Soon my mother started keeping hens and a few sheep because there was plenty of room but she didn’t have the time to look after them properly so they’d wander off to find other food and not come back. The mountain animals ate some of them, or they just got lost. So they lived there, but unfortunately it was many years before our land really produced anything and my parents still had to go down and work in the fincas. They told us what it was like when they first settled there, but when we children were growing up and could spend four or five months of the year there, we were very happy. There were big rivers rushing down the mountainside below our house. We didn’t actually have much time for playing, but even working was fun–clearing the undergrowth while my father cut down trees. Well, you could hear so many different types of birds singing and there were lots of snakes to frighten us as well. We were happy even though it was very cold because of the mountains. And it’s a damp sort of cold.

  I was born there. My mother already had five children, I think. Yes, I had five brothers and sisters and I’m the sixth. My mother said that she was working down on a finca until a month before I was born. She had just twenty days to go when she went up to the mountains, and she gave birth to me all on her own. My father wasn’t there because he had to work the month out on the finca.

  Most of what I remember is after I was five. We spent four months in our little house in the Altiplano and the rest of the year we had to go down to the coast, either in the Boca Costa* where there’s coffee picking and also weeding out the coffee plants, or further down the south coast where there’s cotton. That was the work we did mostly, and I went from when I was very little. A very few families owned the vast areas of land which produce these crops for sale abroad. These landowners are the lords of vast extensions of land, then. So we’d work in the fincas for eight months and in January we’d go back up to the Altiplano to sow our crops. Where we live in the mountains–that is, where the land isn’t fertile–you can barely grow maize and beans. The land isn’t fertile enough for anything else. But on the coast the land is rich and you can grow anything. After we’d sown our crops, we’d go down to the coast again until it was time to harvest them, and then we’d make the journey back again. But the maize would soon run out, and we’d be back down again to earn some money. From what my parents said, they lived this harsh life for many years and they were always poor.

  II

  BIRTH CEREMONIES

  ‘Whoever may ask where we are, tell them what you know of us and nothing more.’

  —Popol Vuh

  ‘Learn to protect yourselves, by keeping our secret.’

  —Popol Vuh

  In our community there is an elected representative, someone who is highly respected. He’s not a king but someone whom the community looks up to like a father. In our village, my father and mother were the representatives. Well, then the whole community becomes the children of the woman who’s elected. So, a mother, on her first day of pregnancy goes with her husband to tell these elected leaders that she’s going to have a child, because the child will not only belong to them but to the whole community, and must follow as far as he can our ancestors’ traditions. The leaders then pledge the support of the community and say: ‘We will help you, we will be the child’s second parents.’ They are known as abuelos, ‘grandparents’ or ‘forefathers’. The parents then ask the ‘grandparents’ to help them find the child some godparents, so that if he’s orphaned, he shouldn’t be tempted by any of the bad habits our people sometimes fall into. So the ‘grandparents’ and the parents choose the godparents together. It’s also the custom for the pregnant mother’s neighbours to visit her every day and take her little things, no matter how simple. They stay and talk to her, and she’ll tell them all her problems.

  Later, when she’s in her seventh month, the mother introduces her baby to the natural world, as our customs tell her to. She goes out in the fields or walks over the hills. She also has to show her baby the kind of life she leads, so that if she gets up at three in the morning, does her chores and tends the animals, she does it all the more so when she’s pregnant, conscious that the child is taking all this in. She talks to the child continuously from the first moment he’s in her stomach, telling him how hard his life will be. It’s as if the mother were a guide explaining things to a tourist. She’ll say, for instance; ‘You must never abuse nature and you must live your life as honestly as I do.’ As she works in the fields, she tells her child all the little things about her work. It’s a duty to her child that a mother must fulfil. And then, she also has to think of a way of hiding the baby’s birth from her other children.

  When her baby is born, the mother mustn’t have her other children round her. The people present should be the husband, the village leaders, and the couple’s parents. Three couples. The parents are often away in other places, so if they can’t be there, the husband’s father and the wife’s mother can perhaps make up one pair. If one of the village leaders can’t come, one of them should be there to make up a couple with one of the parents. If none of the parents can come, some aunts and uncles should come to represent the family on both sides, because the child is to be part of the community. The birth of a new member is very significant for the community, as it belongs to the community not just to the parents, and that’s why three couples (but not just anybody) must be there to receive it. They explain that this child is the fruit of communal love. If the village leader is not a midwife as well, another midwife is called (it might be a grandmother) to receive the child. Our customs don’t allow single women to see a birth. But it does happen in times of need. For instance, I was with my sister when she went into labour. Nobody else was at home. This was when we were being heavily persecuted. Well, I didn’t exactly see, but I was there when the baby was born.

  My mother was a midwife from when she was sixteen right up to her death at forty-three. She used to say that a woman hadn’t the strength to push the baby out when she’s lying down. So what she did with my sister was to hang a
rope from the roof and pull her up, because my brother wasn’t there to lift her up. My mother helped the baby out with my sister in that position. It’s a scandal if an Indian woman goes to hospital and gives birth there. None of our women would agree to that. Our ancestors would be shocked at many of the things which go on today. Family planning, for example. It’s an insult to our culture and a way of swindling the people, to get money out of them.

  This is part of the reserve that we’ve maintained to defend our customs and our culture. Indians have been very careful not to disclose any details of their communities, and the community does not allow them to talk about Indian things. I too must abide by this. This is because many religious people have come among us and drawn a false impression of the Indian world. We also find a ladino using Indian clothes very offensive. All this has meant that we keep a lot of things to ourselves and the community doesn’t like us telling its secrets. This applies to all our customs. When the Catholic Action* arrived, for instance, everyone started going to mass, and praying, but it’s not their only religion, not the only way they have of expressing themselves. Anyway, when a baby is born, he’s always baptized within the community before he’s taken to church. Our people have taken Catholicism as just another channel of expression, not our one and only belief. Our people do the same with other religions. The priests, monks and nuns haven’t gained the people’s confidence because so many of their things contradict our own customs. For instance, they say: ‘You have too much trust in your elected leaders.’ But the village elects them because they trust them, don’t they? The priests say: ‘The trouble is you follow those sorcerers,’ and speak badly of them. But for our people this is like speaking ill of their own fathers, and they lose faith in the priests. They say: ‘Well, they’re not from here, they can’t understand our world.’ So there’s not much hope of winning our people’s hearts.

  To come back to the children, they aren’t to know how the baby is born. He’s born somewhere hidden away and only the parents know about it. They are told that a baby has arrived and that they can’t see their mother for eight days. Later on, the baby’s companion, the placenta that is, has to be burned at a special time. If the baby is born at night, the placenta is burned at eight in the morning, and if he’s born in the afternoon, it’ll be burned at five o’clock. This is out of respect for both the baby and his companion. The placenta is not buried, because the earth is the mother and the father of the child and mustn’t be abused by having the placenta buried in it. All these reasons are very important for us. Either the placenta is burned on a log and the ashes left there, or else it is put in the temascal. This is a stove which our people use to make vapour baths. It’s a small hut made of adobe and inside this hut is another one made of stone, and when we want to have a bath, we light a fire to heat the stones, close the door, and throw water on the stones to produce steam. Well, when the woman is about four months pregnant, she starts taking these baths infused with evergreens, pure natural aromas. There are many plants the community uses for pregnant women, colds, headaches, and things like that. So the pregnant mother takes baths with plants prescribed for her by the midwife or the village leader. The fields are full of plants whose names I don’t know in Spanish. Pregnant women use orange and peach leaves a lot for bathing and there’s another one we call Saint Mary’s leaf which they use. The mother needs these leaves and herbs to relax because she won’t be able to rest while she’s pregnant since our women go on working just as hard in the fields. So, after work, she takes this calming bath so that she can sleep well, and the baby won’t be harmed by her working hard. She’s given medicines to take as well. And leaves to feed the child. I believe that in practice (even if this isn’t a scientific recommendation) these leaves work very well, because many of them contain vitamins. How else would women who endure hunger and hard work give birth to healthy babies? I think that these plants have helped our people survive.

  The purity with which the child comes into the world is protected for eight days. Our customs say that the newborn baby should be alone with his mother in a special place for eight days, without any of her other children. Her only visitors are the people who bring her food. This is the baby’s period of integration into the family; he very slowly becomes a member of it. When the child is born, they kill a sheep and there’s a little fiesta just for the family. Then the neighbours start coming to visit, and bring presents. They either bring food for the mother, or something for the baby. The mother has to taste all the food her neighbours bring to show her appreciation for their kindness. After the eight days are over, the family counts up how many visitors the mother had, and how many presents were received; things like eggs or food apart from what was brought for the mother, or clothing, small animals, and wood for the fire, or services like carrying water and chopping wood. If, during the eight days, most of the community has called, this is very important, because it means that this child will have a lot of responsibility towards his community when he grows up. The community takes over all the household expenses for these eight days and the family spends nothing.

  After eight days everything has been received, and another animal is killed as recognition that the child’s right to be alone with his mother is over. All the mother’s clothes, bedclothes, and everything she used during the birth, are taken away by our elected leader and washed. She can’t wash them in the well, so no matter how far away the river is, they must be carried and washed there. The baby’s purity is washed away and he’s ready to learn the ways of humanity. The mother’s bed is moved to a part of the house which has first been washed with water and lime. Lime is sacred. It strengthens the child’s bones. I believe this really is true. It gives a child strength to face the world. The mother has a bath in the temascal and puts on clean clothes. Then, the whole house is cleaned. The child is also washed and dressed and put into the new bed. Four candles are placed on the corners of the bed to represent the four corners of the house and show him that this will be his home. They symbolize the respect the child must have for his community, and the responsibility he must feel towards it as a member of a household. The candles are lit and give off an incense which incorporates the child into the world he must live in. When the baby is born, his hands and feet are bound to show him that they are sacred and must only be used to work or do whatever nature meant them to do. They must never steal or abuse the natural world, or show disrespect for any living thing.

  After the eight days, his hands and feet are untied and he’s now with his mother in the new bed. This means he opens the doors to the other members of the community, because neither the family or the community know him yet. Or rather, they weren’t shown the baby when he was born. Now they can all come and kiss him. The neighbours bring another animal, and there’s a big lunch in the new baby’s house for all the community. This is to celebrate his integration ‘in the universe’, as our parents used to say. Candles will be lit for him and his candle becomes part of the candle of the whole community, which now has one more person, one more member. The whole community is at the ceremony, or at least, if not all of it, then some of it. Candles are lit to represent all the things which belong to the universe–earth, water, sun and man–and the child’s candle is put with them, together with incense (what we call pom) and lime–our sacred lime. Then, the parents tell the baby of the suffering of the family he will be joining. With great feeling, they express their sorrow at bringing a child into the world to suffer. To us, suffering is our fate, and the child must be introduced to sorrows and hardship, but he must learn that despite his suffering, he will be respectful and live through his pain. The child is then entrusted with the responsibility for his community and told to abide by its rules. After the ceremony comes the lunch, and then the neighbours go home. Now, there is only the baptism to come.

  When the baby is born, he’s given a little bag with garlic, a bit of lime, salt and tobacco in it, to hang round his neck. Tobacco is important because it is a sacred plant for India
ns. This all means that the child can ward off all the evil things in life. For us, bad things are like spirits, which exist only in our imagination. Something bad, for instance, would be if the child were to turn out to be a gossip–not sincere, truthful and respectful, as a child should be. It also helps him collect together and preserve all our ancestors’ things. That’s more or less the idea of the bag–to keep him pure. The bag is put inside the four candles as well, and this represents the promise of the child when he grows up.

  When the child is forty days old, there are more speeches, more promises on his behalf, and he becomes a full member of the community. This is his baptism. All the important people of the village are invited and they speak. The parents make a commitment. They promise to teach the child to keep the secrets of our people, so that our culture and customs will be preserved. The village leaders come and offer their experience, their example, and their knowledge of our ancestors. They explain how to preserve our traditions. Then, they promise to be responsible for the child, teach him as he grows up, and see that he follows in their ways. It’s also something of a criticism of humanity, and of the many people who have forsaken their traditions. They say almost a prayer, asking that our traditions again enter the spirits of those who have forsaken them. Then, they evoke the names of our ancestors, like Tecun Umán and others who form part of the ceremony, as a kind of chant. They must be remembered as heroes of the Indian peoples. And then they say (I analyse all this later): ‘Let no landowner extinguish all this, nor any rich man wipe out our customs. Let our children, be they workers or servants, respect and keep their secrets.’ The child is present for all of this, although he’s all wrapped up and can scarcely be seen. He is told that he will eat maize and that, naturally, he is already made of maize because his mother ate it while he was forming in her stomach. He must respect the maize; even the grain of maize which has been thrown away, he must pick up. The child will multiply our race, he will replace all those who have died. From this moment, he takes on this responsibility, and is told to live as his ‘grandparents’ have lived. The parents then reply that their child promises to accomplish all this. So, the village leaders and the parents all make promises on behalf of the child. It’s his initiation into the community.