Cofradia: The Heartbeat of Santiago
As the smell of incense drifted through the open door, I took a deep breath and allowed the fragrant smoke to wash over me. Unsure of what I would find on the other side of the doorway, I gently reminded myself that my gut instincts had yet to steer me wrong; this is where I needed to be.
I had come to Guatemala as a photojournalist and storyteller with Mama Hope to follow the story of one of their community partners, a woman named Ingrid. Ingrid is, among many things, a teacher and activist who has returned to her Mayan roots in order to catalyze change within her community. In an effort to help me better understand her Mayan identity, she arranged for me to meet a friend who could explain the Mayan Cosmovision, an integral element in her daily motivation. Not being one to turn down a chance to dive deep into the culture around me, I agreed to travel across Lake Atitlán to meet with Ingrid’s friend LeeAnn.
I had spoken with LeeAnn a few days prior, where she graciously agreed to let me ask her all the questions I could think of about Mayan beliefs and traditions. She invited me to join her in participating in a Mayan ceremony that weekend. After she briefly explained some of the larger details of the ceremony to me, I agreed to attend.
What I had yet to realize is that LeeAnn, despite being an American, is a member of the Cofradia, a Mayan religious brotherhood that practices deeply rooted syncretic traditions. It is a brotherhood that first arose around the 1580's when the Franciscans came to convert the indigenous population of Guatemala. In order to save their traditional ways, Mayan elders hid their practices in plain sight, a practice that continues today. Outsiders looking in would see their ceremony and assume that they are Catholic, but the truth lies deep within hidden layers of meaning and history. Mayan gods were given Catholic names and identities and artifacts were hidden inside Catholic idols.
With LeeAnn as my guide, I was granted access to an experience that defied all expectations.
My day began fairly quietly, with LeeAnn and I wandering through the narrow, twisted streets of Santiago, moving from ceremony house to ceremony house. I got a crash course in Mayan ideology and tradition while darting my way through the alleyways and market stalls of the city center. It is one thing to be a tourist exploring a new city, it is another experience altogether to dive headfirst alongside someone who had been accepted as a local. As I did my best to keep up with LeeAnn, I witnessed what it means to immerse yourself fully in a community and culture. Born in Indiana, for decades LeeAnn has dedicated herself to studying Central American culture, before finally landing in Guatemala full time. She has since become a member of the Tz’utujil community. In 2010 she became a Tixel (a female member of the Cofradia), making her the perfect cross-cultural guide to experiencing the mysticism that Santiago has to offer.
Perfectly in tune with her surroundings and the Mayan culture, I watched as LeeAnn navigated between cultures effortlessly. Switching seamlessly between Spanish and English with a smattering of Tz’utujil, I spent the day trying to piece together the ceremony that I knew I would be attending once the sun went down.
Not once over the course of our day did I take a photograph.
Our last stop as the sun was setting before the evening’s festivities was the ceremony house where LeeAnn serves as a member of the Cofradia. By then, word had spread that LeeAnn was running around town with a gringa in tow; as it turns out word spread quickly in a town like Santiago. I was welcomed into the ceremony house with cautious eyes, the elder of the Cofradia watching me. LeeAnn leaned into me and whispered words of encouragement, letting me know that a guarded welcome was not unusual. Although Santiago is known for its ceremony houses, there is only one that foreigners are usually welcomed into — and this was not that one. But, I was here as a guest, and I would be allowed to bear witness.
Candles were lit as a shaman knelt in front of the altar at one end of the room. I watched, taking in the movements of the shaman and focusing on the rhythm of the prayers. I sat entranced by his intonation and wrapped in the smoke of the incense. For a moment I was able to forget the curious eyes that watched me from across the room. The cadence of the prayers transcended the language barrier and reached out to touch me on a base level, speaking to an elemental part of me that sits at my core.
As the final words of the ceremony were being uttered I snapped back to reality and locked eyes with the elder across the room. The moment that our eyes met I felt the tension leave the small space. His eyes softened, his shoulders relaxed. I was welcome. He had been watching my reaction to the ceremony, and he seemed satisfied with what he saw. Another shaman asked if I wanted to join in ceremony. With a quick yes I knelt on the floor facing the altar and was immediately surrounded by smoke and the chanting murmur of a prayer. While my welcome had been warm before, when I stood up the energy of the room shifted from warm to familial. I felt cosmically connected to every person in the room.
Sensing the shift, I asked permission and started to take a few photos. Any shyness that may have lingered was immediately dissolved as LeeAnn acted as a bridge between myself and the other members of the Cofradia. We spent the next hour or so swapping laughter and jokes, and by the time it was time to go to the main event — a much larger ceremony happening elsewhere that evening, I felt flushed with incense, cigarette smoke and a haze of acceptance from those gathered in the house.
LeeAnn and I headed towards our final destination as the sound of the marimba throbbed through the streets. As we got closer, I could see the size of the crowd that had gathered and a wave of nervousness returned. LeeAnn had warned me there would be a lot of people, and many people would be heavily drinking. She assured me that if — even for a split second — I started to feel uncomfortable, or if someone made a pass at me, then we could leave. She had cautioned me several times throughout the day that sometimes these ceremonies, which doubled as celebrations, often got rowdy. Not being one to let my nerves get the best of me, I held my head high as we ducked through yet another smoke-filled doorway. I immediately felt the curiosity of the entire room fall on my shoulders. I pushed through the uneasy feeling that one often feels when being stared at by a couple dozen strangers. As I took a breath, trying to settle into the energy of the room, an elder waved me over to sit alongside him, signifying to the rest of the room that I was his guest.
It wasn’t long before I was able to relax and lean into the moment. Offerings of alcohol flowed freely, the music from the marimba punctuated the prayers, and incense filled my lungs. I was transported away from Santiago, carried away by the sweltering heat of the ceremony room mixed with the pulsating energy of thousands of years of tradition. Letting my curiosity guide me I began to take more photos. It wasn’t long before the presence of my camera was forgotten and I became witness to a ritual that linked Mayan ancestry to modernity.
The energy surrounding the ceremony began to swell as the clocked ticked towards midnight. In a flurry of activity I was pulled outside of the ceremony house along with all the other women and handed a lit yellow candle. I stood alongside a dozen or so women, swaying to the music thudding through the speakers as the marimba played louder and louder, faster and faster. Then, as though a portal to the spirit realm had opened and the ancestors were reaching down from the heavens, in a burst of zeal the men streamed out of the ceremony house carrying the idols from the altar, dancing them into the new day. The sounds of revelry were punctuated by the blast of bottle rockets being set off in the streets. For just a moment, if I closed my eyes real tight, I felt myself being transported across the centuries to a time where the Maya ruled Guatemala.
Kendelyn Ouellette is a Washington, D.C. based photographer and storyteller. She holds a BFA from the Corcoran School of Art + Design. She joined the MAMA HOPE as a Media Resident working with our partners at Tejiendo Futuros in Panajachel, Guatemala in 2017. Kendelyn is passionate about cultural preservation and believes in the power of photography as a tool for impactful change on a global scale. When not traveling she can be found in the kitchen doing her best impression of Julia Child.
