"I want the beard," he says. "Did you get the beard?"
"No, I haven't gone to get the beard yet."
"I really want the beard. Will you get the beard?" I get the picture, kid. Of course Jesus needs a beard. His mother (Kerry, not Mary) tried to tell him that in the shop. But he didn't want the beard when they were in the shop. Now he wants the beard. So I saddle up and ride to the shop because Jesus needs a beard.
The shop is hopping with people, parents and kids. José and Olga, the proprietors, hustle around the room, crowded with racks of costumes, hooks loaded with canes, shelves full of hats and an astounding array of shepherd's turbans. There are three groups of kids and parents in front of me being fitted for various getups: there're two grade-school angels robes and a preteen with her mom sizing up a santa-esque mini-skirt suit. Unlike a similar scene in the US, the girl does not seem embarrassed to be here with her mother.
After a few minutes the third person behind the counter, helping the preteen girl try on various santa-beanies, looks up at me through the chaos, raises her hand like she's pinching something, and says, "un ratito," just a second.
I am in no hurry. Or at least I am learning to be in no hurry. "No pasa nada," I say, no problem. We've been here before, for Halloween, when Sylvia picked up a princess outfit and Oakes got himself a Superman suit (though he refused to wear the exterior underwear). It was nowhere near as crowded, well, since no one here really celebrates Halloween -- we had been going to a party in Gringolandia.
So we'd had plenty of time to chat with José and Olga, who have two kids in the US, one of them just finishing up study at a college in Chicago. The fact that I'm half from Illinois (on my step-father's side) gave us some common ground. They have been super-friendly to us since we've become regular customers. When I started speaking, Olga noticed me and waved hello. I shook hands heartily with José -- all handshakes here are hearty.
"I only need a little beard."
Out of context or as a motto, this statement might sound weird, but they knew exactly what I meant, and the woman at the counter (José and Olga's daughter I presume) headed into the back to find just the right one. She was back in a minute, with a curly black beard. I wasn't about to debate the kind of beard Jesus sported, though in the famous paintings it's always a little more cropped and brown. Then again, I'd always gone with accounts of Jesus being dark(er) skinned.
Come to think of it, I myself am looking a little Jesus-esque lately -- at least in the Latino conception of a blue-eyed brown-haired anglo Jesus, never mind that I am now too old and carry a little panza. The thought then occurred to me that I might be able to rent myself out for parades because we had already been to three events just for our kids' two schools -- and that's just a tiny fraction of the grade schools here in Otavalo. Since the second week of December, you can't swing a dead cat on any street in town without hitting some angel or a shepherd or an elf… well, maybe I could swing one since those shepherds are all under 4', but you get the point.
Today was the perfect example: Parades number 2 and 3 for the Walker-Chapmans found us hustling to get our costumes together. Sylvia was to be the Virgin Mary for her particular class, which we were made to understand is quite the honor. So we do the usual breakfast hustle, careful not to get honey or yogurt on the Virgin Mary's holy vestments. We argue with the Virgin Mary about brushing her teeth ("yes, Jesus' mom needs to brush her teeth too), and finally get her on the bus by the designated time (6:45, en punto).
Meanwhile Jesus would like a Mickey Mouse pancake, not a regular one, and no, he does not want to wear his brown shoes -- Jesus would prefer his blue Crocs. Such are the sacrifices. By 8:00 I have gotten Jesus to school and checked in on the time and location for their affair.
The game-plan called for a one-on-one defense: Kerry would go to Sylvia's school at 8:30 and I would head downtown for Oakes' event at 10. Simple enough. Or so we thought.
Kerry showed up fashionably Ecuadorian at 9:00, and it turns out that the program had already been underway for an hour an a half. The gates to the school were barred, and there was a note on the school door that said, "Por favor, vaya arriba," please go up. While she stood in the parking lot with four or five other delinquent parents wondering what to do, a kid who was there with one of his parents said that there was a back door.
It's difficult to describe the layout of Sylvia's school, but it sits on a hill and basically is laid onto it step-wise in eight or ten levels. To get to a "back door" required walking into another neighborhood, no less than a mile away. One of the mothers sporting stilettos was particularly chagrined about the detour. Kerry for her part was happy not to be the only parent barred. A half an hour later, the group found the door, a significant journey from the original note.
Meanwhile, in the center of town, I was on time for my rendezvous with Jesus and Mary, or I should say my Jesus and Mary -- I'm sure there were dozens of Jesuses around town this day. I didn't think I could be too hard to find a parade -- since we'd been running into them for the last two weeks -- and since I was on time, I even had a few minutes to spare. So I went to get some cash from a machine on the square and maybe, I thought, grab another coffee. As I got into the ATM queue, I surveyed Parque Bolívar, looking for what must be the obvious gathering of children marching.
An angel or two passed by, always with a mother, and the mother was always carrying the wand (angel wand?) or a set of wings. A pickup full of santas seated, their heads just poking over the side of the bed crawled past and made a right along the park. Elves began to show in singles and pairs with their parental escorts, headed at assorted rates of speed kitty-corner across the park.
Still, I had not progressed much farther in the line. And still I did not see any glomming of costumed kids heading to one central location. I began to worry. After an eon I finally got my cash. Figuring that following the elves was a sure bet, I jogged diagonally across the park, past the fountains, towards the big covered market, and there were all the elves! Lined up on the steps of a store fixing to sing some carols. Damn!
So I headed down the street, away from the park, really feeling the pressure of time. The last parade that Oakes was in sort of dissolved suddenly at the end, and all of the parents -- every kids' parents were there -- whisked them off for ice-cream since these events always end with sugar. In short, I needed to be there when the event ended. I called K and walked at the same time. She didn't know any better than I did, so I did something foreign to my nature: I asked a policeman who seemed like he was ready to block traffic, maybe for a parade I thought.
"Hay un desfile va a pasar por aquí?" Is there a parade coming through here? Apparently not, so I headed back to the Parque Bolívar, figuring that all parades start from there. When I jogged back to the square, it was obvious (finally) that the parade was no parade, but that the kids were singing songs outside of a bank. Oakes and another student, Valeria, were playing Jesus and Mary, while there was also another younger kid playing a younger Jesus. A little confusing, sure, but logic doesn't figure in Christmas pageants as far as I can tell. The rest of the kids had maracas and tambourines and were belting out some carol with half gusto. Fortunately they had a big sound system backing them up.
I jumped into the melee of parents taking photos and snapped a few off before the thing quickly ended. The kids where then lined up on a curb and plied with pieces of cake and cups of Sprite. I snapped a few more photos, then the thing abruptly broke up, and I was walking down the street with Jesus headed for a batido.
I'm not sure this little vignette would even be noteworthy, except for the fact that this is basically Otavalo daily during December. Sylvia has been a shepherd, an angel, and now the Virgin Mary. Oakes was Jesus, and is supposed to play him again, but we are headed out of town. Five trips to the costume shop for one family with two kids in school -- and many families here are much bigger!
One of my favorite aspects of these parades is the marching band. Some schools will have girls wearing Santa mini-skirts and twirling batons, and right behind them will be the Otavalo Marching Band. I call it that because I've only seen one of them. All these guys in their suits and playing some cool brass number. Their repertoire seems limited, or maybe we just happen to catch the same piece -- but we seem to hear them playing the same march every time. The trombone/trumpet guys are always saying something funny to each other, and bass-drum guy always looks particularly bored.
No costume has ever made it home without needing to be washed. Kerry noticed that all of the other parents at school had their kids out of their suits and the suits bundled away the second the pageant ended. For our kids, the novelty has not worn off, and they want to sport their biblical robes for awhile longer.
Kerry and Sylvia catch up with me and Jesus at a cafe downtown. On the way, all of the high school girls giggled and waved to my blond Jesus. "Que precioso!" Jesus was getting a little full of himself with all of that attention. Each of the kids has gotten a giant bag of candy and haggling over how much they would be able to eat at this moment will commence shortly. I assume now that we have successfully passed through our last Christmas rite on the way to the actual event, but we'll be on the lookout for a few more parades.
Oakes is still in his robes, but he's lost the turban. His strawberry milkshake arrives.
Oakes is still in his robes, but he's lost the turban. His strawberry milkshake arrives.
"Here, papa. Will you hold my beard?"
