Mexico Tradition: Jaripéo

Monday: Fiesta in Ucazanaztacua - Day 2 - Jaripéo


Link to: Sunday: Fiesta in Ucazanastacua - Day 1

Back to Ucazanástacua at about 1 pm for comida (main meal) at the cancha (basketball court) and to watch the Purépecha women dance in procession from the cancha to the "corral" where the bull-riding (jaripéo) was to be held at 4 pm. Jorge el padre was jefe (head) of the organizing comisión (committee) for the jaripéo. He asked Alle (our Spanish teacher, whom he knows) to coordinate decorating el torito, a frame sculpture of a bull that is carried in the dance procession of the Purépecha women. The idea is to cover the frame with crepe paper; we used red, white and green -- the colors of the Mexican flag!

I offered to be the "tape cutter" so Alle, a Purépecha woman and her two preteen Purépecha daughters could be the main decorators. I made them laugh by saying that there was mucha presión (much pressure) in keeping them supplied with tape -- I used all four fingers of my left hand! Toward the end, they showed me how to fold crepe paper in a way that it becomes a chain. I truly enjoyed being able to participate with the women.

Lesson learned: Everyone in the community pitches in to create the Fiesta -- even on the actual day. The experience of community is unforgetable. For the pueblo, a Fiesta is not a "finished good" to be presented as "theater" for an "audience"; instead, everyone gives and everyone receives. Reed and I were deeply touched by the openness of the community to include us. We were the only non-indigenous there.

After decorating the torito, we enjoyed comida on long tables set up the cancha. This time it was kind of a potpurri stew: chicken bits, beef bits, and I think even pork bits with frijoles and corn tortillas.

Then we climbed the long flight of stairs (maybe three stories) up to the paved road and waited for the dance to begin. We waited, and we waited...nothing was happening. At about 4:00 pm, when the jaripéo was scheduled to begin, about half a dozen Federales (federal police) arrived in their pick-up truck for comida. Ucas men took down more tables and chairs to accommodate them...and we waited some more.

Finally, at about 4:35 the dance began. The native Purépecha dress is lovely. It is beautiful on adult women -- young and old; but for some reason, seeing little girls (aged 8-10, or so) in native dress undid me. They are all incredibly graceful, with a timeless dignity.

To our surprise, Jorge el padre was dancing with our Torito! Probably it's because next year he will assume the office of what is -- more or less -- "mayor" of Ucas.

At the corral, I watched maybe 2 or 3 rides before my feet and hips finally gave out. Fortunately, our Purépecha taxista had arrived early so he could see some of the bull riding. Even more fortuitously, he was parked nearby, so he walked me to the taxi and went back to keep Alle and Reed company.

I don't want to write what came next, but it, too, is part of Mexican pueblo life. One rider had a very bad accident, and shortly after Reed and Alle arrived with Ramón back at the car. They had seen enough. Alle said she didn't know how they could continue the jaripéo. Ramón commented, "We enjoy the emotional excitement, but this was too much." We found out the next day from Jorge joven that the jinete's (rider) situation is grave, but he is alive.

A couple of days later, Reed and I had lunch at a taquería [fresh juice and taco stand] in the mercado run by our friend Nicolás. To our surprise, he told us he had been a jinete [bull-rider] until he got a bad goring; then his wife and mother insisted, “¡No más!” We learned a lot from him: 1) The premio [prize] is nothing more than a kiss from a beautiful señorita from the pueblo; 2) When a jinete mounts the bull, he never knows how it will end—win or lose, life or death…or maiming; for that reason, each jinete kneels in the corral to pray before mounting the bull; after crossing himself, he spits and mixes the spittle with earth, which he rubs on his forehead.

It’s difficult for me to communicate the nonchalance toward life and death that characterized Nicolás’ narrative. I’d be tempted to dismiss it as macho (and perhaps feigned), but Jorge-joven exhibited the same “indifference”. It’s hard for me to find an adjective to express simultaneously the respect and ultimate acceptance of que-será-será. It is a nonchalant, indifferent fatalism totally foreign to us, but obviously deep as bone marrow for Mexicans.


We drove home from Ucas along the lake with its heart-stopping vistas of the cerros beyond. Somehow the beauty of the natural world reminded me of the dualism that is the essence of Mexico -- life and death, first and foremost; but good and bad, winning and losing, kindness and cruelty and other dualisms. Every once in awhile, Reed reminds me of the violence of the natural world, that birth requires death...sigh....