La Gringa Is Cleansed

by Devan Bey

Beautiful city of Otavalo at night.

Most days I don't take off my clothes in front of people. Most days I don't allow small women to spit alcohol on me and rub eggs on my hair. Most days I don't worry that I'll have to stand over a fire with additional flames being shot at me from all angles. But Wednesday, August 28th was a different kind of day. It was completely wild, new, and amazing. I experienced something new, something special. I allowed myself to take an adventurous step, which was the idea behind my trip to this beautiful country. I'm so proud of the experience and it'll be a tough one to forget.

This voyage began in the small town of Otavalo, a charming and historical city northeast of Quito. The city is known for its indigenous market place, which boasts a mass of stalls and colorful people and objects. Several dozen vendors convene in the Plaza de los Ponchos to sell (usually) handcrafted wares; alpaca clothing, dolls, belts, jewelry, textiles, and much, much more. The city offers the buyer a variety of items and the chance to bargain for them (a skill which I admittedly lack. I was able to talk a lady down on a pair of earrings by $2.00.)

After several hours in the city, and after getting to know the culture and clothing of some of the indigenous tribes in the area, I felt eager to participate in the action. I was one of many with this same feeling, judging by the plethora of hands that shot up to volunteer to participate in a soul cleansing ritual. In an effort to pick fairly, our group leader instructed each of us eager (and uncleansed) souls to pick a number between one and twenty. The number was siete and I chose siete. ¡Que rico! I was inevitably nervous with anticipation, aware that I would be quite vulnerable in front of the twenty or so international students before me.

Of course, the reality of the situation left me much more vulnerable and exposed than I expected. After ducking under several lines of traditional clothing left to dry, we entered a dusty cabin which could barely contain the twenty individuals entering to watch the proceedings. In between rows of curious students was a small set-up, including four branches of leaves pointed in four directions like a compass and scorch marks and ash on a small wooden centerpiece. All nerves and feelings, I waited for instruction.

The floor setup. Credit to Erika Alvarado.

Before long, Angelike spoke up from her seat, telling me perhaps the most shocking news; that I would have to take off my clothes to participate in the ritual. Logically thinking, this should not have been surprising. I mean how many rituals take place where the participant is fully clothed? Serious ones, I mean. Regardless, I took this to be a joke, as did many of my classmates. Haha, funny, now let's do this. I soon realized that it was the truth and that I would have to strip down to my underwear if I wished to experience a cleansed soul, which I was certainly eager to do.

Shaman determining the state of my soul.
Credit to Erika Alvarado.

I finally began to undress after several incredulous moments and frightened glances shared with my classmates. Although I was essentially exposing as much of my body as I would in a bathing suit, it felt like a great deal more than that. It seems to me that one should be able to prepare before showing one's body to a crowd of people. I did not have the privilege of that, but like I said, I came here to try new things, not allow shyness to inhibit me.

After standing uncomfortably and making many jokes about this discomfort, the shaman entered. She was small, possibly reaching only my armpits. Her long black hair was tucked behind her in a braid, pulled away from her wrinkled face. She took control immediately, commanding me to spread my legs over the wooden centerpiece. She then extended my arms and cupped my hands around a candle which I rubbed on all of my exposed skin. Nervous and somewhat overwhelmed, I watched as she took the candle over to a table and began to pray over it in a combination of Spanish and Quechua. Her goal was to discover the state of my soul.

The shaman then lit a cigarette and smoked it in its entirety, after which she swallowed a great deal of what I later found out was alcohol de caña, or sugarcane alcohol. She announced that I sometimes suffered from bad days and lacked energy, and the goal of the ritual was to reduce these ailments and offer me health, luck, and renewed vitality. Seeing each of these as a plus, I agreed to carry on with the ceremony.

She then took the very same candle and lit a fire in between my legs. The blue flames radiated heat, but did not come close enough to burn. The looks of fear in my compañero's faces only escalated when the shaman began spitting alcohol into the candle's flame, creating quite a ball of fire that tickled my extended arms. With my eyes wide open and my heart beating ferociously, I felt the spray of the pungent alcohol on my skin and the warmth from the flame. The severity of the moment was incredible. The shaman spewed flames as the candle's hot wax descended over her wrinkled hand. She did not flinch. I did.

After several minutes of this, the shaman instructed me to stand with my legs together. She began to spit the alcohol directly onto my skin. I arched my back and gasped as the cool spray hit me, gathering into droplets and running over my exposed skin. She followed this by taking puffs of a cigarette and blowing huge mouthfuls onto me. Feeling quite thoroughly saturated at this point, I thought maybe the alcohol and cigarette portion was over.

Credit to Erika Alvarado. 

She did not feel satisfied and continued to pour the alcohol and smoke over the green leaves arranged behind me. With these, the shaman patted me repeatedly from my head down my arms, over my back, chest and stomach, finishing with my legs. She repeated this twice with each set of leaves, taking perhaps ten minutes for this task alone. The alcohol invaded my senses, now radiating from every part of my body. I must have appeared quite wild, with my hair a mess and my body covered in spit, alcohol, and dirt.

For the last portion of the ritual, the shaman revealed eggs (which were, to my relief, not smashed over me). She followed the same pattern, saturating their surface with alcohol and smoke and rubbing me with them from head to toe. Finally the shaman took the leaves and the eggs outside the building. This, I was told, was to physically remove all the negative energies from my soul, and allow me to be renewed. I later discovered that she used this time to crack and observe the inside of the eggs, searching to determine the state of my soul.

Upon her return the shaman instructed me to offer my hands, which were filled with an oil and several small, fragrant flowers. I then spread this combination over my face and body. Finally the shaman signaled that the ritual was complete, and that my body and soul were cleansed. She stressed that I was not dirty, despite the alcohol, saliva, and smoke saturating my skin and hair, and that in fact I was extremely clean. She insisted that I not shower until the following Saturday (this took place on a Wednesday). I spent the next three days smelling like a weakly burning stick of incense.