We ask acceptance from our parents

First meeting…

The first meeting with my family is to prepare to ask Kiran's father for permission to take Kiran's hand. Traditionally this would be a full night of drinking and negotiating a couple of months before the wedding. It's something like a request for and announcement of engagement.

Everything has been condensed a little for us and our engagement night starts at 4:00 am. My 'family' meets to discuss gifts, musicians and to have a few drinks to build up courage. They take turns making sure I am serious and giving me ear-pulling advice. The ear pulling tells me to listen because what it is being said is very important.

After the gifts have been gathered and the musicians are ready, we head in procession to Kiran's father's house. We get some curious looks from both villagers and sheep. When we arrive, the gifts and musicians are discreetly kept outside while my father pleads my case to Kiran's father. He and I have to ask forgiveness for my eyes falling on Kiran. Kiran's father gets indignant and my father assures him that I have the right intentions. We placate, I look repentant, and promise to work hard. As Kiran's father softens I and my family offer him coca.

Kiran's father talks to me in short commanding sentences in Aymará. I say hisaa (yes) and waliki (good, okay) to all his orders. The sentences get longer and he is convincing me to be a good son, questioning my honour. When he is satisfied that this is no idle request he asks his wife to bring Kiran down.

Kiran is led into the dark, earth-walled room. Her many colourful skirts are a bright contrast to the tan walls. Her father points to me and asks her if she knows me. He asks her if it is love, is she serious? She says hisaa, waliki. We're both saying perdone tata (forgive me father). Again he stresses how serious a decision this is. Finally, Kiran and I are allowed to sit together. It's now our mothers' turns to lay down some rules. Kiran and I agree to be an example to the community and to be a good couple.

Our mothers and fathers do some negotiating while beer, cigarettes and coca are offered and accepted. Each time someone drinks they offer a little to the earth for Pachamama, Mother Earth.

Then it's time to name the 'godparents'. The choice is made by each parent group by offering a bottle of alcohol wrapped in a decorative cloth to the chosen couples. These godparents are responsible for guiding us through the wedding and to offer wisdom and advice in the future. We get more ear pulling and advice and there is lots of coca chewing by all.

We all move outside where our decision is witnessed by the rising sun. We kneel, and our family asks for good blessings. More advice is laid on us from our godparents, parents and community leaders. Everyone is very intent that we take this seriously.

The musicians start, and we head down to bring Kiran to my house, leaving some bottles of alcohol with Kiran's father, who stays home to get drunk. We are led by a villager waving a giant white flag as a symbol of purity and we dance our way through the village to my house. As the procession winds along the shore hand in hand, we sing:

Il postwoi, il postwoi
Hanco pallomoy
Il postwoi!!

which loosely translated means " I am bringing, I am bringing a pure white dove..."

2 months later…

Two months are supposed to have passed but in our case has been about two hours. It's now time for the ceremony to begin. I am dressed in a new, much brighter poncho replacing my 'pure' white engagement poncho. We are seated facing the local Aymará spiritual leader, or priest, and he raises his arms to address the community. After asking for blessings, symbolic yarn is tied around our wrists. We stand for him to place an embroidered rope around us both. After every action he is calling for the feminine spirits of earth and the lakes and the masculine spirits of the sun and mountains, as well as the villagers, to witness and bless our union.

On his table he has a mesa (offering) of llama fat and coca leaves. He asks the spirits and Viracocha (the creator) to take sweets, nuts, seeds as offerings representative of long life, harmony with the natural world, numerous children and a happy marriage. Each of the empowered sweets are then placed on mesa, stuck upright in the fat.

I am standing to Kiran's right with the men of our wedding party. Kiran is on the left with the women. The priest takes a fresh red flower out of a water-filled ceramic jar. He lets a trickle of water fall to the ground for Pachamama. The drops left captured in the flower's petals are sprinkled on our hands and heads. He then sprinkles water on the heads of our families and godparents.

As we sit down, the priest lights a small fire. On his knees he makes a circle counter-clockwise around the fire , holding the mesa up to the sun with both hands, pleading for protection and blessings for us. He then offers the mesa to the fire. He adds fragrant balosanto (scented wood chips), incense and yellow powders. He bends over from his kneeling position to kiss the ground. He straightens and brings a small handful of earth up to his lips before scattering it. As the mesa burns and the sweets are a black bubbling syrup in the center of the fire, the priest announces that we have been declared to the spirits as husband and wife. Each family member then congratulates and hugs us. We say yuspahara (thank you).

We are then whisked away to my godfather's house and introduced to his family, including his 95-year-old father, who speaks to us passionately about being pure Aymará. We are served drink after drink and there are the ever present blankets with coca and sometimes sugar. We drink from tambo (fruit) shell cups, arms twisted around each other, thanking everyone there and always offering a little to Pachamama. We join into the dancing, whirling around with the godparents, hardly able to keep up with them. Eventually our party dances its way back to my place across the sand hand in hand.

We sit at the place of honour under a decorative canvas awning. Always more drinks. Two village council members bring in large tree-bough ladders laden with bread, dried chilies, fruit, and flowers. We are told they symbolize upward growth. Suddenly the women in our adopted families fill our hands with small loaves of bread. One by one, villagers line up with their hats or shawls outstretched. Kiran and I each give one loaf to each approaching person. The smiles on the sun-withered faces of the elder women are so warm and grateful, even though it is us that should be thankful.

We sit again and a long blanket is laid in a c-shape at our feet. Maize, roots and small dark potatoes are sprinkled from shawls and bags onto the blanket. No one is allowed to walk over the narrow blanket. Even the small children are very careful to walk the long way around the buffet which has been spread on their playground. From the community church comes bowls of spicy soup with potatoes and chicken, served to us first then to the community. We eat the soup with our hands and pass the chicken to thankful children. Meanwhile the rest of the village is served and eats and eats. Occasionally someone comes to the blanket and takes a handful of dried vegetables back to their family cluster, always with thanks and pleas for forgiveness. As the food is finished some members come to offer us gifts. A long line of well wishers come to congratulate us. The stream of drinks and coca continues.

The musicians are at it again and there's dancing and drinking until sunset. As the sun finally goes down, we are escorted, dizzy and elated, by our godparents to our marriage bed. We get a final round of advice. For me, I'm told to be good, work hard, and not to punish Kiran. Kiran is told to get up early, cook well and take care of me. Our godmother's advises us to retain the honour of the family by never showing our faces on Isla del Sol alone as we are one now.

It is an emotional goodnight and all trace of theatre has long since passed. We are told that we are isliño (boy child of the island) and isliña (girl child of the island) and have to promise to bring our children back someday. As we finally settle in to our room as a married couple, kids peek through the cracks in the walls, giggling.

Read about the sacred coca leaf here.

To read about our 9th wedding ceremony, click here.