We visited a Mixteco village yesterday, high in the mountains. This was my first encounter with Mixteco people, and what impressed me most was the silence. Whenever we arrived at a different house, we were greeted, then a young woman brought chairs outside. The chairs were apparently hand-made, and they were short and narrow.
The family formed a circle, and conversation proceeded quietly. I lost all sense of time by the second house.
At one house in particular, Rod Johnson took the opportunity to really pull for souls. A grandmother, her daughter and daughter-in-law and several very small girls sat and listened with wide eyes. I couldn't identify the feeling in the air--tension? fear? It was intense and unlike anything I had felt before. Flies crawled all over us, from the grandmother to the chubby baby boy, who was also silent. The mood lightened when the subject changed, but the best we got was a promise to think about what Rod had said.
Rod told me the fear of their traditions causes change to take place slowly. These people still live in huts of cane or tin, sometimes block, with dirt floors. They plow with oxen and sacrifice chickens to ward off evil spirits. Those who become Christians are often persecuted. Sometimes the tribal leaders even seize their huts and gardens, driving them from the village where they lived for generations.
It's a lot to take in, and I am definitely in culture shock right now.
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