Rigo' and Me

I am currently reading “Me Llamo Rigoberta Menchú y Así Me Nació la Conciencia,” for my Liberation Theology class. Rigoberta Menchú Tum, for those who don’t know, is a really remarkable woman. She is an indigenous woman from the Quiché area of Guatemala who won the Noble Peace Prize in 1992 for her human rights work on behalf of indigenous people.

The other day, an employee of our language school informed us that Rigoberta would soon be speaking in her hometown. Excited to meet this great lady we have been learning about, a group of 15 of us hopped on a bus this morning to go to Olintepeque, about 20 minutes away.

We didn’t really have any idea what she was going to be talking about, let alone if it would be in Spanish, which, very fortunately for us, it was. It ended up being a grassroots gathering for WINAQ, the political party under which she ran for President last year. (She only garnered 3% of the votes, being an indigenous woman in a machista culture and all).

Everyone there was so gracious. Our large group, which made up a decent percentage of the small crowd, was warmly welcomed in by the host. Our presence was also vocally recognized twice during the various discourses. We even got fed—a popular corn drink called atol and tamales.

We noticed Rigoberta signing some autographs so after we finished eating, we went up to ask her if it would be possible to get her to sign our books. Eventually the 15 of us made our way to her and Alex, most fluent of the group, told her who we were, what we were doing there and what a huge pleasure it was to be able to be in her presence. And then he asked if she wouldn’t mind signing some autographs.

She took my book first, and I was just so unbelievably excited that I started to cry when she asked me how to spell my name. I’m going to blame genetics/my dad. I just couldn’t control myself. What ends up happening (because this happens more than one would think) is I start laughing at the absurdity of my own self, but because I am already crying it just looks like I am crying harder and it’s a big embarrassing mess with end far in sight. Rigoberta was like—What? Is this not how you spell your name? I’m sure she felt really sorry for me, thinking that my crying was made worse by my comrades all laughing at me.

So while my friends are laughing at me, they are also taking pictures, and the cameraman who filmed the whole event started filming me crying/laughing. As Rigoberta was finishing up the last of the autographs, she said something in Quiché to her husband and mentioned to me something about saturation. She took me by the arm and said “Come on let’s go,” in English, and told the rest of the group who was curiously following us that this was only for me.

Her husband handed her a little rosemary-looking plant and we went off behind the building to find a proper spot for whatever it was we were about to do. We climbed through some weeds and she made me kneel to the north. She made an oration in Quiché while she brushed/tapped different parts of my body for about five minutes. Then she made me kiss the plant three times, stood me up, and told me that there was disequilibrium of my spirits and that’s why I was crying. I don’t really know what that means, but I suppose that a normal reaction to being asked how to spell your name wouldn’t be uncontrollable crying, so maybe she’s right.

My friends may have been making fun of me but they are not the ones who got rubbed down with rosemary by Rigoberta Menchú.