I have been waiting for some sort of inspiration or great idea to come to me before posting anything this year. I don't want to write the kind of thing that has no point, or meaning to anyone else. You know--kind of like when someone decides to describe in GREAT detail the dream they had the night before, or how a five year old answers the question, "What did you do in school today?" Something that goes, "Today I woke up and then walked around Antigua visiting all of my favorite places and then I had lunch at a great place--beans and rice--and it rained really hard and I am so glad I remembered to bring a better rain jacket and then I went our for my first Moza (the best dark beer in the world) and I was so tired but couldn't sleep so I took a half an Ambien and the next morning Spanish classes began and this year I have a new teacher whose name is Sandra and most of the other teachers remembered me from the years before and now my room is on the second floor so I have a much better view of Volcan Agua plus I brought a mosquito net to hang over the window so it is great to have fresh air at night and on Monday I went to begin work at Nuestro Futuro, the project school in Ciudad Vieja, and my kids are now in 3rd grade, so they are much easier to work with because everything does not need to be turned into a game and I love love love them a lot and I think many of them love me, too..."
Gross, right?!?
But as my sister and our new friend Edie and I wandered around the ancient ruins of churches, convents and monasteries last Sunday, a question kept creeping up. These places, now under the protection of the government and declared internationally important historical sites, have been carefully preserved and enhanced with gardens and such, and made me wonder, what was it like to live here at the convent de las Capuchinas or the monastery of Santa Clara? Not so great if one were a woman, it turns out.
Being a nun in Santiago de los Caballeros (what Antigua Guatemala was called when it was the capital of all of colonial Central America and before an earthquake demolished big fat stone and mortar buildings with a shudder) was a hard life. I don't mean by our standards (too obvious) but by the standards of colonial times.
The Capuchin order began in 1520 as an effort to reform the Franciscans to what one guy who probably didn't get enough love from his mom thought would be closer to San Francisco's original intention. The order was austere (it still exists, but I think today members are allowed to wear shoes and use blankets and pillows--forbidden acts for the original Capuchines) and originally not in great favor with Rome, but it nonetheless managed to eventually spread across the Atlantic.
In 1725 the cloister and temple of Our Lady Pilar of Zaragoza opened in Santiago de los Caballeros and some nineteen women entered its doors, never to emerge. For such a poverty-devoted group, the buildings, even today, are/were astounding. Like everything else constructed for colonial occupation, the walls were three feet thick and the ceilings reached into the heavens, the sanctuary and hallways cavernous. A rotund, two story building served as the dormitory for the sisters and its second floor is a common area with nineteen tiny cells (such an appropriate word!) arranged neatly around the circle, bringing forth visions of Foucault's "Panopticon." No one ever had a moment of privacy, as each resident could easily see into everyone else's space.
While nothing of the sleeping quarters is truly horrible, the first floor of the dormitorio reveals a curious conception of what "to the glory of God" did/can mean. The outside wall is symmetrically lined with people-sized, arched niches that face out into the courtyard and gardens. At the top of each niche is an opening, and each of the three sides are marked with holes. The purpose of these little niches is hard to fathom, but here is what I learned:
The Capuchines was a penintential order. But because women could not be trusted to ascribe their own penance, the niches (each nun had her very own, right under her cell) were constructed to provide proper discipline. In the convent's days of glory, the niches also had manacles attached on each side and a spike affixed to the back wall. When one committed an infraction (passing gas during Vespers; coughing during Matins: smiling?!?), she was duly chained into her private torture chamber, her back against the spike, and water was poured in a constant flow through hole in the top. I think today we call this, "water boarding." Because each niche faces out in to common areas, the sisters were able to enjoy the show of their compatriots being tortured.
Good times. Yay God.
The Santa Clara's have a very different story. The monastery was actually both convent and cloister for monks (monjas y monjes). The grounds are symmetrical and square, the architecture invoking images of Italian renaissance. Today, the gardens are beautiful and the place initially seems to speak of order and peace. There is a sanctuary that served not only the residents, but the public as well. A pulpit faces out onto the street, evoking images of El Papa in Rome (not to be confused with "la papa" which means "potato"). Curiously, though, the floor of the sanctuary has three stairwells that descend beneath its floors. Yes indeed, below is a crypt where people were buried. Not so unusual, but wait--it gets really interesting.
The men and women--all who had of course taken vows of celibacy--were cloistered in very separate parts of the grounds. Yet for some reason, tunnels were built that connected the living quarters of the nuns and monks (really?!? What could have possibly been the excuse?!?) and of course from time to time Miraculous Conception took place. No specific stories are known today--was it love? Rape? Mutual, simple horniness? But what is know is that when one of the nuns became embarazada ( I just love that the cognate used for "pregnant" is "embarrassed"), she was interred in the crypt until delivery of the child. When Santa Clara was excavated for rennovation, piles of tiny bones--infant bones--were discovered all over the floor of the crypt. Again, way to revere all that is holy.
Edie was a bit amazed that the docents at both ruins were so willing to share these shameful facts of Antiguan history. Yet our own history includes the orphan trains and Indian schools and other lovely moments of incredible cruelty.
Okay, I am just getting pedantic now, not to mention morose. But honestly, to walk in Antigua is to walk in history. And to walk in history is to learn stuff about humanity.
I will hope for more uplifting inspiration:).
Paz a todos!