Traje and giving the matyoxnïk

Ok, I admit it. I gave in. I bought traje to wear (*please note that is not me in the picture. I know the resemblance is striking.*) Sometimes other students will wear a thinner huipil untucked with a faja (like a belt) and jeans, and it looks colorful and pretty and not like the strangest thing you've ever seen. Almost like a babydoll tee. I knew I needed to get some eventually for the closing ceremony of our class, but I always felt a little strange sporting the huipil-faja-jeans look.

But then this weekend I was talking to another student who's been coming here for a couple of years, and she told me about how she never bought any traje until she had to go to linguistics fieldwork in small towns. She discovered that wearing the traje was important to not calling too much attention to herself and to being accepted enough to be able to interview speakers.

I'd never thought of that. But given how important clothing is to the way in which Guatemalan Mayans show their identity, it makes perfect sense. As I posted about in an entry from last summer, each town has their own distinct set of clothing through which the origin of the wearer can be identified. So if I ever manage to make it into the field on this trip, traje isn't merely part of an eagerness to adopt everything pertaining to one's area of interest, it actually has a useful purpose.

So, I went through the 75Q ($10) bin at Nim Po't and, with the help of one of the instructors that works there, found a couple of pretty huipiles that go perfectly with a faja and jeans. I wore one today and got several compliments, so I suppose my fear of "invading" another culture's customs weren't actually founded.

Today in the afternoon we went to San Antonio Aguas Calientes for a weaving demonstration by one of the former instructors. Beforehand, the director of the program was talking to another student and I in Kaqchikel about this afternoon, and in my usual language-toddler manner, I was generally nodding and ah-ja'ing as I attempted to figure out exactly what was being said. Little did I know - but soon found out - I had unwittingly agreed to be the person to give thanks at the event this afternoon. This linguistic faux pas was apparently hysterical, but luckily I recuperated my language skills enough to be able to ask one of the instructors to help me write out the thank you speech (full of standard politeness formulas, as you may imagine) beforehand. I was nervous as all heck in the moment and totally thought I blew it, but I was told that what I said, however it came out, sounded good. Better than it really was, I'm sure. I was saved by the fact that nearly half of my audience does not yet speak Kaqchikel. Phew, crisis (temporarily) averted.