Sun Worshiper

When I first arrived in Bolivia, I attended a workshop on diversity where we were asked to do an interesting icebreaker. We first had to draw a picture of ourselves, and then explain it to a partner. Then you and partner went in front of the group and explained one another’s drawings. You weren’t allowed to help your partner at all. So my lovely picture was a stick figure with arms open and overhead, head tilted back facing the sun. Then my little half circle sun was shooting down its rays from the corner of the page as the stick figure soaked them all in. I explained to my young partner that I had newly arrived in Bolivia and really just wanted to be open to lots of new things and “soak it all in.” But when he explained it to the group, he said, “The sun is really important to Jess’ spirituality,” then fumbling for words, he added, “and she worships the sun.”

Oh give me a break, that wasn’t even a reasonable lie. Who worships the sun?? If he couldn’t remember, he should’ve said I have a Vitamin D deficiency or something.



Among Bolivia’s finer qualities is that there is always something to celebrate. (Of course there is always something to protest too.) I think the constant celebrations come from the dual systems: the state vs. the indigenous authorities, the Church vs. the indigenous traditions. It just makes for a lot of civic, cultural and religious holidays. (And now that I think of it, the dual systems are probably the source for most of the protests too.)

Today´s cause for celebration is the Southern Hemisphere´s Winter Solstice and not coincidently the Aymara New Year. To celebrate, I accompanied a group of Bolivian friends out to a tiny Aymara community. All night long the community held vigil preparing their offering table. The “Maestro” or spiritual leader led the lengthy preparations inside by candlelight as the young men practiced their pre-Hispanic dances outside by moonlight. Being the only foreigner, I was treated with great hospitality and thus invited to participate in blessing the offering table. I was shown how to dip a coca leaf in pure alcohol then sprinkle it on the offering as I repeated words I didn’t understand in Aymara. I later learned I was naming the Andean mountain ranges, which roughly explained, are considered higher spirits.

Before dawn, I found myself climbing up one of those spirits, despite my deepest desires to just sleep. Present at the top, were the Aymara Jilakatas (leaders) from all around the area, the mayor, a band and many others. The offerings from the night’s table were set on a large fire, some prayers were said, and then a series of “toasts” were carried out by throwing alcohol onto the fire. As the shaman spoke in Aymara, I picked out the few words I knew. He addressed his requests to Pachamama (mother earth) and Inti Tata (Father Sun). Then at the perfect moment, everyone turned away from the fire and reached out their palms towards the rising sun of winter solstice.

And looking at the back of my hands against the morning sun I remembered my partner’s description of me so many months ago. Having celebrated Aymara New Year his whole life, hands reaching out to a glowing sun probably weren’t so unfamiliar to him. And in the end, his fumble wasn’t a lie after all.