La Quema del Diablo

Burning the Devil in Santa Maria Cahabón, Alta Verapaz, Guatemala

Throughout the year, the evil that surrounds us accumulates in the dark recesses of our homes.

Lurking behind closet doors, beneath tables, inside seldom used cabinets, under beds, it waits and watches…

For some people in the nation of Guatemala, this perceived threat is confronted in the first days of December. With the Christmas season approaching, a ceremony steeped in Roman Catholic belief and bearing a unique Mayan identity takes place. "La Quema del Diablo” (Burning of the Devil) combines the drama and pageantry of feast days for the patron saints with the reckless thrills of a Chinese New Year.

In the eastern mountains of Guatemala sits the village of Santa María Cahabón. Located deep in the department of Alta Verapaz, it is accessible only after jolting hours on a rutted dirt, mud, and clay road that parallels the limestone banks of the Rio Lanquín on its serpentine path through steep fields of coffee, corn, sugar, and cardamom. The nearest major city--the department capital, Coban--is about 300 km away.

This foreboding topography was perhaps the best defense for the Q’eqchí Maya during the Spanish conquest in the 16th century. Fiercely defending their ancestral land, Cortés’ general Pedro de Alvarado was forced to abandon his efforts to pacify the region. He called the region ‘Tezulutlán’, or ‘land of war’. In 1537, Fr. Bartolomé de las Casas, one of the few voices at the time defending the natives of the New World, petitioned governor Alonso de Maldonado to allow himself and two other Dominican friars a year to non-violently subdue and convert the natives. By learning the local language and customs and appealing to an already-established faith in the supernatural, they succeeded. The two departments that formed the “Land of War” were renamed as the Verapaces, or "forever peace".

Ironically and tragically, the name rang false not only during the years of colonization but also in recent years. A harsh existence amidst poverty, oppression, and a demonstrably abusive government (backed by the USA, of course) culminated in a bloody and lengthy civil war lasting from 1960-1996. The violence claimed at least 200,000 civilians, including many from the area around Cahabón.

The first of December marks the beginning of a nine-day observance, El Novenario, which serves to cleanse the village in honor of and preparation for the Virgin Mary's spiritual return. It is near the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, a time of self-reflection and purification. As a result, unwanted clutter is taken from the home and burned, symbolically ridding the residence and its occupants of evil and its genesis: the Devil.

In the early morning hours (very early if you've spent the night drinking with the locals), an icon of 'la Virgen' is carried from a small chapel at the edge of town into the centuries old cathedral atop the hill in the center of town. It is then placed near a similar, larger statue. Noisemakers, firecrackers, and horns follow the pilgrims' steps as the procession makes its way across town.

The Quema del Diablo takes place at the foot of
the steps leading to this immense cathedral.
The mammoth structure, built during the Spanish colonial period of the 1500's, stands as a backdrop for the festivities. The town gathers in the courtyard at dusk to witness the Devil being burned in an explosive and fiery performance.

According to historian Miguel Álvarez Arévalo,
the celebration of the Quema del Diablo originated in impoverished Mayan communities during colonial times. Many citizens adorned the fronts of their homes with decorative lanterns similar to Christmas lights around the eaves to mark the Feast. For those unable to afford these expensive luxuries, bonfires of kindling and trash were lit instead.

These days, some towns burn effigies of the Devil along with discarded household debris. Some are small—similar to a piñata—and some quite enormous. In 2005 the construction and destruction of one such Devil in downtown Guatemala City stood over 40 feet tall.

For the Maya and other Mesoamerican peoples, fire has remained a method of communication with gods and ancestors since prehistoric times. Offerings such as blood-smeared paper were set aflame to conjure up the spiritual realm amidst the smoke during ancient Maya ceremonies, and in modern times altars and shrines are heavily decorated with colored candles and melted wax.

Some scholars credit local priests with the eventual association of the Devil with the burning piles of refuse. Their fiery sermons often described in detail the crushing of the Devil’s head by the Virgin Mary.

6 PM- the ceremonies begin

The sun was nearly complete in its descent behind the serrated Sierra de Chamá mountains. Venus and Mars, sacred wanderers of the Maya cosmos, shimmered brightly above, but their impressive light was meager in comparison to the nearly full moon. Grayish-white smoke from slash-and-burn farming hung motionless above the valley. The slow, steady beat of a single drum accompanied the haunting wail of the chirimia (an oboe-like traditional horn), filtering through the streets and in between the dilapidated buildings and fired-brick walls.

A throng made up of everyone from small children to village elders meandered along a narrow road lined with storefronts, sidewalk vendors, and half-starved canines. At the front of the procession, three men clad in red struggled to see through the large wooden masks that weighed upon their faces. The masks took the forms of the Devil, a bull, and a horse, each with grotesquely exaggerated features. Other members of the procession bore the reed and twine structures to be ignited later as part of the town’s soul cleansing. Constructed in the shapes of a dove and wings, they were bedecked in colorful attractive arrangements of fireworks. The thick smell of burning copal, long used in Maya rituals, wafted from a steel censor, bestowing the solemn atmosphere of a Catholic mass.

photo by Tod Imperato

While the crowd ascended the steep cobblestone road leading to the cathedral, the rhythmic notes of the marimba began to chime, signaling the start of the festivities. Onlookers filled the courtyard, seeking vantage points that would allow both optimum view and physical safety.

As night fell, balls of rope and gunpowder burst from short steel tubes, launching high into the sky and detonating with thunderous flashes. Still-smoldering shrapnel rained down upon our heads. At the foot of the steps leading to the giant wooden doors men lit and tossed bricks of firecrackers, one after another, with rapid-fire pops drowning out the shouts and traditional music.

The three masked figures then began a slow, shuffling dance. The wing-like structure was attached to the Devil and ignited. Shrieking, flaming projectiles darted through the smoke and gloom, bouncing from the ground, walls, and into the surrounding crowd. In all, three wing-like structures erupted in succession with brief pauses in between until all of the explosives were spent.

The feverish excitement of the revelers, who were frantically dodging skyrockets, filled the courtyard. The people of Cahabón, at no small risk of their own, were giving the Devil his due.

Putting myself dangerously close to the ceremony, I balanced photography, curiosity, and self-preservation. With one hand clutching my hat in front of my face and the other protecting my eyes, I thwarted incoming fireworks and falling embers, taking only one direct hit.

A rope was strung between the courtyard and the cathedral's belfry, and the dove structure was affixed to it. The fuses were lit. Slowly, it was pulled toward the timeworn façade, emitting showers of exploding embers and thick clouds of noxious smoke, culminating in a supernova of white flame that sent the last few brave and curious spectators below scattering for cover.

After an hour, the fireworks subsided and the town breathed a collective sigh of relief. Evil had been dutifully expelled and the Feast of the Immaculate Conception would remain immaculate, as far as the spiritual realm was concerned. The earthly realm was now occupied by the debris from thousands of firecrackers and homemade explosives, strewn about the church grounds like charred confetti. Acrid smoke clogged our lungs and eyes. The crowd dissipated, and I made my way back down the hill into the village below, stopping with friends and locals for cervezas Gallo at the first available location. We sat down on the sidewalk and drank, the cold beer washing the grit and soot from our throats, listening as the last firecrackers sounded off in the distance. The devil had been burned and the town could rest safely again…

That is, of course, until next year….