Carla and Elena left the living room to retrieve the “supplies” and returned carrying three plastic bags stuffed with what I dreaded was the guinea pig costume from the office. But then when Carla put on some traditional Huayno music and pulled out a large wool embroidered skirt, I knew just what they had planned.
After taking a few dance classes during the fall and becoming fascinated by the diversity of dance in Peru, Elena had suggested that we rent folkloric dresses one day and have an authentic dance party.
A few local seamstresses stock traditional clothing to outfit local schools for dance competitions. These concursos de danzas are the Peruvian equivalent of homecoming football games, with fans in the rafters whistling, cheering, throwing confetti and rooting for their classmates to win the Marinera from Trujillo or the Saya from Puno.
At home on Tuesday evening, Elena and Carla had pulled out the dress of the Huayla dance of Huancayo, where I traveled during Holy Week. I stepped into two knee-length red and orange skirts, each with a wool border of giant hand-stitched flowers, birds and even pumas from the surrounding jungle of the region.
Elena pulled a black tunic over my head and adjusted the skirts. She then slipped my hands into two decorative sleeves, connected by a string behind the back like a pair children’s mittens.
Over the shoulders is draped a heavy manta, or shawl, usually with a flower pattern square in the middle but sometimes with more personal designs. And, of course, no look is complete without the typical hat of the region.
In Huancayo, the hat is the simplest I’ve seen, a round top low-brimmed felt hat of tan or black with a ribbon that gathers on one side in a delicate fan shape rather than a bow.
This is quite unlike the hats of other regions such as Ambo, for example, a small but busy town just beyond the Granja outside of Huánuco. Here the women take their hats very seriously.
Hats are a bit of a status symbol giving each woman a distinct look, without which the woman look markedly similar, with their dark pleated skirts, knit sweaters and black braided pigtails.
In Ambo, each woman decorates her hat with a mix of bright colored silk flowers, ribbons and even Christmas tree tinsel. Local shops near the market cater to this by hanging all the necessary hat accessories outside their doors, with women coming to refurbish or upgrade their otherwise bland cream-colored top hats.
At first glance the hats seem a bit excessive, but after understanding that these women have few personal possessions, let alone freedoms in life, the hats represent a form of personal expression, identity and artistry.
As Elena continued dressing me in the outfit from Huancayo, Carla tried on a dress from the town of Huacaybamba, a small pueblo near Huánuco. She stepped into a longer black skirt, bordered with a vine of fuchsia flowers. The top was a pink and yellow satin button-up vest with longer panels laying over the sides of the skirt.
Carla then helped Elena put the finishing touches on my Hualya, including a multicolored woven sash wrapped around my waist to hold up the skirt and then a large safety pin to secure the heavy shawl across my back.
She asked Carla for an imperdible to pin the shawl and I remembered how much trouble I’ve had with his word. Sounding nothing like “safety pin,” I had to have my co-worker write it down for me when I was heading out to buy some craft supplies for the office.
Carla, who has been my trusted language simplifier, said it means “unloseable,” derived from the verb pedir, to lose. What an absolutely sensible name for a safety pin!
So, while Elena secured the imperdible and rushed around me making final adjustments for my outfit, I reflected on the new concept of what it means to be “unloseable.” Thinking more during my long bus ride to Lima, it seems this entire year has been a demonstration of what this means.
To be held together, bonded to and constantly surrounded by loving and supportive people.
To work with survivors of abuse who have surely been lost but have arrived at Paz y Esperanza where the message is “You have been found.”
To reinforce my faith and belief in G-d, which tells me that we are all found, already and every day without question.
As it says in Psalms 139 “Oh Lord, you know it [me] completely. You hem me in behind and before, and lay your hand upon me.”
I find this to be so absolutely reassuring, to know that no matter how lost I feel, no matter where I find myself, no matter what happens from here on out, I am unloseable. We are already found, already loved, already assured, already justified and already accepted in every way.
I am re-learning this concept or maybe understanding it more completely for the first time. And I love that what triggered all of this was a tiny pinky-sized safety pin, holding together my shawl so I won’t lose it while dancing in the living room on my last night in Huánuco.
