The Spirits Among Us

This story has been passed down from generation to generation in the indigenous community of the Cañari people in Ecuador. It’s tradition to pay respect to those who have crossed the other side.

A story that was told by my great-grandmother, grandmother, then my mother, and now to break tradition me, an adult male.

Enamored with science, am a believer in its laws, and I believe science will have an explanation for this in the future. But some of us are still trying to break through the webs of religious dogma.

I was around five years old when I was sleeping with my great grandmother in a large bed in Biblian, Ecuador, a rural town in the province of Cañar. We were getting ready for cultivation season. So after a long day of preparations that included getting the ox ready for plowing the land, cleaning and laying the corn seeds for planting, and having a small meeting with the laborers, which included eating and drinking chicha, a fermented alcoholic drink.

We were so tired at the end of the day that my grandparents with whom i grew up left early to their home. Since it was an hour journey home and my little legs would not have been able to keep up i stayed with my great grandmother.

I was asked to stay because she was alone. Her husband had passed away and all her grand-children had migrated to the United States leaving her alone.

Before going to bed urinating was essential for a deep, uninterrupted sleep. Not only that, if we were to wake up during the middle of the night the only accompaniment would be from the moon and it’s intensity depending on the lunar phase. With no electricity yet installed at that time, we took advantage of the candle-lit evening to do what nature called.

I, being young and stupid, looked up at the moon while my great grandmother waited for me to enter our hut made out of mud. I don’t know if we were very poor or we just decided to be simple. In any case, I noticed the moon followed me wherever I went, or so it seemed. Being ignorant I said loudly in spanish “fucking moon, stop following me.” She shushed me immediately for my foul and disrespectful language. She said in our nativelanguage of Kichwa, “Quiet, you could be punished for saying such things.” I understood our native language more as a child than I do now and immediately sprang into the hut.

Our place only held the essentials: two beds, clothes, and other old stuff that were always there in the way but it had some intrinsic value so it was never discarded. Of the two beds, one was the main one where my great grandmother slept and one was for visitors. I didn’t like sleeping alone there so I opted for sleeping by her side this evening.

I was around five years old and am thirty six now and can still sharply recall that night. After that evening i became frightened of the dark. So much so that even now unless i'm sleeping around people, or with my wife currently, I sleep with the light on or at least partially dimmed.

My great grandmother despite her ailing body fell asleep sooner than me. It was no sleep paralysis to debunk the case; I tossed and turned, opened and closed my eyes intermittently until I slowly opened my eyes startled because it felt like someone turned on a candle.

Slowly opening my eyes and reassuring that I am awake, I could see a blob of a figure sitting on top of me. It wasn’t heavy; I could still move my toes and hands, albeit I did it slowly because I was afraid but curious as to what it was. It had the shape of a human form but I could not see its extremities, even less its facial features but I knew it had a human semblance.

I was panic stricken. When i realized i couldn't scream i believe i fainted or something but when i was awakened by the noise in the kitchen it suddenly all came back to me. I knew by now that I wasn't the only one who had a supernatual encounter.

After supper my elders which included my great grandmother and grandmother would sometimes start off on what happened to my great grandfather...

In a rural town in the indigenous town of Biblian, Ecuador, between two mountains that houses a few families lies a river bank. There’s a constant stream of shallow water that runs and divides these two mountains. One of the mountains because of its proximity to a larger road has access to terrain road. The Pagway family and others lived in the other mountain which one only has access to by walking through the river. There is no bridge but the bank has sturdy rocks that you can hop about to cross it. Further down the stream before the current turns and disappears to another direction there is large rock in the creek. It’s covered by the low hanging tree branches around it. It’s a lovely sight but maybe it’s the cold wind but sometimes you can’t help but shiver as your hair stands on end while you near that large boulder.

We have won the war but we have not won the battle of the lasting effects left on the indigenous peoples of the Americas. Apart from the deep indoctrination of the state on the school system and cutting deep into our spiritual ways with the violent introduction of Christianity, there is also the social component of it.

Before there was fermented alcoholic beverages like the popular chica, or fermented corn. It was naturally sweet and delicious with a calming effect used for merriment during ceremonies. However, after the white colonists came the more potent alcoholic beverages rapidly became ingrained into the indigenous society. It became very prevalent so much so that It is the 21st Century and we can still see its lasting effects. Just take a look at the reservations where my northern Native American brethren were cast off to.

One night my great grandfather ,who was now legally known by a more Spanish name, Antonio, had a few drinks, my great grandmother recounted.

He worked cultivating corn, potatoes, legumes, and the like. He would get paid very little but the little that he did get paid he used it to buy beer. Not our traditional beverages used for ceremonies but the commercial beer.

The natives being more tolerant of the beverage, my great grand father would weather its effects and make the miles journey from the plantations with his fellow peones, laborers, back to his town where there stood a grocery store.

Being late everything was closed but if you knocked hard enough you could wake the owner and beg them to sell you a few drinks. So after several knocks out came the seller because like us he depended on every moneda.

Joyous Antonio and his fellow workers would drink, talk about their day, their women, their children, the world, politics, the upcoming Inti Raymi, or festival of the sun, anything. It just felt good to be in solidarity. However the effects of alcohol were never so gracious to him. From a jovial friend, husband, employee, the alcohol turned him into a jealous, possessive, and violent monster.

It was expected of him to turn this way. His wife knew it, his family knew it, and his friends as drunk as they were also knew it so they disbanded since it was almost midnight, and the grocer was out of alcohol.

They all went their separate ways to their homes. His friends lived in a nearby town. Only Antonio had to make the uphill climb to the road where it would take him down to cross the stream of water and then climb once again to his little shack. A shack it was as it was made of mud, supported by strong corn stalks.

At least nature was on his side that night. It wasn’t a full moon but it shined sufficiently that he didn’t need a lantern or burn a stick with bundled leaves to guide him. The nearby dogs barked as it was their nature every time someone walked remotely close to their master’s shack.

As Antonio easily made his way up the mountain to the road that would take him down again, he felt as though someone was following him so he turned around. There was nobody. It was a harder journey once you got to the road to walk down to the river crossing because the slope was sharper.

As he neared the river the dogs no longer barked, a few started to howl, until soon they all howled. Even his dogs that would sometimes come running down to meet him if it wasn’t too late or they weren’t too lazy hadn’t approached him. Soon even his dogs howled with the others.

His hair extended on end. He knew what this was all about even though he was inebriated. He knew the way and slowly hopped to the best of his balance from rock to rock in the most narrow part of the stream, and the most narrowest part of the stream was next to this huge rock. Finally he crossed but then it happened.

During that time there was no sheep in the area, no cattle, no livestock because It happened during harvesting season. When harvesting is about all the livestock are in greener pasture. In this midnight, however, from behind the rock appeared a dark shadow. He thought it was a shadow from his arriving dogs but no it can’t be or he would of heard their panting breaths, their barks of joy to see their master who would usually come with a bag of bones from the afternoon lunch his patrones gave him. No, he was drunk but conscious so he rubbed his eyes and when he was done there it was: a large black goat crying, not like a goat, but like a baby.

He knew what it was; he was mute with fright, he wanted to cry and scream at the same time. The black goat was large, at first it cried like a human baby but then started bleating in a loud masculine way, stomping his foot not letting him move further. He didn’t know until he woke up but he had pissed and shitted in his pants.

My great grandmother remembers Antonio telling her that he prayed to Jesus, to a god, to the great spirit but the goat did not move until he got to his knees and repented for his sins.

After he opened his eyes the black goat was gone and he ran up the mountain to the little walking road, he must’ve tripped, then used the branches of corn nearby to stand himself. His fingers were bloody and full of dirt. His dogs had stopped howling and wagged their tails at his arrival. They followed him as he rushed to wake his woman. He shook her, kissed her hand, kissed her lips; she realized he was drunk so she didn’t respond quickly because she was afraid. She smelled the stench of piss, feces, and of course, liquor.

Erlinda, his wife, was surprised by his erratic, albeit, lovingly manner he had awakened her. She got up worried and made him an herbal tea of Toronjil with lots of honey to calm him.

Antonio told her everything and promised never to hit her again. Being a traditional loving wife, he cleaned him. She thought he was crazy and drunk but believed him because he had never behaved this way before.

Since that night he never insulted or hit her ever again. Antonio would pass away a couple of months later from a condition of the heart. He left three sons.

Many equate these apparitions as demons but to us are spirits warning and guiding us. Don’t forget it said my great grandmother.

My father, may he rest in peace, also became a victim of alcoholism and its effects. He did recover from it though when he came to the United States. He was a great musician in the village back home, even appearing in the local radio, wowing fans and of course, the ladies. He played the accordion.

As it was the custom, every show he was invited to shots of Zhumir, a strong liquor in Ecuador. Even if he didn’t want it, it was somewhat of disrespect to refuse to drink it. Eventually his body will get accustomed to having a few drinks. Sometimes he would stay wherever he played and fell asleep there.

Music is a lovely art form---it wasn’t because of it he drank. He started drinking after soccer games, during his free time with friends, eventually becoming an alcoholic. My mother, who was pregnant with her first son would eventually pay the price. He would insult and hit her for simple reasons such as if her cooking didn’t have enough taste. They argued and he left her one weekend to stay over his grandmother’s. It’s perplexing how these men had no respect for their wives but instilled a lot of respect for their kids to have on their mothers and grandmothers.

When he was living with my great grand mother she didn’t allow him to drink; if he did, he would get berated and if he talked back he would get beaten with a stick. So it was calming to see men stay with their female elders. At least for that time they would be sober, calm, and maybe even reflect before going back.

He slept in a little bed across from where his grandmother slept. There was no toilette at that time. So if you had to go, you would be guided by the moon to a dry patch in the corn fields where any stench wouldn’t reach the house.

One night he had to go, it was in the early hours. Maybe one, two, or three in the morning; don’t know, they didn’t have a watch. There was a watch but it didn’t have that fancy lighting button. You would lose the tranquility of sleep if you pointed the hand watch to the moon to try and view the time. So it was a quick somnambulant walk, did your business, and darted back.

That beautiful, sweet tranquility of sleep can be devastating when you have to disrupt it to go pee but it was much so in the high altitude regions of the Cañar province. To be fully comforted by the thick alpaca wool sheets hugging your cozy feet only to be disturbed by the midnight chill. It would fully awaken you as soon as you stepped in your sheep-skin sandals. But that’s the prize you pay for drinking in the highlands.

Because of the stench my great grandmother kept a strict rule that they must go as far as possible to do their bodily duties. So my father would go far but near enough to pee, right next to a dry mud road that people frequented on during the day to their homes after a long journey to the city.

He was already scared because not only did his urge to urinate had awakened him but also the barking of dogs. As he was the man in his late teens he was responsible for making sure if the dogs were barking that it wasn’t an intruder looking to grab some maize or sugar cane.

During this night my great grandmother’s dogs only stirred; they stood up and just went back down as if tired. The dogs barking were from the neighbors afar. They usually barked when there was someone walking through the road.

He was already awake so he thought out loud “Ah, let me piss and check out what the commotion is about.” So he went around the corner back of the hut where the maize plantation was. While he started to take that long beer-piss the dogs stopped barking and started to howl. At that point he got scared. It is said in our culture that dogs howl when they see a spiritual entity. He froze.

He was now wide awake. The cold and fright brought chills throughout his body as his hairs stood on end. It came from far away but it could be that someone was quickly coming down the road because in pattern the dogs of each house would howl as if someone was running down the road.

He finished taking a piss and became curious as to who was coming down the road. The road was visible to the naked eye where he stood. He expected some animal loose from someone’s barnyard, or some drunk, but instead as he looked at the road he saw a light. Maybe someone lit something to guide him through the night?

The light came down fast down the road. It got nearer to the road adjacent to his home. He got a better vision as it approached. His dogs got uneasy and started to growl. Suddenly that light got near enough where he stood that he could clearly see it. The light was passing by so fast but he could see no lantern, the light grew larger to his field of vision.

He described one day during a family dinner: It was a blob of light coming down, it had the shape of a human but he could not see its features and one thing he took great notice was that it was floating and not touching the ground.

My great grandmother, may she rest in peace, died three years later when his grandson, my father, decided to leave Ecuador to cross the border into the United States.