A Mexican Sweet 15 – a bluejean girl becomes a woman

In the Mexican desert, full of hardship and dust, the traditional quinceañera is a chance to be a princess for a day.

By Michelle Nijhuis | Correspondent of The Christian Science Monitor

from the January 4, 2008 edition

Page 1 of 2

Ejido Luis Encinas Johnson, Sonora, Mexico - The day of the quinceañera dawns raw and blustery, and clouds of dust scud along the main road of this quiet village. But outside the cinderblock church, and on the well-worn basketball court in the center of town, young girls are already threading long garlands of handmade blue paper flowers, and their older brothers are scaling ladders to stretch the strings overhead.

Today is Seraya Butron Rodriguez's 15th birthday, and like so many young Latin American girls, she's been dreaming of her quinceañera, or "sweet 15" party, for as long as she can remember. Part sacred, part secular, the quinceañera marks the entrance of a young woman into adult society, and is thought to mix indigenous traditions with those of Spanish Catholic missionaries.

While customs vary by country, region, and class – quinceañeras are sometimes lavish affairs, with limousines and legions of jeweled attendants – the events are always carefully choreographed. Here, in this tiny ejido, or communal-farm village, less than an hour's drive south of the US border, the customs are modest, but the preparations are as exacting as a wedding's.

I've been visiting this ejido sporadically for years now, first as a journalist, later as a curious outsider and language student, finally as a friend. The town, with its fewer than 200 souls and simple brick-and-plywood houses, sits in the desiccated delta of the Colorado River, surrounded by salt-laden fields and miles of mud flats. Farming is rarely profitable, so people here work at shrimp farms along the Gulf of California, pick and bundle green onions in nearby fields, or endure a two-hour bus ride each way to shifts at "la Sony," the Sony factory in the border city of Mexicali. Many leave for better prospects north of the border.

I've known Seraya, the youngest daughter of friends, since she was 8, and last year she asked my husband and me to be among the two dozen padrinos — sponsors, literally godparents — of her quinceañera.

So we made the trip from our home in Colorado, fancy clothes wrinkled in our suitcases, to join the preparations and the fun. We're the padrinos of the drinks; others are responsible for the pedestaled cake, the bouquet, the invitations, and even the dress and hairstyle. In a place where credit is rare, the padrino system is a kind of lifelong installment plan, ensuring that no family carries the entire financial burden at once.

While the paper garlands whip and twist in the wind, Seraya's mother, sister, and sister-in-law cut up three freshly slaughtered sheep, cooking up enough savory mutton to feed the expected crowd of 200 or 300. Her mother calmly puts the finishing touches on the homemade silvery dresses and bolero jackets for the damas, the 14 younger girls who accompany the quinceañera, and the matching bow ties for the chambelanes, their 14 squirming escorts.

As the sun sets, Seraya and her procession enter the simple Roman Catholic church, its tile floor swept and cracked windows polished for the occasion. The crowd greets her with grins and gasps: Her dress glitters with crystals, its fantastically wide skirt ballooning with layers of gauzy aquamarine, almost immobilizing her with its bulk. Her thick brown hair is twisted and gathered and topped with a shiny tiara.

It's her chance to be a princess, and she's grabbed it.

During the mass, as the traveling priest struggles to remember the name of the town, Seraya bends for his blessing, her face impassive with fear or gravity or both. When the service ends, the damas and chambelanes leap up from the front rows, thrilled by the reflected glory, and make their way over to the basketball court for the evening celebration.

Page 1 | 2 | Next Page