Chamula and Makviló

The road from San Cristóbal winds into the Tzotzil Maya town of San Juan Chamula, where people want preserve their traditions. Sunday is market day. The square fills with color and sound. At its heart stands the Church of San Juan Bautista, one of the most iconic churches in Chiapas. Painted designs in green and turquoise decorate the whitewashed facade. Inside, the atmosphere differs from any Catholic church we’d ever entered.

Fresh pine needles cover the floor, creating a living carpet that softens every step. Families kneel in small groups, chanting prayers in Tzotzil. Meanwhile, rows of candles flicker against the dark. Copal incense is thick in the air. Instead of pews, healers conduct ceremonies. Families bring offerings of Coca-Cola (yes, really) and pox (the local corn spirit), and sometimes chickens for sacrifice.

The Coca-Cola serves a specific purpose: locals believe that burping helps expel evil spirits from the body, making carbonated drinks essential to healing rituals. Similarly, drinking pox and becoming intoxicated brings individuals closer to the spiritual realm.

Photography remains strictly forbidden inside. This is a sacred place, not a performance for outsiders. Here, Catholic and Maya traditions have converged into something entirely Chamula’s own.

From Chamula, we continued to Makviló. There, Antolina and her family welcomed us into their courtyard workshop. Here we watched the process behind Chamula’s distinctive wool garments, the shaggy black skirts and white vests that fill the plaza on festival days. First, workers card wool by hand. Then, they spin it into thick threads and brush it until it grows long and shaggy. The length and richness of the fibers signal status. The fuller the garment, the more respect it commands in community life.

Next, Antolina showed us how artisans weave these traditional coats and skirts on backstrap looms. The process requires slowness, repetition, and deep skill. We tried our hands at spinning with a spindle. We laughed at our clumsy attempts while she worked with effortless rhythm. Around us, garments in various stages of completion hung drying in the sun. Each piece represented hours and sometimes even weeks of labor.

By midday, we returned to San Cristóbal carrying the smell of wool and memories of pine needles underfoot. We’d seen how Chamula’s identity takes shape through ceremonies that outsiders can witness but not photograph, and through wool garments that require weeks to create. The church and the workshop depend on each other in a way. One preserves the sacred space, the other creates what makes that space visibly Chamula.