"Abracadabra" - Travels by Tim

Traditions and Superstitions in La Paz, Bolivia by Tim Ghazzawi

Hermione. Sabrina. Glinda. Broom-Hilda. The trio from Hocus Pocus. Residents of Salem. There are a lot of witches out there. I happened to meet one while in Bolivia, though I didn’t learn her name. She was too shy to reveal anything personal about herself but not shy at all to show off her magic skills alongside the other witches in El Alto, a neighborhood north of La Paz, which every Thursday and Sunday hosts the largest street market in South America in an area that spans over 5 square kilometers.

Despite the market’s size, it’s not difficult to locate where the witches sell their things. The hanging dried llama fetuses are the first giveaway. They died naturally, I was promised. It’s bad luck to kill one but good luck to bury one once it dies, particularly if you’re building a new home or starting a new business. Miniature idols of various shapes and sizes are scattered about their stalls. Herbs and spices are mixed in large pots to create specialty powders and incense. After admiring the extensive collection of one particular witch, I was told (almost clairvoyantly) that anyone who has been single for over a year needs a love powder to cure his or her loneliness. I bought three for good measure.

Though La Paz is very much a modern metropolitan city, serving as Bolivia’s sort-of capital (its government is located there) and home to over 2 million people, ancient traditions and superstitions permeate most aspects of everyday life there, too. A few examples:

In the fruit and vegetable market, it is seriously frowned upon to change produce ladies. Loyalty is key. The woman you buy apples from should be the only woman you buy apples from. She is your casera and your connection to her is for life, sometimes even multi-generational, passed down to your own children and grandchildren.
Prior to an intense ride on the infamous Death Road, my guide instructed me to pour alcohol onto the ground, onto my bike, and into my mouth as a way to thank Pachamama (Mother Earth) and bless my upcoming journey.

I visited the La Paz cemetery on November 2nd, the Day of the Dead, and encountered crying families, mariachi bands, bread vendors, and laughing drunks. Like in most cemeteries, it is customary to leave sentimental gifts at the grave-sites of loved ones there. This particular cemetery, though, is not ordinary. Walking maps are provided free of charge to help navigate the confusing network of pathways. Ladders aid visitors climbing to high tombs. Refreshments are sold site-wide. Colorful skull murals decorate the walls. Musicians are available for hire to sing songs in honor of those lost. When I walked along Via 32, I admired all of the things people had left as tributes including flowers and candles, candy, whiskey, animal crackers, snow globes, and a glass swan.

I promise I tried my best to learn these ways, to follow and respect these customs. Unfortunately not even the strictest abidance to the unofficial rules of the city saved me from being robbed. On what was supposed to be to my last night in La Paz, three men confronted me on my way to the bus station and stole most of my electronics. Afterward I tried to track my phone online and later reported the crime at the police station, where I was forced to search through over a decade’s worth of mugshots in the off chance my perpetrators were repeat-offenders. I never did recover my things and, to this day, I write and take photographs on a black market phone I purchased in El Alto (which is probably where my belongings are being sold, too). I’ve replayed the robbery many times over in my head, thinking about what I could have done differently. I’ve come to realize that what I needed at the time wasn’t a better tracking system or police force. What I needed was a good and proper hex from my new witch friend. It’s obvious to me now that I bought the wrong powder. Love can wait. Revenge would be sweet.