Ready to bleed: this is how the wild animals of Guerrero fight for water (Video)

ZITLALA, Gro. (Process).– The moment that Lluvia Tecolapa had been waiting for years arrived on the afternoon of May 5th. At 17 years old, this young woman fought for the first time in the Atzatzillistli ritual. “I felt like giving some good fucks,” she says.

For six years, the women of Zitlala have participated in the tecuanis fights – previously exclusive for men – which are the culmination of a series of rituals to ask the god Tlaloc for rain and fertility for the land at the beginning of the agricultural cycle.

The rituals in the low mountain of the entity are practiced in a critical year due to drought and forest fires.

Ready to bleed

It is a hot afternoon in the center of Zitlala and in a corner of the ring some teenage girls are tied at the waist with a lasso rope. The rope reaches the right arm and ends in a kind of whip with a solid tip. That is the weapon with which they will have to fight.

Then they are put on a beef leather mask with the shape and characteristics of a feline: eyes, fangs, ears and whiskers. A fierce and unique representation of the jaguar.

They also wear green suits that simulate the skin of the animal, an icon of the entity.

Nervousness, tension and also adrenaline are reflected in the faces of the young women. Around him, more than two thousand glances; They observe them and take photographs while the sounds of three wind bands intermingled give more festivity to the crowd.

The ceremonial center is located an hour and a half from the capital of Guerrero.

While other fighters engage in rough confrontations. Rain or Kaley – as she likes to be called – prepares herself, observes her eventual opponent and jumps…

They put his mask on him and he enters the ring. He fights for a minute against another young woman from the rival neighborhood. They hit each other with the whip from the waist up; most of her impacts go to her face covered with her mask and towards her forearms. Sometimes her legs take the punishment too.

Both, just like when they started the fight, when they finish they hug each other and then separately with their boss they jump and shout in triumph.

-How do you feel? – Lluvia from the San Francisco neighborhood is asked.

-Very good. She wanted to go in so badly; She was fine.

This has been the first battle of this teenager. She has been waiting for this moment, she says, since years ago she saw her grandparents, her father and her uncles fight.

“It’s my first year, my first fight. “I was wanting to give some good fucks,” she says.

He explains that his motivation for fighting is to preserve the traditions and customs of his people, and above all to ask the gods for rain so that there is corn, beans and pumpkin in the region.

The judge

Among the fierce fights there is a woman who acts as a referee and who mediates between the rival groups that do not give up. She pushes, she forces her way through and they respect her. It is the trustee of Zitlala, Elia Tepectzin Saavedra, who previously distributed mezcal to fighters and threw t-shirts alluding to the ritual to the public.

The official says that about six years ago the women of the community began to participate in the fights and that they do so because of the adrenaline that being in the ring as warriors causes them.

“This is traditional and gender equality also influences,” says the union.

On the side of San Mateo and Cabecera is Berenice, 17 years old, with a green suit and a whip in her hand. With this she has spent three years fighting in the ritual.

–What is your motivation?

–My grandfather used to fight, and since in my family the men have already died, I am the only one who fights. My grandfather Grimaldo Espinoza fought for the Cabecera, but he died eight years ago.

Berenice knows the main slogan of the propitiatory rite of the rains: “Every drop of blood is every drop of water.”

Aracely, from the Cabecera neighborhood, jumps and raises her fourth (chirrión) before starting her fight, she also does it to observe the rivals from San Francisco and Tlaltempanapa.

He has a yellow padded jacket with black spots on it to simulate being a feline.

The second fight of his life lasts more than a minute. They are back and forth blows without either fighter bending. The attacks end when the referees separate them.

He takes off his mask and there are no visible bruises on his face. He drinks a liter of water and receives advice from his corner to fight another round.

“For two years I have represented the Cabecera neighborhood, more than anything to personify the tradition and my daughter,” he says.

Zitlala, like many Nahua towns in Guerrero, maintains a sexist culture, but in recent years the trend has reduced.

Data from the National Institute of Statistics and Geography (Inegi) indicate that this Nahua municipality has a total population of 21,977 inhabitants, of which 11,926 are women; they represent 54 percent.

The Regional Directorate in Chilapa, of the National Institute of Indigenous Peoples, records that in the last four years of 22 police stations and seven delegations, 10 women have been police station owners, 23 have been substitutes and 15 delegates.