As we stood watching, our maid, Chela, spotted us and motioned for us to come and join them. With her second beckoning I knew that I had to go join in. This was an opportunity not to be missed, in spite of my trepidation at not knowing the rituals of the ceremony. I slipped on my jacket and gloves and hurried outside into the cold night, down the steps of the calljon to Raul’s gate. Chela was just inside, and we exchanged greetings and then stood for a moment with arms around each others’ waists. One of Chela’s daughters was near by, but that was the only other familiar face. Eyes turned in my direction, the only gringo present. Chela then moved into the yard amidst the rest of the gathering while I remained at the periphery, content to observe and be a silent part of their tradition. Voices raised in unison, young and old together singing from memory these songs to commemorate the night of the birth of Christ. Songs alternated with chants and spoken verses, and I understood but a few words. Yet it mattered little.

Soon Dave came to join me, and we stood together as the last song was sung into the night. The mood shifted from solemn to festive as bags of fruit and nuts were handed out to everyone. We were ushered inside the yard by a man standing next to me, in spite of our protestations, and given a bag as well. Raul appeared and welcomed us, bringing us glasses of hot fruited punche, quickly followed by a splash of Tequila for additional fortification against the cold. He then invited us inside to meet the rest of his family. Sitting on the couch watching 3 of the small children and trying to determine whether they were siblings, one of teenagers on our other side told us in English that they were cousins. The spell was broken, and one of the women across from us said, “Mama!” and pointed to herself. There followed a part English, part Spanish exchange of introductions and talk of our families.

Away from our own traditions, friends, and families it felt good to be included and welcomed by our neighbors. We watch nightly to see where the Posada will go and listen for the sounds of our neighbors’ voices to fill the night air. They bring a friendly warmth to the cold that has descended.

Feliz Navidad,

— Stef

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