"It's a witch's hat because you wear it. But you're a witch because you wear the hat (...) So people see you coming in the hat and the cloak and they know you're a witch and that's why your magic works?"
Terry Pratchett - Equal Rites
Terry Pratchett - Equal Rites
Augusto poses next to his mesa
“You gonna take the pictures now?” asked the shaman. “Wait, I’ll put my stuff on” he said, and disappeared for a while into the next room. The same scene repeated itself with other shamans and witches. If there is one thing the supernatural intermediaries of Lima have in common, it’s their meticulous care for image, including a peculiar crowded aesthetic. More than just a marketing strategy, their image has become a fundamental component of their magic. The shaman (or medicine man/woman, or witch) comes out fully dressed up. If you look at them close enough, you’ll never find two shamans that look exactly alike. Even those that come from the same tradition (there are multiple magical traditions in this country) take care to always have a unique distinguishing feature: a particular hat, some kind of poncho, feathers, or even a samurai sword. The other side of their individuality has too mundane a name to be precise. Everyone just calls it “mesa”, the Spanish word for table. The word “altar” wouldn’t do justice to the concept. A mesa can be many things, and it can carry all kinds of mystical objects. Most of the time it’s not even a table: it can be a simple rug on the floor; a shelf attached to the wall; or a simulated tomb inside a building, with bones and dirt.
And standing out more than anything, the colors - the most phosphorescent colors of the palette, for the most depressing city on the planet. As if neon had a place amid Lima’s dusty, depressing grayness, where rain never falls, thunder never sounds, and rainbows are unknown. Then it all makes sense: this city needs magic.
And love.
Pedro de la Cruz, shaman
Love? Shaman Pedro de la Cruz adjusts his bluetooth receiver deep into his right ear. You couldn’t tell from his gaze whether he’s talking to you, the phone, or some spirit. Sometimes it seems like he’s alternating between the three worlds, and the conversation can get rather confusing. The waiting room to his consultancy is packed with people of diverse backgrounds. There is at least one couple, one man on his own, and a women holding a little boy by the hand. Are all of them, then, looking for love? The little boy is crying, the couple are inexpressive but serious, the lonely man seems to just suffer. “I’d say that 90% come here because of love” says the shaman. Even if there are damages and money involved, the final end is always love, the lack of love, or the urge to destroy someone else’s love. Even when people look for power, that power is motivated, in some way, by love. One of my more brutal encounters with this reality took me by surprise and (to my horror) without my camera. At the other side of the city, between Gamarra and La Parada - two of the oldest and most chaotic commercial areas in town - there is an anonymous building, surrounded by street vendors on the sidewalk, and filled with fabric stores on the first floors. Inside the building, if you climb a narrow stairway, and turn some corners through a winding corridor, you’ll arrive at a small room, with a mound of dirt in the middle, and images of death and friendly goddesses on the walls. Some pieces of bone poke out from the mound of dirt, and next to them is a big ceramic pot, inside of which is a round, bloody cylinder of meat, rolled up on itself. Timbaya, (the witch who owns this mesa) had an expression of mixed seriousness and amazement on her face, like a grandmother who’s telling a scary story to a child. “It’s a donkey penis,” she said, “for a poor disadvantaged man”. Shortly after seeing it, she politely asked me to leave, as I had seen more than enough as far as she was concerned, and it was getting very late. The photo session had to be postponed to another time. That worked well enough for me - knowing the space beforehand gives you a great advantage.
Timbaya in full character
The decoration, just like that by the rest of the shamans, was eclectic. A three by three meter room, easy to light. On the back wall, an image of the Santa Muerte (Holy Death), a Mexican cult image. On the other wall, the Roman goddess of luck, Abundantia, holding a giant cornucopia. On the day of the photoshoot, Timbaya used a colorful feather headdress, and clothes with geometric designs from the Shipibo, a tribe from the Peruvian Amazon. All of that together made for a singularly chaotic spiritual unity.
One time, years ago, I took part in an unorthodox ceremony that used coca leaves as a way to thank the earth. It felt like a gathering of New Age urbanites who wanted to fulfill their spiritual voids. When later on I questioned one of the organizers about the untraditional and not-so-authentic nature of the ritual (compared to the earth rituals I’d seen performed by locals in remote Andean towns), the man, who was incidentally an old theater actor, told me something that resonated through all the shaman’s mesas, and through Timbaya’s painted walls: “We have a right to creativity”. Today, a conception endures among some people, which regards as legitimate only a certain kind of museum-like mysticism, frozen in time and free of foreign and inelegant influences. A single glance into the world of urban shamans is enough to tear down this paradigm. When adapting to market competition, or simply following their own sensibilities, shamans don’t hesitate in complementing their inherited traditions with a thick and flashy layer of colorful influences from different times and places.
Love candles at a shaman's office
And somehow, despite these transformations, the magic endures. “Amarres” (bindings that bring one together with a loved one) are advertised in every corner and paper. The public requires the shaman’s services now more than ever, and through their faith they become artificers of their own good fortune. If anyone doubts the relevance of magical thinking - or, to put that in another word, faith - in Liman society, they’d do well to remember that every October, hundreds of thousands of worshippers follow through the streets an image of the old Lord of Tremors, infused today with the convenient face of Jesus Christ. On one of downtown’s main avenues, next to the Lord’s yearly route, Felix the shaman has an office. “If you come here, and you don’t believe, this is not going to work for you” he says. “If you come as a tourist, just out of curiosity, nothing I do will help you”. The same force that fills the streets during religious processions now fills his waiting room with believers. We wait, well into the afternoon, for Felix to finish his appointments. The conversation then moves onto the building’s roof, because I wanted to take some shots with the streets as a background. The sun has almost set, and the city lights are shining. Felix is already dressed in his complete garb, a rather modest one by shaman standards: a poncho, a chullo, and some shamanic accessories. First, he grabs a seashell called a pututo, with a metal mouthpiece inserted in the tip so that can be blown like a horn. The sound is deep and bass-like, intended to travel great distances and to echo across the landscape. If we had a complete silence, a silence unreal for a city of 9 million people, a silence of other times, the sound could have reached the main square, only 500 meters from the rooftop.
Felix on his office rooftop, located at Lima's downtown
All colonial cities have a main square, typically abutted by a government building, and by the largest church in town. It has always been the city’s definitive public space - the place where families would walks, where fairs and public councils would be held, and where poor children would both play and steal. Almost two hundred years ago, on top of a wooden pyre, the Inquisition burned its last witch right there. From Felix’s rooftop we could point at the bonfire with our fingers. If the wind blowed from the south, as today, the witch’s smoke would hit our faces. Her curses and screams, carried across air and time, would feed our worst nightmares.
We are ready for the photos now. Standing on the edge of the rooftop, Felix pretends to blow on the seashell, and tries to lend an air of solemnity to his actions. An experienced shaman knows how to deal with the press and photographers. Our background, Lima city by night, is lighted by orange tungsten lamps. It’s color is somewhat similar to that of fire. We definitely live in the most modern of times.