Certain Latin traditions traverse borders, sometimes with a modern twist
As a child in Colombia, Maria Vallejo assumed her family’s traditions were practiced everywhere. But when she moved to the United States at age 29, she realized how closely tied many of these customs were to her Hispanic heritage — like the piercing of a baby girl’s ears. “In Colombia, it’s not even discussed,” says Vallejo, a photographer in Gainesville, Fla. “You have your baby girl in the hospital. They take her away and clean her up; they bring the baby back — and her ears are pierced.”
So she was surprised when that didn’t happen after she gave birth to her daughter in the U.S. in 1999. “I had earrings for her with me at the hospital, but they brought her back to me, and she didn’t have her ears pierced,” she says. “I asked the nurse to do it, and she said, ‘No, no, you have to talk to your pediatrician.’”
Infant ear piercing isn’t strictly Colombian; it’s one of many practices embraced across Latin America that make up Pan-Latino culture. Edith Gonzalez, who has a doctorate in anthropology from City University of New York, notes that simply sharing a history, language or country doesn’t guarantee that groups will share traditions.
“The Spanish had colonized different regions in the Americas, mixing with local populations for hundreds of years. They therefore had wildly diverse cultural variation before the Northern European colonizers even started coming (to America),’ she says. “So, for example, people from Central America have a radically different culture than people from the Greater Antilles.”
Thus, a tradition observed in Mexico might not be practiced in Cuba or Spain — or it could be called something else entirely.
Common Conventions
Some cultural practices have a wide reach, such as la cuarentena. In its strictest sense, it’s a 40-day postpartum period in which a new mother is expected to do nothing but care for her child. The family handles housework and cooking, providing her with herbal remedies and approved foods. In some regions, there are religious origins at play, says Gonzalez, but there are practical reasons to observe la cuarentena. Some researchers have found that cultures that encourage this kind of support also tend to see improved maternal and infant health.
In some areas, help is hired. “Your family hires a nurse — a nana — in Colombia,” says Vallejo. “She sleeps on a bed next to the baby’s crib; she’s with the baby all the time.” Vallejo’s in-laws offered to hire one when her children were born, but she declined due to lack of space. However, she gladly accepted help from her parents and in-laws, who flew in from Colombia.
Roxanna Sarmiento, chief operating officer of #WeAllGrow Latina Network, grew up in the Dominican Republic, where she embraced traditions from both the Dominican culture as well as her father’s Colombian heritage. She also practiced a modern take on la cuarentena when she had her three children in the U.S.; her parents traveled to Boston to stay with her for a month each time. “It was such a help to have extra hands to hold the babies, and my mom made us my favorite comfort food,” she says. “This tradition means everything. It reminds me of how our culture prizes family relationships above all.”
Convictions and Protections
Like la cuarentena, mal de ojo (or the evil eye) is recognized amongst many Latinos — and within other cultures. Mal de ojo refers to a curse that can be cast with a look. Within Latino populations, especially in Mexico and Central America, it’s common for mothers to give their babies an amulet, like an azabache, to be worn to protect against that curse. The jet black gemstone may be combined with red stones or glass, sometimes with a blue eye painted on top.
Daniela Benson, a business consultant in Tampa, Fla., grew up in Venezuela, moved to the U.S. at age 25 and welcomed her daughter, Lara, in 2018. “I think it’s more of a superstition, but every mom wants to protect her baby from something bad happening to them,” she says. “So you buy an azabache and put it either on an ankle bracelet or pin it on the baby’s clothing.”
Like Sarmiento and Vallejo, Benson looks to her culture’s traditions for guidance and comfort, but isn’t a strict observer. She pierced Lara’s ears, but waited two months to do so. “Every single female in my family had her ears pierced at birth,” she says. “I loved playing with earrings when I was growing up.” Benson knows that Lara may not embrace every tradition passed down through the Venezuelan side of her family, but feels that at least she will have her earrings to connect her to her roots.