Brujería: Getting Witchy in Latin America

by Brian Alcamo

Those who have visited already know that Latin America is filled with excitement, adventure, and even magic. 

The term brujería has come into public consciousness in the past few years. Beyond cool looking social media posts, the practice has a long and extensive history. In fact, brujería is a bit of a catch-all word. Literally translated to “witchcraft,” the word also refers to multiple spiritual practices historically employed by Caribbean, African, and indigenous Latin Americans. Generally speaking, brujería includes honoring the planet earth (through goddesses such as Oshun and Elegua), cleansing, ancestor worship, and lighting candles. Sometimes, wearing specific clothes, singing or chanting, and preparing sacred offerings are part of practices as well. 

Yoruba, for instance, is a thousands-year old religion hailing from West Africa. It blended with indigenous practices and Roman Catholicism to form Santeria (also called Lucimi). An Afro-Cuban religion that emerged in Latin America during the 15th and 16th Century in response to Spanish colonization, the religion lives on to this day. It is a complex folk religion with an entire pantheon of Orishas— manifestations of Oludumare, or God. Most of these deities were borrowed from Yoruba, and some of them have alter egos among the Catholic saints. They are often exclusively communicated with through collaboration with trained, initiated followers. Santería favors ritual correctness over personal belief, so if you want to try your hand at accessing some of the religion’s power, make sure you find a trustworthy santero.

A Santería Celebration in Cuba

While Santería is the result of colonization, Spanish colonizers didn’t come to the Americas in the name of religious syncretism. In fact, they even brought the Inquisition, their brutal and forceful campaign for religious uniformity, with them to the New World. Compared to what they were like on the Iberian Peninsula, 16th Century Colonial witch hunts were even worse, with stake burning and extreme violence towards indigenous people being common. 

Spain’s Inquisition failed in its home territory, and it didn’t go well in the Americas, either. Unfortunately, just because religious policing failed doesn’t mean that people didn’t get hurt. Women suffered the most from violent religious extremism in the name of colonization, as they mingled in markets and often shared homemade remedies that traversed taboo racial boundaries as well as the boundaries of science and religion.

One of these remedies, known for its vitality-promoting properties, was chocolate. The drink has been cultivated in the Americas for at least the past 3,000 years. It originated as a status symbol, and was served to royals, diplomats, and at weddings. Its caffeine content, flavor profile, and power it held in indigenous communities scared Spanish colonizers from the get-go. 

Vocabulary for Your Next Séance

• Hechizo - spell

• Caldera - cauldron

• Varita mágica

• Séance - sesíon espiritista

• Magía - magic

Spanish colonizers immediately prohibited many Aztec health plants like psychedelic mushrooms, but kept chocolate around, even adopting the beverage for themselves (probably because they realized that it was delicious). It eventually became a mass-market phenomenon, with people drinking it every day as opposed to reserving it for special occasions. Chocolate’s popularity became a symbol swept up in the developing patchwork Latin American culture, which was a melting pot of indigenous, African, and Spanish cultures. 

Chocolate cooks prepared the beverage by first creating a paste made out of ground cacao, vanilla, and annatto, along with other spices, storing it in blocks to be used later. When someone wanted a cup of chocolate, they would whip the paste with hot water until foamy.  To indigenous Mesoamericans, chocolate represented vitality. Men and women alike drank it for strength and power. Women most often prepared the chocolate, and men constantly said that they were being bewitched through the inky beverage, bringing their suspicions to the table at every meal (but never considering that they could cook for themselves to avoid sneaky spells). 

Independent, single women who were economically active were easy pickings for witch hunters, since few people could seem to wrap their heads around the possibility that a woman could make her own living. They used potions to slip through the very low glass ceilings of wiferey, motherhood, and sexual submission. Women made good money with their witchcraft, and the entire practice subverted men’s long-assumed intellectual and economic power over them. These feelings were tenfold in Latin America, where Spanish colonizer’s guidebooks could not match Indigenous women’s knowledge of their native continent. Unfortunately, this made indigenous women big targets for the inquisition.

Magical hot chocolate sat at the intersection of witchcraft and colonial strife. To European colonizers, the drink represented dissent, with racial, religious, and gender conflicts sitting at the bottom of each cup of cocoa. Once tried and found guilty of witchcraft, women most often went to prison.

A Cocoa Tree

In an attempt to control witchcraft, the Spanish Inquisition pushed magical practices to far-flung corners of society, following an “If I can’t see it, then it doesn’t exist” model of control. Women, who lost their autonomy after marriage, used brujería to regain control in their relationships while their husbands maintained the right to beat and cheat. Using chocolate as the basis of magic making was a way for women to transform their quotidian servitude into an act of power. Clearly, it worked, since governmental authorities were scared to let them continue without punishment. What they ended up doing, though, was incubating popular magical belief and religious culture beyond their dominion of control.

Even chocolate’s significance was eventually infused into indigenous converts’ new Catholic practices, with peoples leaving cacao offerings to Jesus. The Spanish conquerors could not keep up with their subjects’ creativity, losing track of the myriad ways Indigenous and African spiritual practices were growing, transforming, and even merging with their beloved Catholicism. Santería is the byproduct of centuries of creativity in the face of colonial might, and even Mexico’s Dia de Muertos merges indigenous practices with the Catholic All Saints Day. Walter Mercado, for all his pizzaz and pageantry, is yet another example of Latin America’s consistent grip on mysticism that goes beyond the monotheistic.

Nowadays, modern day brujas, brujos, and brujx are reclaiming the long-held taboo of the sexual enchantress and harnessing mysticism. Many are now publicly vocal about their power. Like their ancestors before them, young Latinx people are adopting brujeria to connect with their heritage, mysticism, and creativity. So, the next time you dissolve a tablet of Ibarra in your milk for a cup of hot chocolate, remember that you could be on the verge of casting a spell in line with centuries-old magic. 

Thumbnail photo by Tengyart.