I’ll never forget the night La Rama ambushed my quiet Guinness. There I was, at an Irish pub in Veracruz, smugly cradling a pint, convinced I’d escaped the Christmas chaos outside. Then they burst in — kids wielding a glittering tree branch like it was Excalibur, tambourines shaking like the prelude to a medieval battle charge. Their songs, delivered with the wild energy only kids on a sugar high can summon, were a joyful riddle to me, as my Spanish at the time barely extended beyond “tacos, por favor.” But the message was clear: empty your pockets or wear the shame of a barroom Scrooge.
The scene unfolded against a backdrop of “authentic” Irish kitsch that looked like it had been stolen from a Cracker Barrel clearance sale. It was surreal, chaotic, and — somehow — utterly brilliant. Holiday cheer, I realized, needs no translation; it barges in, shakes a tambourine, and demands your attention. I raised my glass to them, finished my pint, and handed over my coins, knowing that even though I had just arrived, Veracruz and I would get along very well.
In Veracruz, Mexico, Christmas doesn’t just arrive — it parades in on an adorned tree branch, singing at your doorstep. This is La Rama, a tradition as lively as it is heartwarming. For eight nights, from December 16 to 24, the streets of Veracruz come alive with a charming procession of song, light, and laughter. It’s a celebration where the simplest things — a branch, a song, a smile — become humble symbols for the holiday spirit.
Where did La Rama begin?
One of the most fascinating tales of La Rama begins in the early colonial period, when Spanish missionaries arrived in Veracruz with big dreams and bigger agendas. They needed a way to convince the locals that Christianity wasn’t all fire and brimstone, so they borrowed something familiar: the evergreen branch, already a symbol of life and renewal for indigenous people. It was a clever move, really — using the locals’ beliefs to make their own pitch.
In one instance, they enlisted the Nahua people to organize solemn processions. Picture it: singing, flower-laden branches, and offerings of food or small tokens, all while nodding to both saints and ancient gods. The rama would visit homes, its bearers accepting gifts in return for prayers and blessings. A spiritual quid pro quo.
But, as traditions tend to do, La Rama evolved. By the 19th century, the solemnity had been tossed out the window like stale bread. The songs became cheeky and playful, the processions louder and more festive. Entire neighborhoods in Veracruz turned the tradition into a contest — branches became elaborate art pieces, and singers tried to outshine each other with humor and charm. It was less about religion and more about community spirit, with just a pinch of rivalry.
And here we are today. La Rama still marches on, a testament to the adaptability of culture. What started as a tool for conversion became something far richer—a celebration of creativity, connection, and the simple joy of a well-decorated branch. Sometimes, traditions aren’t just kept alive; they thrive despite everything. By the 20th century, it had evolved into the lively neighborhood tradition we know today — a moving festival that combines faith, art, and just a bit of mischief.
If you were to wander through Veracruz during those festive nights, you’d see groups of children and adults carrying branches bedecked in everything from colored paper and tinsel to balloons and LED lights. The decoration styles can vary wildly, from rustic charm to what can only be described as a glitter explosion.
The singers — armed with guitars, tambourines, and voices brimming with enthusiasm — perform traditional verses as they go from house to house. The songs are simple but spirited, often calling out the residents to come and enjoy the display. A typical verse might praise the host’s generosity or humorously lament the lack of sweets on the previous stop. It’s a mix of caroling, storytelling, and gentle peer pressure wrapped in holiday cheer.
Verse 1:
“Hola buenas noches, ya estamos aquí
aquí está la rama que les prometí;
que les prometí venir a cantar,
pero mi aguinaldo me tienen que dar.”
(Hello, good evening, we are already here,
here is the branch I promised you;
I promised to come and sing,
but my gift you must give to me.)
Verse 2:
“Naranjas y limas,
limas y limones,
más linda es la virgen
que todas las flores.”
(Oranges and limes,
limes and lemons,
the Virgin is more beautiful
than all the flowers.)
Verse 3:
“En un portalito de cal y de arena,
nació Jesucristo
por la Noche Buena.”
(In a little stable of lime and sand,
Jesus Christ was born
on Christmas Eve.)
Verse 4:
“Yo no quiero vino,
ni quiero cerveza,
yo lo que quiero
es pasar a la mesa.”
(I don’t want wine,
nor do I want beer,
what I want
is to sit at the table.)
Verse 5:
“Zacatito verde lleno de rocío,
el que no se tape
se muere de frío.”
(Little green grass full of dew,
those who don’t cover themselves
will die of cold.)
Verse 6:
“A la media noche un gallo cantó,
y en su canto dijo,
ya Cristo nació.
Cristo nació,
por ser poderoso,
y ahora tenemos a un niño gracioso.”
(At midnight, a rooster crowed,
and in its song, it said,
Christ is already born.
Christ was born,
because He is mighty,
and now we have a gracious little boy.)
Verse 7:
“La calaca tiene un diente, tiene un diente,
y la muerte tiene dos.
Si no me dan mi aguinaldo, mi aguinaldo
ya la pagaran con Dios.”
(The skeleton has one tooth, has one tooth,
and death has two.
If you don’t give me my gift, my gift,
you’ll answer to God.)
Farewell (if given a gift):
“Ya se va la rama muy agradecida
porque en esta casa fue bien recibida.”
(The branch now departs, very grateful,
because in this house, it was well received.)
Farewell (if not given a gift):
“Ya se va la rama muy desconsolada
porque en esta casa no nos dieron nada.”
(The branch now departs, very disheartened,
because in this house, we were given nothing.)
Give them their gift, and they’ll leave grateful. Deny them, and the disheartened farewell will haunt your conscience like a ghost of Christmas past. Choose wisely; your ending depends on you. What do they receive? Similar to Halloween, the kids get candy, pocket change, or whatever the unsuspecting adults have on them. It’s not about the monetary value, though. It’s about connection, the joy of giving and receiving, and the sense that everyone — rich or poor, young or old — has something to share.
Stephen Randall has lived in Mexico since 2018 by way of Kentucky, and before that, Germany. He’s an enthusiastic amateur chef who takes inspiration from many different cuisines, with favorites including Mexican and Mediterranean.
Source: Mexico News Daily
