Carmen's Day was approaching, and at home, you could already smell starch, freshly toasted gofio, and those nerves of excitement that you get when you know the party is just around the corner. Mom ironed my skirt with more affection than haste, leaving it so stiff, she also starched it, leaving it completely new. She always said that for parties you had to be presentable, "as God commands," and that the scapular could not be missing because it was like a hug of faith that accompanied her in the procession. Those patent leather shoes that shone like mirrors, the smell of fresh cologne, Mom combed my hair grabbing it with affection, like every Sunday when we went out.
That morning we left early, with the sea breeze hitting our faces and the excitement beating at full speed in our chests. The neighbors were already in the square, some with guitars, others with timples, and all eager to share that joy that only here in the Canary Islands feels like this, like my family, with hearts ignited. All in silence, a silence that spoke of the tradition of an entire town. I remember the streets Plaza de La Luz, Pérez Muñoz, Tauro, Artemi Semidán, Tecén…
Dad, who as a young man played at Club Victoria and went swimming in El Confital, promised me that the next day we would go see a movie together. But I knew that before going to the cinema I had to give it a good "run" on the cobblestones of Plaza de España, barefoot if I could, feeling the warmth of the sun and the texture of the stone under my feet. Running there was feeling "free as the wind", like when Dad told me about those afternoons at sea, with the salt water and the strength of the Atlantic teaching him to be a swimmer like his father, who learned by swallowing salt.
Because that is the Canary Islands: a mixture of many things, of sea and land, of tradition and freedom. It doesn't matter if you are in a ravine in Gran Canaria, on a cliff in La Gomera, on a beach in Lanzarote or on the trails of La Palma; on each island the festivals and this celebration of our day are a promise and a way to feel one and we must celebrate it sweetened with palm honey.
And just as traditions are taken care of, so is the word. The Royal Canarian Academy of Language works so that our way of speaking, with its unique accent and its own expressions, remains alive and is not lost. Because with our accent, it has been carried for centuries in our history. It is saying "chacho", "guagua", "millo", "pella", "fisco", "majagua", "papa", "prenda" (the jewels we wear) and "fajín" with pride, and knowing that those words are part of our identity and must be celebrated.
In Tenerife, the Virgen de Candelaria is mother and guide, and when the chácaras sound in San Benito, the world stops. In Gran Canaria, the Bajada de la Virgen del Pino in Teror makes everyone dance, and the murmur of the papahuevos fills the streets.
In La Palma, the Indianos arrive white as the sea foam, that white of the talcum powder and the Bajada de la Virgen de las Nieves moves the soul. In La Gomera, the silbo unites mountains and hearts, and the Virgen de Guadalupe is the lighthouse that never goes out. In Fuerteventura, the Virgen de la Peña walks among the cardones while people sing loudly by her side.
In Lanzarote, San Ginés awakens the island with music, fire and salt, and among volcanoes he keeps the history of César Manrique, who made the island an open-air museum where art and nature dance together, with the jolateros in the background. In El Hierro, the Bajada de la Virgen de los Reyes is a long road and deep faith. In La Graciosa, the sea sings and the sailors sing to Carmen with the voice of waves. And on Isla de Lobos, although the party is quieter, the Atlantic prays with each wave that sways and breaks with force.
Being Canarian is that: running through the cobblestones, promising cinemas, feeling the sea on the skin, ironing the zagalejo with love, speaking with that accent that unites us and carrying a scapular in the heart.
And today, on Canary Islands Day, we shout it with pride
Happy Canary Islands Day, my dear people! May the silbo continue to unite us even if we are far away, may the gofio never be missing from the table, that pella of ours, and may we continue walking with our souls full of saltpeter, diving, the voice of the timple in our chest and the words of our elders guiding our steps to guide us.
Chacho, what is ours is not lost! We are lava, wind, history... and a bit of magic too!
Happy Day to every corner of the islands, from La Graciosa to El Hierro! All together singing in unison..
Because being Canarian is not explained... it is felt! And we are from the heart.
