Author Archives: Ebi Penawou

El Salvadoran Bedtime Story

Age 20

Text:

“So there’s this story that my mom would always tell me. It was like when she was growing up in El Salvador in the 90s. And it was this story — I’ve heard it before, but the way she tells it, she actually kind of lived it. People always said that you had to be in bed by, like, 8 or 9, because around that time this cart — a cart with cow skeletons — would come in, and they would take children away if they were out of bed or misbehaving. So it became really prevalent during the war, because there were a bunch of dead people just because of the war.”

Context:

The informant’s mother grew up in El Salvador during the Civil War (1979 – 1992), a conflict that claimed over 75,000 lives and left detrimental social trauma in its wake. The “cart for cow skeletons” closely resembles La Carreta Chillona (The Screaming cart). In the well-known legend across Central America, a ghostly bone-driven cart haunts the night and brings death or punishment to those who encounter it. 

Analysis:

This legend is an example of how folk narrative can absorb historical trauma. The mythic threat is engulfed by real environmental violence: disappearances, death squads, curfews, etc. The cart became an idiom for real danger and genuinely unsafe streets. The legend thus serves as a practical protection function. For the informant, growing up in a post-war period invokes a liminal space for the story to exist in, as both a piece of his mother’s history and a threat that no longer applies to him. This intergenerational quality is a trait of traumatic folklore: that survives the conditions it was generated it and carries emotional residue long after danger has passed.

Nochebuena

Text:

“It’s a few nights before Christmas Eve — because we actually celebrate Christmas on Christmas Eve instead of Christmas Day. I think that’s just a Mexican thing. But we’ll gather, like, my cousins and my aunt — and yeah, actually it’s mostly just the women. And we’ll make tamales. And it’s literally — tamale-making isn’t just baking tamales; you’re up for hours. It’s so much hard work. We do it every year, and it’s pretty miserable, honestly. But I like it because I would continue it with my kids, because I think it’s important. I don’t really see my extended family that much throughout the year.”

Context:


Nochebuena — Spanish for “Good Night” — is celebrated on December 24th and is deeply embedded in Mexican Catholic tradition, marking the end of Las Posadas, a nine-day celebration commemorating Mary and Joseph’s search for shelter before the birth of Jesus. For the informant’s family, Nochebuena is the primary Christmas celebration, and tamale-making is its central ritual activity. The labor-intensive process of making tamales — spreading masa, filling, folding, and steaming — typically takes an entire day and is performed collectively, almost exclusively by the women of the family.

Analysis:

The informant’s mixture of affection and mild complaint — “it’s pretty miserable, but I’d continue it with my kids” — is a remarkably honest articulation of how folk traditions sustain themselves even when they are demanding. The hardship is not incidental but parallels how heritage can become a gendered experience. The hours of shared labor are the means by which the women bond and provide sustenance for the rest of the family. This is characteristic of foodways rituals in which the process matters as much as the product: the tamales are not merely the end result but the occasion for the gathering itself. The gendered dimension encodes a specific vision of family structure and cultural transmission, one that the informant has absorbed and plans to carry forward.

Lion Tokens

Text:

“You got lion tokens — like coins — for being a good student, for paying attention, or like, maybe everybody else was goofing around, but you stayed focused. You got this currency you could use to buy homework passes, late passes, or even pencils or plushies, which was really interesting. And the students started trading them. It became a matter of pride.”

Context:


The informant attended the only gifted program on the South Side of Chicago, which required a competitive exam to get into. The token system was officially implemented by the school as a behavioral incentive program, but students created their own informal economy around it, trading, strategizing, and assigning social value to the coins in ways that greatly exceeded the official purpose. For the informant, tokens were more than just access to privileges; they were a sign of recognition and status within the peer group.

Analysis:
What started out as a tool for institutional behavioral management was turned by students into a completely colloquial folk economy with its own logic of value, exchange, and prestige. This is an example of how folk groups shape institutional structures to their own social ends. Officially, the tokens were meant to enforce individual compliance. But they became objects of collective negotiation and peer status, ones they were able to hold over one another and use as proof of social capital, not just a currency for getting out of homework. In a gifted program already competitive in admission, the token system took on another meaning as a visible marker of academic and behavioral standing. Students were given an institutional framework; they inhabited and elaborated it to reflect the status of popularity, even in early childhood, producing a parallel folk practice layered atop the official one.

Money Spraying

Text:

“People will come forth and spray them with money to show love and support — and oftentimes, if it is something like a service of songs, it’s also financial support in a time of need. So essentially, the celebrants are just dancing in the middle, and then people will come with dollar bills or sometimes five-dollar bills. Typically, it’s small amounts because what matters most during this act of celebration is that there are a lot of bills on the floor. People essentially shower the celebrants with money.”

Context:

The informant is a 21-year-old of Nigerian descent who recounted a money spray at her own graduation party. A common practice in Nigerian celebrations, especially those with Yoruba and Igbo roots, is for guests to dance up to the person being honored and press or toss currency against them as a blessing and a show of collective support. She recalled the experience as joyful and deeply validating, noting that the loving words accompanying the spray added a layer of emotional richness that far surpassed the monetary value of the act itself.

Analysis:
Money spraying is a cross between material gifting and ritualized blessing — economically meaningful, and symbolically prophetic all at once. The bills are not for the practical transfer of wealth. Their value is in their accumulation and display. A floor covered with money is a visual statement of the collective love, communal investment in the future of the person being honored, and the strength of the social network surrounding them. This is consistent with what folklorists refer to as “gift folklore”: exchanges in which the social relationship enacted and reaffirmed is more important than the object given. For the diaspora, where Nigerian and American cultures coexist, the money spray also serves as an assertion of ethnic identity, a way to mark a celebration as uniquely Nigerian, even when it occurs far from its place of origin.

Hotpot at Thanksgiving

Text:

“One tradition that my family does, in conjunction with other Malaysian families, is that during Thanksgiving, we always have a hotpot dinner at one of our family friends’ houses. It’s been a tradition for the past five to ten years. We would always go to their house, and everyone would bring dishes together — fish meatballs, mushrooms, noodles — and it would just be the most amazing meal, because they would always put spicy sauce in it.”

Context:


The informant is 21 years old and is from a Malaysian immigrant family. He told me of this tradition when I asked him how his community celebrates American holidays. His family does the classic American Thanksgiving things — the big get-together, the kids’ table, the older cousins showing up — but the main event at the meal is Malaysian hotpot. Through a web of Malaysian families bound by social ties and maintained by shared celebrations, this practice has been sustained for almost a decade.

Analysis:

This custom is an example of cultural syncretism, the creative blending of two disparate cultural forms to produce a new creation. But the informant’s family has adopted the American Thanksgiving framework and filled it with the culinary and social content of Malaysian culture. Hotpot is in itself a very social way of eating, requiring the collective effort of diners to cook around a communal pot. The tradition illustrates how immigrant folk communities negotiate their sense of belonging: not choosing between cultures but adding one to the other, creating a hybrid celebration that acknowledges both the country of origin and the country of residence. The lore here is not in any one dish, but in the annual act of gathering. The continuity of people, place, and a shared dish.