Cross-border quinceañera: Toppenish teen becomes a young woman in two worlds

PAJACUARAN, Michocan, Mexico — This dream started a year ago in Toppenish, in the Yakima Valley.

In Jose and Rosa Mungia's backyard, their daughter Prisilla twirled and dipped her way through months of instruction in the stylized dances leading up to her traditional 15th-birthday ceremony called a quinceañera (keen-say-ah-NYAY-rah).

This party would be celebrated thousands of miles away, in the Mungias' home village of Pajacuaran, a town of about 10,000 in the agricultural state of Michocan.

The Mungias and at least half the 300 friends and family who gathered here Friday night lived and worked in Washington state at some point. Many traveled from the Yakima Valley to celebrate Prisilla's coming-of-age party.

Like the Mungias, many came to the United States illegally. But they have since earned permanent-resident status and, in many cases, citizenship. While their lives are planted in the U.S., their hearts and family roots are in Mexico. And when it is time to gather as a family and celebrate, Pajacuaran is the place to be. Many come back as often as they can.

Jose works in Washington orchards picking and pruning, while Rosa works part of the year as a teacher in a Washington state program for the children of migrant workers. She also works picking cherries and apples during harvest time to earn extra money, and hopes to enter community college in January to earn an associate degree in early childhood education.

Rosa said it is good to be back in a place that still feels like home.

"It is for being with the family, with our friends, because our heart is still in Mexico," said Rosa, while a stylist fussed over her hair before the celebration. "There is more for us in Toppenish, and I have 20 years there now. But while I am from there, I am also from here."

Prisilla's quinceañera was just one of the celebrations planned here in December, when everyone who can afford to take the time and money for the trip heads south, usually by car over three or so days from Washington. Pajacuaran is about two hours by car east and south of Guadalajara.

A traditional quinceañera is no minor undertaking. This celebration costs thousands of dollars, and it was paid for by a coterie of doting godmothers and godfathers in the U.S. and Mexico, who saved money all year for this day.

There were three stylists hired from Mexico City just for Prisilla, her mother and a court of attendants, their hair crimped and sprayed into perfect curls. Prisilla got the most elaborate hairdo, a basket-woven, braided style swept back to a pile of curls and pinned with flowers. And then there was the makeup, which Prisilla's flawless, lovely young face didn't need. But the Toppenish High student couldn't wait to wear it on her first night as a young lady, for all to admire.

There was food and drink for the guests, rental of the biggest party hall in town, and a six-piece mariachi band, hired to play serenades in the street outside the Mungias' house as Prisilla dressed — and what a dress it was.

Red as a rose, strapless, with a bodice that laced up the back, a rustling skirt wide as her outspread arms, and embroidered with silver flowers, it was the dream of any princess.

With it went a sash of red roses, a spangly tiara and silver high heels, presented on a red satin pillow at the climax of the ceremony, for, as of this night, Prisilla was no longer a girl in sneakers but a young lady at last.

"I am so proud," Jose Mungia, Prisilla's father, said. "She is all grown up, and here we are to celebrate it."

Music got it all started, as the mariachi band in green uniforms shining with gold braid wound its way up the narrow streets to the Mungias' house. Theirs was the one freshly painted for the occasion, the stucco a bright turquoise amid a string of peach, pink, yellow and lavender houses with terra-cotta roofs.

Soon guests arrived outside the house, their suits freshly pressed and party dresses flowing in the evening breeze. An admiring crowd gathered by the corner store, and a pickup packed full of appreciative young men wolf-whistled their vote of approval for Prisilla.

Then it was time: The guests started off in a procession from the Mungias' house, walking with stately steps downhill to the church at the center of the town plaza, the mariachi band taking the lead. Amid a backup band of crowing roosters and barking dogs — the background music of this village — the mariachis belted it out, trumpeters, guitarists, violinists and singers giving it their all.

As the procession passed by, shopkeepers applauded from their doorways and little kids from the village ran alongside with excitement. Small girls watched from their families' doorways, perhaps wondering when they, too, would be the belle of this town.

Friends and family had toiled all day to set up the hall, with hundreds of silver and white balloons arranged in decorative arches and towering pillars. Dozens of round tables were spread with white tablecloths and decorated with centerpieces of roses to match Prisilla's dress. The chairs were covered with white skirts tied with gold bows. There were spotlights and strobe lights, and a sound system that could rock the roof.

It was Prisilla's brothers and a cousin from Toppenish who would help finish her transition to young womanhood, in a choreographed ceremony they learned in their backyard in Toppenish from a dance instructor, a native of Mexico City.

For months, the Mungias' backyard in Toppenish had been baille (or dance) central, with Vincente Arista, of Yakima, blasting ballroom-dance numbers on his boombox while putting the teenagers in ski jackets and jeans through their paces.

Now, at 8 p.m., on a starry night in Pajacuaran, the DJ cranked up the tunes the teens had been practicing to. It was showtime.

The smoke from the torches was thick in the stage lights as, on cue, her brothers and cousin lifted Prisilla triumphantly, high over their shoulders on a platform, just as they had learned to in their backyard in Toppenish.

Prisilla's dress sparkled and shined as her brothers and cousin slowly walked in circles, rotating her round and round under the stage lights.

Her parents applauded, watching her dream come true. And theirs. Prisilla said she was glad to celebrate this night in Pajacuaran rather than back home.

"You can go longer, as late as you want, and no one complains about the music being too loud," she said.

And while she loves visiting here, she says she wouldn't want to stay, offering a teenage girl's classic reason: "I don't like cold showers."

Lynda V. Mapes: 206-464-2736 or lmapes@seattletimes.com