In Mexico, the first days of November are filled with cempasúchil flowers, incense, and pan de muerto. Homes, schools, and cemeteries are adorned with altars featuring photographs, candles, and offerings to welcome those who are no longer here. It is the Day of the Dead, one of the country’s most emblematic traditions, declared Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity by UNESCO in 2008.
But beyond Mexico’s borders, this celebration has taken root and evolved, finding new forms of expression in different corners of Latin America.
Beyond folklore, the Day of the Dead carries a spiritual and emotional meaning that transcends religion. It is a day to reaffirm the continuity between the living and the dead, to accept that absence does not erase emotional bonds. In the words of Mexican poet Octavio Paz, “the cult of life, if it is truly deep and total, is also the cult of death.”
In rural communities, the ritual preserves an intimate and communal dimension: people visit cemeteries, light candles, share meals, and converse with the departed. In cities, the tone may be more symbolic or festive, but the intention remains the same: not to forget.
Day of the Dead: A Mexican tradition embraced across Latin America
The Day of the Dead is the result of an encounter between two worldviews: the Indigenous Mesoamerican and the Catholic one brought by the Spanish conquistadors. Long before the arrival of Hernán Cortés, the Mexica, Maya, Purépecha, and Totonac cultures already honored their dead. They believed that life continued on another plane and that spirits could return periodically to coexist with the living.
During the colonial period, these festivities merged with the Christian calendar, which commemorated All Saints’ Day (November 1) and All Souls’ Day (November 2). Thus was born a mestizo tradition that blends European solemnity with the ritual joy of Indigenous peoples. Instead of fearing death, it is celebrated as a natural part of the life cycle.
The result is a profoundly symbolic practice: the altars—or ofrendas—become bridges between two worlds. They are adorned with elements meant to guide and honor the departed: candles to light the way, cempasúchil flowers to mark the path with their color and fragrance, papel picado to represent the wind, water to quench the thirst of the traveler from the beyond, and the foods or drinks they most enjoyed in life. Each object has a meaning; each detail, a gesture of remembrance.
From Local Tradition to Continental Phenomenon
Although the Day of the Dead is inseparable from Mexican identity, its spirit has spread throughout the continent, largely thanks to the media, migration, and the growing international interest in Latin American cultures.
In Guatemala, for example, the Giant Kite Festival of Sumpango and Santiago Sacatepéquez combines visits to cemeteries with the flying of enormous paper kites that symbolize the connection with the spirits. In Bolivia, the celebration of the ñatitas —human skulls adorned with flowers and cigarettes— reflects an equally familiar relationship with death. In Peru, Ecuador, and Nicaragua, families also visit cemeteries to clean the graves, share meals, and accompany their departed loved ones with music.
In many of these countries, Mexican influence has revitalized local customs. Schools and museums organize altar contests, sugar skulls and catrinas are recreated, and parades or exhibitions inspired by the colorful imagery of the Day of the Dead are increasingly common. Cultural globalization has done the rest: films such as Coco (2017) and The Book of Life (2014) have helped project this festivity as a universal symbol of love, family, and memory.
In Colombia: Memory, flowers, and syncretism
Colombia, a country of rich funerary traditions and deep religiosity, has enthusiastically adopted elements of the Mexican Day of the Dead, especially in large cities. In Bogotá, Medellín, Cali, and Barranquilla, universities, cultural institutions, and artistic collectives organize altars, exhibitions, and themed festivals that reinterpret the tradition through a local lens.
In Bogotá, for example, yesterday, Saturday, long lines of citizens crowded to enter a venue where traditional Mexican products were on display, and visitors enjoyed samples of the country’s folklore related to death and the celebration of the Day of the Dead.
But there are also native roots. In many regions of the country, the cult of the dead takes on particular expressions. In Nariño, for example, families visit cemeteries to decorate graves with flowers and share food. In the Caribbean, “novenas de difuntos” and prayers accompanied by songs honor loved ones with a mix of solemnity and celebration. In Antioquia and the Coffee Axis, All Souls’ Day (November 2) retains a religious character, with masses, processions, and lit candles.
In recent years, the rise of Mexican culture across Latin America—through cinema, music, and gastronomy—has encouraged a hybrid reinterpretation: Colombian altars include mazamorra or tamales alongside pan de muerto; yellow flowers replace cempasúchil; skulls become canvases of popular creativity.
Far from disappearing, the Day of the Dead reinvents itself with each generation. Its expansion throughout Latin America shows that remembering the dead is also a way of affirming life and preserving cultural identity. In a continent marked by diversity and the wounds of the past, this celebration offers a common language: that of shared memory.
Thus, amid candles, music, and flowers, the living reconcile with death and give meaning to the passage of time. Because, in the end, the Day of the Dead is not just a date on the calendar: it is a way of seeing the world, of keeping alive the flame of those who have departed, and of remembering that, as long as they are remembered, they never truly die.