Kilometres of memory
On Route 5 North, animitas mark the road as much as the signs do. A journey through Chile's longest landscape of mourning.
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Leaving Antofagasta heading south, the landscape empties quickly. Bare hills, a strip of asphalt, an enormous sky. And every so often, a small white house at the side of the road.
At first you count them. After a while it becomes impossible: they appear alone, in pairs, sometimes in groups of five or six on a single bend.
A parallel map
For people who drive this route every week, the animitas form a map of their own. Truck drivers navigate by them, name them, know which ones are “old” and which appeared last year. Some sound the horn as they pass; others stop to leave water.
Water is the most common offering in the desert. Plastic bottles, jerry cans, sometimes a full glass the wind has already dried out. The idea is an old one: the soul that died here is thirsty, as anyone would be.
Warning and comfort
Every animita is also a road sign no one put up. They mark dangerous bends, stretches where drowsiness wins, blind crossings. More than one driver admits to easing off the accelerator on seeing several together.
On the highway, an animita says two things at once: someone died here, and be careful.
What repeats
Houses painted white or light blue, faded flags, plastic flowers that last for years, laminated photos. The same elements from north to south, and yet no two animitas are alike.