A few days before Christmas, something caused a firework to go off at the San Pablito pyrotechnics market on the northern outskirts of Mexico City. Within seconds, the blast had unleashed a powerful chain reaction which tore through the market in a cascade of explosions and sent a towering plume of smoke over the town of Tultepec.

By the time the smoke had cleared, dozens had been killed, scores more were injured, and the market was reduced to a scorched ruin.



Two and a half months later, Tultepec is again echoing with explosions, but this time for the country’s National Pyrotechnics Fair, which culminates this weekend in a display of “musical pyrotechnics” and mass release of sky lanterns.

Officials describe it as both a tribute to the 42 victims of the disaster – and a way of keeping the local economy afloat.

“The people there that lost family members, they don’t know any other work than making and selling fireworks,” said Juventino Luna, director of the artisan and pyrotechnic promotion department in the Tultepec municipal government.



“They’re going to be paid homage to with fireworks because this is what we do in Tultepec.”

The San Pablito fireworks market – which once boasted it was the “safest” in Latin America – has exploded on three occasions over the past 12 years.



A man and child fill fireworks with gunpowder in a workshop in Tultepec, Mexico. The industry is essential to the local economy. Photograph: Pedro Pardo/AFP/Getty Images

It remains closed, but fireworks remain essential to the local economy: an estimated 30,000 people in Tultepec work in the fireworks business, according to the local government.

Authorities plan to rebuild the San Pablito market after an investigation is completed, Luna said.

“Security measures will be improved,” he said. “It’s like a car that years ago didn’t even have seatbelts, but because of accidents, it now has airbags. Everything has to continue evolving.”

Gunpowder is in the blood for many local families who have been making fireworks for generations, often in their own homes.



“Part of the show is commemorating the dead,” said Francisco Corona, a fourth-generation fireworks maker, who reckons he started in the industry at around the age of six.

Despite the disaster, work in many artisanal fireworks factories has continued as usual. Pyrotechnics made here are still being sold in other parts of the country, but business slumped after the December disaster.

“This is our economy and people are sad about it. Fireworks is what we do,” said Corona, who had 50 family members escape the market explosion. “We keep trying out best, but we’ve been left without any money.”



The fair features a competition of castillos – towering fireworks contraptions normally set off in town squares during patron saint festivities. Locals also parade papier mache bulls through the streets every 8 March to celebrate San Juan de Dios, the patron saint of fireworks makers.

Locals cheered and snapped selfies as more than 300 fireworks-laden bulls – all stylized with themes ranging from Aztec warriors to Spiderman – were pushed through the streets.

Many said the celebration marked an important moment for a community bouncing back from tragedy.

“We’ve lived through eight serious accidents, but year over year we continue to grow and come back better than before,” said fireworks maker César Gómez, whose team pushed a bull resembling a phoenix. Scrawled across its backside were the defiant words: “In the sky its lights and colours will never be extinguished.”



An aerial view of the fireworks market in Tultepec after a massive explosion that killed 42. Photograph: Mario Vazquez/AFP/Getty Images

Some of those pushing the bulls were also swigging at litre bottles of beer, but everyone insisted that safety was of the utmost importance: fuses are not longer lit with naked flames, and teams carried fire extinguishers.

But the dangers are still present. On 4 March, an explosion levelled a home and killed four people – including two children – in Tultepec, but authorities blamed the tragedy on an accumulation of gas.

Press reports also said the home contained firework-making materials, including gunpowder – sold exclusively by the defence secretariat, which regulates pyrotechnic activities in Tultepec.

Amid a barrage of firecrackers, Gómez sipped on a can of beer and struck a philosophical note: “Accidents are part of the business,” he said. “But the Mexican people have a special quality: we take the positive parts of a tragedy and turn it into a fiesta. We make art out of anything that happens to us.”