A Year in Cuernavaca

No Es Adios, Sino Hasta Luego

2010-07-14T15:36:00.000-07:00

Day 322 in Mexico

(title translation: this isn't goodbye, only see you later)

This is it, folks. My last blog from Mexico. It seems like a long time has past since I wrote my first post, and it’s true; eleven months has passed since I started my service with YAGM. Like I have many times, I’d like to thank you all for my interest in my time here and the work that I’ve been doing. I am so looking forward to telling you all about it in person.

I honestly had hoped to get another post out before this one, but these past few weeks have been INSANELY busy. It was the time of getting in a couple last fun things – a weekend trip to Mexico City to see the tourist sites, hitting up markets on weekends to buy last minute items I’ve been eying all year, attending the 4th of July backyard barbeque at the US Ambassador to Mexico’s residence (thanks to Peter being asked to grace the party with his awesome singing talent and perform the National Anthem… luckily he got to bring a guest). It was also a busy time at work, finishing up lessons in the kindergarten and watching them graduate (so cute), organizing and preparing my materials for the next volunteer, and of course, saying my goodbyes. And, you know, there was a World Cup game or two to watch in between. As much as I wanted to keep everyone updated on things as they happened, this was a time to be really living my experiences, not documenting them (as those who’ve noticed less frequent communication from me and the absence of current pictures posted on my Facebook can attest to). But now that I’m done, have said my goodbyes, and am just two days away from reentering the US, it’s probably time for an update.

Like I said, there was a lot of fun activity these past few weeks, but it’s also been an incredibly emotional and tiring time as well. My last week was one, long, extended goodbye, starting last Sunday, when our group of volunteers gathered to host a dinner for our work supervisors and families. It was a really nice way to kick off a week of despedidas (farewells); we got to share a meal and some fellowship for the people who have been kind enough to house us and guide us at work this past year, and in addition say a couple words of thanks to each person and family. Our invitees also got to share some words if they so chose, and it was really wonderful to see what kind of strong bonds have developed over this year and the mutual respect and affection that’s grown between us and our hosts. It seems we’ve come a long way since last August.

I was thinking a lot about my last week of work before it even began; I remember that when I first arrived, the women at La Estación were still grieving the loss of the past volunteer (really, leaving a tight community like this can be tough). They talked a lot about her last week and despedida, how they all cried when she left, how she left them all letters, and so on. I felt a lot of pressure to live up to this image, especially as it started being brought up more as my final week drew near. I finally (thankfully) accepted that my goodbyes didn’t have to be a replay of last year; maybe they’d be less heartfelt, maybe more, but they should be special in their own way. Let me tell you, the ladies at my job did not disappoint. After our weekly meeting last Tuesday, we had a party at the community center. Everyone brought a dish to share, several of the moms brought me goodbye presents (which I was not expecting), and everyone seemed to have a hug and some kind words for me. I had written some things that I wanted to tell the women as a group; I didn’t trust myself to know what to say in the moment, so I brought a prepared sheet to read to them. I stood up in front of the group, starting reading my spiel, and before I knew it I was crying, almost too hard to keep going. I look up and all of the moms are crying too. It was a touching, bittersweet moment, almost gut wrenching to think about leaving these amazing women who have invited me to be part of their community, but amazing to see how much we care for each other, and how much I really had been accepted and loved by them. After I finished, they also had a chance to say some things to me (which made me cry more, of course). It was an emotional morning, to say the least… and this was still three days before my last day of work! Luckily things calmed down, we shared the delicious potluck meal (they made me tostadas with tinga, which is similar to barbequed pork and one of my favorite foods here), and I took pictures with all the women to keep as mementos.

The rest of the week, if not as emotionally exhausting, was just as busy. Wednesday my boss at La Estación and some of her team took me out for a delicious seafood lunch; if you’re celebrating a special occasion here, chances are you go out for seafood. Thursday was the graduation ceremony for the kindergarten, which is a way bigger deal here than in the US (I don’t remember if I even had a kindergarten graduation). All the girls buy a fancy dress, the boys wear suits, and they put on a pageant. The third years, or five year olds that will be heading to elementary school in the fall, dance the waltz (which is not actually a proper waltz, just partner dancing) and the younger kids sing a farewell song to them. There’s also a ceremony where a flag escort from the graduating class hands over the Mexican flag to the incoming third years; Seriously, it was a big deal. Unfortunately, this year it began raining just as the ceremony was beginning, so things got a little more chaotic than usual. Luckily it let up, and the kids were still able to dance. Afterwards, I attended not a few graduation parties at the kid’s homes; it was fun, and let’s just say I didn’t go hungry that day. I couldn’t stay too long though, because it was my last day and despedida at my second job, Casa Tatic. It was lovely as well and more low-key than the tearful goodbyes at La Estación. The kids made cards and drawings for me, something to the effect of “Miss Katy, you are pretty, thanks for giving us computer classes.” It was very sweet. I also got a couple more presents from the teachers there, and a cake, actually my second cake of three that week (I’d call a three cake week a success). I was happy to have the quieter goodbye, and I left feeling a little sad, but content with my ending. Friday was my very last day at La Estación, and I spent it visiting the mom’s homes one last time, handing out thank you cards I wrote for them and the pictures I took earlier in the week. It was nice to be able to express my gratitude individually, say my last goodbyes, and give them something to remember me by. There were more hugs, more tears, but I felt good as I left. Goodbyes can be a tricky thing, and I was very much concerned about “leaving well;” I didn’t want to be plagued by the idea of loose ends, farewells that went unsaid, or a bad ending, But I couldn’t have asked for more; I was so moved at the expressions of gratitude and love, and I sincerely hope all the people I’m leaving behind know how much gratitude and love I have for them as well.

Now I’m all done, having packed up all my things and moved out of my host family’s house; they also had a small despedida for me, and though we didn’t form super close bonds over the past five months I’ve been with them, we ended our time together very amicably. This week is our final YAGM retreat, and all the volunteers – Peter, Sara, Sarah, Katie and I – and our coordinator Andrea are staying together just outside of Cuernavaca at the lovely weekend home of a friend. It’s a chance to spend some time together and reflect on this year, gather our thoughts before we head to the airport on Friday. Though I’m anxious to get home, I’m glad to have this time to relax and reflect, some buffer space between the sadness of leaving and the excitement of going home (and some time to write a blog post as well).

I think this is where I sign off. There may be a follow up post once I get back (reverse culture shock might be an interesting phenomenon to sort through) or maybe not. Again, thank you so much for your interest in my time here; it’s meant the world to me to have your support, and I couldn’t have done this without all the encouragement I received from back home. If you don’t know what’s next for me already, I’ll be moving to Champaign, Illinois shortly after I get back to take a position with Americorps. I’ll be working for the Campaign for Better Health Care as their Communications and Technology Coordinator in the Champaign office. I’m excited about this next step and am hoping for more learning opportunities and adventures as I move forward. I’ll see you all stateside on Friday!

Peace and blessings,

Katherine

Here are some pictures from my last month. Enjoy!

From our trip to Mexico City, in front of the Palacio de Bellas Artes. We also visited Frida Kahlo's house, Templo Mayor (ruins of the main Temple of Tenochtitlan), Xochimilco (an area of the city where canal systems still exist and you can take boat rides), and the Anthropology Museum.

Me and Peter with Carlos Pascual, US Ambassador to Mexico at the Embassy's Fourth of July party.

Me and my host family: from left Hipolito, Alicia, and Mireya (my "host sister")

Me and my good friend Lupita from La Estacion and her kids Ivanna, Sebastian, and Alexa.

At my despedida with another mom, Carmen, and her daughters... tell me we don't look like a family!

A Letter to You

2010-06-06T13:38:00.000-07:00

Day 284 in Mexico

Dear Family, Friends, and All Others,

This is a letter written for you, whoever you are or whatever relation you are to me (family member, friend, friend of a friend, former teacher, acquaintance, what have you). It has come to my attention, as you might have guessed, that it’s June, my last full month here in Mexico. It’s hard for me to believe that my time here is coming to an end. There were days or weeks here and there where time dragged, times when it seemed like the end of my service would never come, but here we are, less than six weeks from my homecoming. I want to thank you for continuing to take an interest in what I’m doing here, and for all the kindness, well wishes, and support that you’ve provided me throughout these 9+ months. Believe me, they’ve been very much appreciated.

A couple of weeks ago, our volunteer group had our spring retreat, where we gathered together for four days at a convent in northern Cuernavaca. We did many interesting things, including spending 24 hours in contemplative silence, taking a fun day trip to a balneario (natural water park), and watching Peter have an allergic reaction to a sulfa based drug (that was an interesting experience that we could probably all have done without). The overarching theme of those days, however, was going home – where we’re at emotionally, what we’d like to do to make sure our time here ends well, what makes us excited or nervous about arriving home once again. To help us process some of these emotions, our coordinator Andrea suggested we write a letter to someone back home, more for ourselves than the recipient, explaining in the rawest and most honest of terms how we’re feeling about the whole repatriation ordeal. I’ve been through reverse culture shock once before, coming home from my study abroad experience, and it honestly wasn’t that bad. I remember being very surprised at how big the shopping carts were (Buenos Aires supermarkets had these tiny little carts) and how unfriendly I was to people passing on the streets; for at least a couple of months it would never occur to me to smile at them or greet them, and I eyed those that did so to me with a great deal of suspicion; living in a huge, bustling mega-city temporarily killed my small town kindness instincts. However, this year has definitely been different than studying abroad, and given my lifestyle changes and the longer time I’ve spend abroad, I’m thinking that there’s a greater chance for difficulties. Hence, my letter to you; I’d like to try to express some of those feelings; maybe by doing so, the whole coming home process will be easier for both of us.

In all honesty, my feelings about coming home are best described as ambivalent. Like I said, there have been, and still are, days when I can’t wait to get on that plane, and many others when I don’t know how I’ll be able to leave. The truth is that I don’t know how I’ll feel being back home. Yes, I’ll be excited to see you, but I’m guessing I’ll also be pretty sad about having just ended what has been a fantastic, eye-opening, experience of a lifetime year. The relationships I’ve formed here have been hard-earned, created through baby steps and missteps and a lot of time. It took a while for me to feel really established here, like I belonged, and there are some days when I still don’t feel like I do. However, the thought of leaving behind those relationships that I’ve fought so hard to make is really painful. The moms that I work with are already saying, “You’re leaving so soon,” “Please don’t go,” or “We have to make sure to do this soon, before you leave.” Every time I hear that, I feel a pang in my chest, and I hasten to either change the subject or dismiss it; after all I’m not leaving just yet. Those statements are hard, both because they make it more difficult to stay fully present, able to enjoy my last weeks here, but also because they’re a reminder of how much I will miss all of the women and children that I’ve met here, and how in so many ways I’m not ready to leave them behind. So, I ask of you that you be sensitive to this. I don’t know exactly what my emotional reaction will be in my first weeks (maybe even months) back in the US, but as of now homecoming is looking to be a bittersweet experience. If I do feel a little low, or talk about how much I miss Mexico, don’t take it personally. I am excited to come back, but I’m also going to be grieving the loss of relationships with really amazing people with whom it’ll be hard to stay in good contact.

Coming home from Mexico seems to present its own special homecoming issues. I haven’t been living in the bush for the past year; it’s not like I’ve been bathing once a week out of a bucket or living without electricity. I have wireless Internet in my house, I pass the Walmart every day on my way to work, and I’ve been to Starbucks and the mall and a 3-D movie during my time here. Some of these parts of my life don’t seem that different from home, meaning when I talk about “repatriation,” I don’t think I’ll have a heart attack walking into Target. Also, when you really think about it, I’m physically not that far away. My flight home is only a few hours; it’s no further from Tucson to Cuernavaca than it is from Tucson to Chicago. However, I think that presents some possible challenges in coming back, in that you and I might underestimate the difficulty of me making the switch between living in Mexico and living in the US. Sure it’s a short flight, but I think that might actually be harder. I won’t have any time to process the switch. I leave Mexico City early morning, and including transfers and everything, I should be in Tucson by 1 p.m. How is it possible that I really haven’t been that far away this whole time, and yet my life is so radically different? How is it that I’ve been living in a country that struggles with so many issues – desperate poverty, widespread drug violence, corruption at every level – and in a few hours I can be home, leaving those problems on the other side of the border? The truth is, I might not be that far away, but my life here does have significant differences. I live differently, I spend less, I speak a different language. To dismiss those differences would not make my homecoming easy by any means. Furthermore, Mexico has the distinction of being something of a hot-button subject as far as countries go, thanks to strained US-Mexico relations and illegal immigration issues. I'm very open to discussing these issues or my opinions on the matter. However, slurs or cuts taken at Mexico or its people, especially coming from someone like you, someone who cares about me, will not be well received. Know that I've formed deep bonds and loyalties to the people here; I really don't want to get defensive. Even while recognizing that it's an unhealthy and pointless reaction, if there was an insensitive comment made about the people who've cared for me the past year, I'd be quick to speak up in their defense.

My lifestyle is not the only thing that’s changed; I’ve changed. I can’t even really tell you how, or to what degree; maybe you’ll think I’m the same, or perhaps that I’m radically different. There’s no way of telling. At our retreat, we were each sharing parts of our letters, and something that Peter said really seemed to fit for me. I’m going to use some of his words loosely here: this year has changed me, and those changes are going to manifest themselves in myself, my actions, and my attitudes when I get back; I just don’t know how. I’m guessing I’m going to talk a lot about Mexico upon my return, as in “When I was in Mexico,” or “This one time in Mexico.” This is for two reasons (maybe more, but two for sure). One, all of my most recent experiences have, obviously, happened in Mexico, so until I spend a little time back stateside, those are the stories and insights that I have to offer. Secondly, living here has now become part of my identity. I can identify myself as someone who’s lived in Mexico for a year, that’s had a Mexican “family,” someone that’s familiar with the language and the people and the customs (even those that still baffle me). I’ll need that new identity to be recognized; otherwise, it’ll be like this year never happened at all. How might you do this? First, be patient with my Mexico stories; maybe they’ll get old, but I’m hoping if you have the interest level to read my blogs, you won’t mind listening to a yarn or two about a crazy bus driver or something amazing my kids did in the kindergarten one day. Questions would be good, although please just don’t ask, “How was Mexico?” when I see you again. I won’t be able to answer such a thing. I won’t be able to share my entire experience in one word, or even one sitting; it’s going to have to come out gradually. I’ll probably never be able to tell or express all that I’ve done and seen and learned here, but any way that you can show that you’re interested will be greatly appreciated.

I can’t reiterate enough that I just don’t know how I’ll feel. At the end of my study abroad, I got very ill and actually left a couple weeks early; at that point, I was so ready to be done that coming home was a relief. Barring any unforeseen sicknesses, I think this time around could be very different. There will probably be good days and bad days, just as there were when I arrived here. Maybe I’ll feel like I never left, or perhaps I’ll feel like I just don’t fit in in my own country. Maybe I’ll be relieved to be able to speak in English and have myself fully and clearly understood, or depressed at the lack of opportunities to use my Spanish. It’s really impossible to say at this point. I think the greatest thing I ask of you is to be patient. If Mexico is all I can talk about, be patient. If I can’t stand to buy something because I converted the price into pesos in my head and the price now seems astronomical, be patient. If I try to put salsa on everything because I think non-spicy food has no flavor, be patient. If I’m moody, be patient. If I run out into traffic to pick a dime off the road because, after all, a dime is like a whole peso… okay, that’s a little extreme. But you get my point.

Maybe this will be an incredibly smooth transition, and maybe not. Know that despite the difficulties that may await, I have missed home, and you, and will be very happy to see you. Again, thank you for your love and support. I will see you (in person!) very soon.

Peace and blessings,

Katherine

P.S. Andrea, my coordinator, wrote a similar letter last year to the families of returning YAGMs, filled with suggestions on understanding this transition and making it easier. Check it out on her blog: http://andreaandluke.blogspot.com/2009/05/open-letter-to-friends-families-of.html

May in Cuernavaca (or Heat Waves, Narcos, and Cinco de Mayo)

2010-05-13T18:45:00.000-07:00

Day 260 in Mexico

I begin this May installment of my blog with a common theme: an apology and explanation why this is coming so late. I actually did plan on writing this several weeks ago, but I had a bit of technological misfortune. After five long years of sticking by my side and holding all my documents, pictures, music, and other treasures, my computer’s hard drive suddenly and violently bit the dust. Consequently, I lost all of aforementioned information aside from a few select things I did have on a flash drive (word to the wise: back up your computers!), my lap top spent almost two weeks in the Laptop Hospital (literally the computer repair shop’s name), and since I got it back I’ve been working on getting it back into some semblance of the operating shape it was in. So, long story short, I got a little distracted from my blog-writing. It was an unfortunate and unexpected hassle, but so it goes.

So, what are the latest goings-on in Cuernavaca? For starters, it’s hot. People kept warning me about the hot season here, which hits between April and June, but I brushed those statements aside. I thought that after living though Arizona summers for four years, I was pretty much immune to extreme weather; besides, how hot could it really get in the City of Eternal Spring? Really hot. And unlike Arizona, where every building is air conditioned and every house has a pool, the heat isn’t so escapable here. It’s interesting that that’s what the starting point of most of my conversations is now; all we can talk about is how hot it is. I live and die by the pedestal fan in my room.

Aside from the weather, things in Cuernavaca are going pretty well. In mid-April, however, things started to look a little ugly in our city. I have been hesitant to mention this in my blogs or any communications back home, because I don’t want people to worry about me being here or my general safety, but as a part of my life and an important issue in my community, I think it deserves to be brought up. When I arrived, Cuernavaca wasn’t disputed by the drug cartels; pretty much the entire interior of the country surrounding Mexico City was relatively free from drug-related violence, unlike the border and coastal regions. However, with the assassination of a major drug lord here in December, which I mentioned in an earlier post, the city suddenly became up for grabs, and rival drug cartels began encroaching upon it. It seemed rather sudden, but right after Holy Week some disturbing drug-related events began occurring in the city: gruesome murders, bodies found along highways, killings that occurred in more public areas than ever before. All of this was contained completely within the drug-trafficking associations themselves; civilians and tourists were not and are not targets. But it was unsettling nevertheless. It all came to a head one Friday afternoon, when an email started circling like wildfire among Cuernavaca residents that allegedly was sent from the members of a drug cartel. The email explained that the cartel was essentially imposing a curfew on the city, as there was to be major violence between them and their rival cartel. They advised all civilians to be in their homes by 8 p.m. Obviously, this brought about panic; our volunteer group was rounded up and spent the night together at the retreat center in town. Though we passed a tense night waiting to hear what happened, absolutely nothing came of it. Nothing the email said was going to happen happened, but the headline of the next morning newspaper pretty much said it all: Fear Wins. People are scared; I’ve had a lot of conversations with the people I live and work with about the matter. I don’t feel particularly frightened or threatened; I know I’m not a target, and that if the situation became very unstable I would be put on a flight back home. But it’s different for the people who actually live here. They’re afraid to be out after dark, to let their kids walk to school by themselves, and the soldiers that now patrol the streets make them nervous (Mexico’s answer to everything is militarization). Things have thankfully quieted down since then, but in the discussions I’ve had, it’s obvious that it’s still on people’s minds. In addition, even though this hasn’t made headline news in the U.S., this has major implications for Cuernavaca’s economy. The big businesses here are tourism and language schools; already people are deciding not to come for fear of drug violence. Every cab driver I have asks me about it; they all seem nervous that there won’t be any tourist business for them anymore. It’s not a good situation, and unfortunately, the government doesn’t seem to give a decent response to the issue. I’m hoping I’ll have better news to report on the situation by the time I leave here, but this may not be an issue that resolves itself quickly.

On a much, much lighter note, I got a little more vacation at the beginning of this last month ( it’s funny, I went on vacation right after the last major drug episode in December. You take the good with the bad, I guess). As most of you know, Cinco de Mayo was just last week, but as many people don’t know (I didn’t) it’s really not that big of a deal in Mexico. It commemorates the 1862 Battle of Puebla, where the Mexican army defeated the powerful French army, who were essentially trying to take over the country. The only city in Mexico that truly celebrates the day is Puebla, so that’s where Katie, Sara, Peter and I decided to go; thanks to the Mexican school calendar and its generous amount of vacation days, I didn’t even miss any school. It’s really a lovely city, bigger than Cuernavaca although it retains a small-town feel in the historic center. And unlike Cuernavaca, which seems a giant mass of winding, convoluted streets with sidewalks that disappear into nowhere (part of its charm), Puebla is designed on a grid, with numbered streets and wide sidewalks. As someone who gets around via walking and public transportation, I can’t even describe to you how much I appreciated this. It’s also famous for Baroque architecture; Talavera pottery, a special type of ceramic pottery; and for being the birthplace mole poblano, a classic Mexican sauce made out of chocolate and spices. We spent most of our time wandering the streets, visiting churches and sites, including a tour Talavera factory and the widest pyramid in the world in nearby Cholula, and of course eating delicious food. We also caught the tail end of a Baroque festival that was happening for several weeks in April and May, and as a result got to see a number of different musical events, ranging from symphony orchestra to Baaba Maal, a Senegalese singer. My friend and fellow volunteer Katie actually used to live in Senegal, so she was especially excited to see that particular concert, and Peter, being an avid music lover, was very happy about all the music events as well. Cinco de Mayo itself, however, was not even that huge of a celebration in Puebla. There was a big parade in the morning along one of the cities main avenues, which also happens to be named Avenida Cinco de Mayo. I found the parade to be somewhat of a disappointment. The streets were lined with chairs, but you had to pay to sit in them, and everybody there was carrying an umbrella, which made visibility issues a bit difficult. We ended up watching from some bushes surrounding a nearby statue. The parade itself was comprised of a large amount of military and police forces, complete with heavy artillery, tanks and all. First there came the marching military, then the military in their trucks with their guns, then the military tanks, then a group carrying bayonets… it was a bit much for my taste. Towards the end there were more traditional parade features, high school marching bands and floats, but by that time we were tired and decided to move along. I didn’t see a lot of other celebration going on; many people had the day off and were strolling around downtown, but it was nothing like the margarita-drinking fest that happens in the US. All in all, however, it was a very pleasant trip; a former professor who lived for awhile in Puebla told me I absolutely had to go, that it was the colonial jewel of central Mexico, and his statement was pretty accurate. It was a very good time.

Well, that’s all for now. I’m back at work, battling the heat, and looking forward to enjoying the souvenirs I bought in Puebla: planting a flower in my new Talavera flower pot and cooking mole poblano with the mix I bought (prepare yourselves, family). Until soon!

.Here are some photographic highlights from Puebla:

Taking a tour of Talavera Uriarte, a certified Talavera factory that’s been in operation since the 1800’s.

You don’t get much more Baroque than the Capilla del Rosario (Chapel of the Rosary). It was so ornate and so gold that it was almost impossible to look directly at it.

Peeking through an interesting sculpture in Puebla’s zocalo.

At the Baaba Maal concert! I’ve never heard his music before (Senegalese pop) but I’m a new fan.

Authentic mole poblano… yum.

Vacation and Semana Santa

2010-04-09T14:59:00.000-07:00

Day 226 in Mexico

Hello again, and happy April! I’d like to write about the last couple weeks in March, which were certainly eventful. First, I had a visit from my boyfriend, Ehsan, and secondly, it was Semana Santa (Holy Week) which is a very important week here in Catholic Mexico. I’ll start with the former; Ehsan was thankfully able to visit me during his spring break, and because I had all of Holy Week off of work as well he was able to stay a little longer. It was a much anticipated trip for me, and it did not disappoint. When I originally asked him what he wanted to do, he said, “I want to see ruins.” (What he actually said was, “I want to see Incan ruins,” but since the Incas inhabited Peru, that would have been logistically difficult). Ruins, though, were doable; just north of Mexico City is one of the most important ruin sites in Latin America, Teotihuacán. Teotihuacán, in its heyday, was a powerful urban center, both religiously and commercially speaking, and was one of the most influential cities in the region. It’s now an amazing archeological site; two of its most impressive features are the Pyramids of the Moon and the Sun. The Pyramid of the Sun is the third tallest pyramid in the world, behind the pyramids in Egypt and another in central Mexico. So the day after he arrived, a Sunday, we set out for the archeological site, which is an easy bus ride from Mexico City. Upon arrival, however, we found it absolutely teeming with people. Literally, there must have been 100,000 visitors at the site. I had read in my Lonely Planet (my travel bible) that Sundays were generally the busiest days, but I didn’t expect anything like that. Little by little, however, it became clear that this was a special day; it was the first day of spring. Many people make a pilgrimage to Teotihuacán on the first day of spring, dressed in white, to welcome the incoming season, worship the sun, and draw energy from the ancient site. We silly tourists had no idea. While it was cool to see in some ways, it also meant four hour lines to climb the Pyramid of the Sun and the site’s museum, which was supposed to have some very interesting artifacts and exhibits, was closed due to the high volume of people. We decided, therefore, to come back the next day as well to see the things we didn’t get to the first time around. Sure enough, we showed up on Monday afternoon, and the site was all but deserted. We got to experience Teotihuacán both as a teeming city and as a site of silent ruins, and, most importantly, we got to climb the pyramid (below is a picture of us atop the Pyramid of the Sun, with the Pyramid of the Moon in the background). In Mexico City, we also explored the zócalo (central plaza) a bit, went inside the National Cathedral, and also saw the fabulous Diego Rivera murals in the National Palace.

After Mexico City, I brought Ehsan to Cuernavaca for a couple days. The first day, we took a break from site seeing, after having packed a lot into just a couple days in Mexico City. The second day, I took him to work with me to show him a day in the life of Katherine the kindergarten teacher. It was a lot of fun. My parents, unfortunately, visited my work on a day when classes weren’t in session, so this time around I was really excited to have someone from home see me as a teacher. The week before, I had begged the kids to behave well when I brought my visitor, and they actually did pretty well. I did a shorter class with each group, just reviewing what we were learning, took Ehsan on a tour of my site, ate delicious enchiladas at the breakfast program, introduced him to all the mothers that were there, and had him take a mountain of pictures. For me, at least, it was a thoroughly enjoyable morning, and Ehsan also said that he had a lot of fun seeing what I do everyday. It’s still interesting to me that over the past months I’ve morphed into a teacher; I remember when I first arrived without a clue in the world what I was going to do with a group of preschool aged children and no teaching experience, and now I’m making lesson plans. I also took him to see my house; unfortunately, my host family wasn’t around, so he didn’t get to meet them, but it was still good to be able to show him where I’m living. That same night, after our couple days in Cuernavaca, we took an overnight bus to Zihuatanejo, a city on the beach north of Acapulco. The night bus was no fun at all, but our beach vacation itself was amazing. I’m not a huge fan of Acapulco itself; it’s crowded, there’s terrible traffic, it’s noisy, and the beaches are both not very clean and completely lined with high rise hotels. Zihuatanejo was virtually the opposite; a small town that was once a quiet fishing village, it’s a laidback, relaxed town on a bay with absolutely gorgeous beaches. Our hotel was perfect, the water was calm and warm, we got to do all sorts of activities like jetskiing, snorkeling, and parasailing, the seafood was great, and every night we fell asleep to the sound of waves on the beach just below our hotel balcony. There were no high rises, the beaches were clean, and the weather was perfect. It was, hands down, the best beach vacation I’ve ever had (Do you happen to recognize the name Zihuatanejo? It’s not as well known as, say, Acapulco or Cancun, but it is where Tim Robbins and Morgan Freeman escape to in the end of The Shawshank Redemption. Check it out).

After our wonderful vacation, it was time to take Ehsan back to Mexico City and say goodbye. Thankfully, I didn’t have to jump straight back into work; it was Semana Santa, Holy Week here in Mexico, which is a much bigger deal than it is in the US. Many people have the whole week off, and schools have two weeks off (which means yes, this teacher is still on vacation). My new host family left to spend the week in Guerrero, participating in a number of church activities, and I spent the week with my friend Sara. While we spent most of the week quietly in Cuernavaca, visiting some of her host mom’s family for a cookout and attending a Maunday Thursday service, we went to the city of Taxco for Good Friday. Taxco is known for having elaborate processions and other activities throughout Semana Santa, but perhaps the most well known event is the procession of los penitentes (the penitent ones) on Good Friday. Following a noontime procession which commemorates the three falls of Jesus as he carried his own cross to his crucifixion, the procession of the penitentes involves three different acts of penitence, all of which require self sacrifice and even some degree of self mutilation. Though I really wanted to see it, I was a little nervous that I would be able to handle the gory parts. Sara also had some feeling of trepidation, I believe, but in the end we decided it was an experience we shouldn’t miss out on.

Unfortunately, we got a little bit of a late start on Friday. By the time we got to the bus station, the next bus was already full, so we had to wait until after 11 to leave. When we finally arrived in Taxco, people were pouring out of the zócalo. Crap, we thought, we missed the procession of the three falls of Jesus. We decided to head to the ex-convent, the church where many of the day and week’s services and activities were taking place, and on our way there we ran into the same procession, also on its way to the ex-convent. There was a river of people following that as well, so I only got pictures from behind. Large teams of people were touting religious figures, including the Virgin Mary and Jesus in a coffin.

Once at the church, the procession entered for a brief service; since there were so many people, we couldn’t really fit into the church until it was all over. We hung around for a bit, watching the crowds, trying to snap a couple pictures, and waiting for things to die down. It was a very interesting atmosphere; it was simultaneously had the feel of an important religious event and a popular tourist trap. There were Mexican families with small children, foreign tourists with their backpacks and expensive cameras, and older women dressed somberly, with veils or shawls over their heads. At one point I was trying to squeeze into the church door to snap a picture of the goings-on, and when I turned around I realized I was in front of a small old woman who only came up to my shoulder. Her head was veiled, she had no camera, and she was trying to peek inside. In that moment, I felt like a bad tourist; it was very odd for us to be smashed up against people for whom this was an incredibly sacred event. Needless to say, I backed out of the church and got out of her way.

For the rest of the afternoon, we relaxed in the town, grabbed a very tasty bite to eat, and waiting until five o’clock, when the penitentes were slated to begin their procession. At about four, we grabbed on a spot on a doorstep of a closed shop along the street where they pass by. The penitentes were supposed to leave from the church, and our spot was purposefully close to the beginning in order to see the procession while the participants were still fresh and hopefully not too bloody. We kept seeing people pass by on their way to the church; women dressed in black and veils, teams men carried large bundles of thick spiky stems, about as big around and as spiny as a saguaro cactus, and a surprising number of vendors, I suppose taking advantage of the large number of people in town. Then, a few minutes after five, it started. The first group to come through were children; first a group of babies and toddlers carried by their mothers, dressed in white angel costumes. Then came a group of slightly older children, dressed in black and carried candles, followed by people hoisting a large angel over their heads, then by veiled, barefoot women carrying incense.

Then, the penitentes. I heard them before I saw them, the sound of heavy chains being rhythmically dragged on the cobblestones. It was the first group of penitentes, the animas, which is the only group that women can participate in. They were dressed in head to toe black, including black hoods over their heads (all the pentitentes do this to preserve anonymity), barefoot, with thick, rough ropes tied around their waists. They were bent over, almost at a ninety degree angle, and their feet were shackled; they dragged the chains behind them through the streets, creating the eerie sound that preceded them as they went. They were also carrying tall candles that dripped wax onto their bare hands. The procession stopped every so often (I’ll explain why in a second), and even while resting many of them stayed bent over. It would be hard to simply walk through the rough, cobblestone streets barefoot; it would be extremely hard bent over. It must have wreaked havoc on their backs.

The next group to come through were the encruzados (the cross carriers). This was an even harsher treatment. All of these men (only men in this group) had the bundles of thorny branches tied to their outstretched arms. In some ways, they looked like they themselves were crucified, with their arms outstretched in a T-shape, the large bundles of thorns carried on their shoulders, arms, and necks, and their arms bound to their burden, unable to be put down for a rest. They too were hooded, barefoot, shirtless and bound at the waist by thick ropes. I’m not exactly sure how they managed to breathe in deeply enough to walk with the weight that was on their shoulders. Every time the procession stopped, there was a team that would help lift the bundle up for them, as to relieve the weight and allow the encruzados to stand upright a bit more and stretch (as they walked, their shoulders were rolled forward and they were looking at the ground, not straight ahead). Many of these men were large and burly, but some of them were thin and obviously quite young. These struggled the most; again, the weight of their burden was unimaginable. Sara told me that some of them don’t always go through the entire procession; which is almost a mile around the whole town. Their black hoods allow them to switch out with another person if they can’t go on.

The last group, however, had the harshest treatment of all. The atmosphere along the procession wasn’t quite as somber as I thought it might be. It certainly wasn’t a happy vibe, but people were talking, walking past, taking pictures; some people were even observing from restaurant balconies that overlooked the streets. However, things got a lot quieter when the flagelantes passed. They, again, were shirtless, hooded, barefoot, and bound with rope, and each was carrying a wooden cross and a white cord that had one end that was covered in small barbs. They were the ones for whom the procession stopped. Every so often, everyone would stop, the flagelantes would hand their cross to a helper, and then kneel down at the ground. After praying or often crossing themselves, they would take their barbed cord and begin throwing it over their shoulders, flagellating their own backs with the barbed end. It was kind of intense; each man didn’t flagellate himself every time they stopped, so some of them were just beginning when they stopped in front of us. We watched as small pricks of blood began to surface on their skin. Some of them had already been flagellating themselves, and they had large, bloody sores on their backs. There were young men, old men (their poor skin tearing like delicate paper), big men, thin men. Some of them didn’t use much force when hitting themselves; it sounded like a gentle fwap, fwap. Some hit a lot harder. There were a couple men that were bad enough to have the blood dripping onto their black robes and feet. I saw a couple looking at their white, barbed whips when they were done, covered in blood. I don’t know what must have been running through their minds. It was both enthralling and hard to watch; I can’t believe people brought their kids to the event. However, it seemed that many people were pretty accustomed to the event; it was the tourists that sometimes looked a bit queasy.

The procession went on for a long time; we were easily watching for an hour and a half from our spot before the end of the procession came though, with Jesus in a clear casket being carried through the crowds. When we left Taxco later that evening, it was still going on. How they went on like that for hours, I don’t know. I didn’t really know what to make of the whole thing. It definitely seemed like a very ascetic, medieval form of Christianity. Sara’s host mother, a devout Christian, was not a fan. As she put it, “God doesn’t want his creation to be hurting themselves like that.” In part, I agree. What does it mean that people are willingly committing to inflicting pain on themselves on the same day that Jesus died to take away our pain and sin? I wish I understood the ends of such a procession. Was it truly an act of penitence, for either individual transgressions or the transgressions of a humanity that crucified the Son of God? Were they expressing their inward, spiritual sorrow on the outside? Was it an act of solidarity with Jesus, trying in some way to absorb or share in his pain? Was it simple tradition, an act of masochism, a misguided sense of faith, a shock factor tourist attraction? I really don’t know; I think it could have elements of many things. But part of me feels that the men and women who participate in this have a greater understanding of Good Friday, and thus perhaps Easter, than I do. Good Friday has never been more than a passing thought to me, an acknowledgment of a sad day in the church but really just a stepping stone to get to Easter. I think I’ll continue to puzzle about it; though it was difficult to watch, I’m glad I saw it.

The rest of my Holy Week was not nearly as intense. Many Mexican holidays seem to follow the pattern of having a lot of buildup but not much activity on the actual day. Easter, then, was actually a pretty quiet day; people didn’t really seem to do much. I went to the English-speaking Anglican church in Cuernavaca, which has a service not that difference from the Lutheran one, as well as a very talented choir and some good hymn choices. I don’t get a lot out of Catholic Mass, and on Easter, I want to feel like I’m actually getting something out of church. And after all the intensity of the Passion, I was very much in need of some good Easter news. Afterwards, there was a wonderful brunch at the church that included some very tasty mimosas (more good news!). I went in the afternoon to a friend of Sara’s house for a lunch get together, and then we had our monthly volunteer gathering at my coordinator’s home. It was a busy but very good day.

Now I’m wrapping up the last of my vacation, actually getting excited to go back and get to work on Monday (vacation’s not as fun when I’m not traveling), and ready to get back into the swing of things. Hasta luego!

Borderlands 2 - Tucson and Home

2010-03-18T19:50:00.000-07:00

Day 204 in Mexico

For me, being in Agua Prieta and getting to interact directly with people risking their lives to cross the border was the most resonating, deeply moving experience in our time at the border. Nevertheless, the second part of our trip also promised to be an exciting one, especially for me. If you’re reading this, you obviously know me well enough to know that I went to college in Tucson; it’s been my home for the past four years, but going to Tucson has always felt like going home. Mine was a unique situation this year, in that YAGMS don’t get to go home during their year of service, except in cases of family emergency. Suddenly I was put in the position of going home, without really going home. As my coordinator put it, our trip to Tucson was in no way an “immersion in Katherine’s life,” it was part of our border immersion. We were going to be there for only two days, and they were very busy days, so I didn’t have time to catch up with old friends. Obviously I was excited to be going back to a city I love, even for such a short time, but I had my share of trepidations. I didn’t know if I would be able to fully concentrate on border issues, often very somber, in a city that, for me, provokes feelings of familiarity, comfort, and nostalgia. I didn’t know if I was going to feel bad about not being able to see people while I was in town. I thought it actually might be pretty hard for me to leave Tucson after two days; who’s to say I wouldn’t want to go back to Mexico at all?

As promised, our time in Tucson was a busy one. Though I was hit with those moments of nostalgia and fond memories, we were so involved with activities that I felt pretty focused (most of the time). We spent our whole first day on patrol with the Samaritans, volunteers from Tucson or Green Valley that go out in the desert, put out water for migrants, hike trails, look for any people in distress, and generally provide any sort of assistance necessary for anyone they encounter. We split into two groups; our Samaritan guide, an older, chain-smoking gentleman with dubious driving skills, was not exactly what I had in mind. Our time with him was also different than I expected; there was very little hiking trails, but there was a lot of driving around southern Arizona for a morning and afternoon. To his credit, he did tell some interesting stories about his life and his time with the Samaritans, and we got to see some interesting things. We made our way down from Tucson to Sasabe, the most inactive border crossing I’ve ever seen, and then over to Arivaca, where we got to see the No More Deaths camp. No More Deaths is another Tucson-based border activism group, and they decided that it was too inefficient to always be leaving for Tucson to go scouting for migrants, especially in the deadly hot summer months. So they set up a camp in the foothills around Arivaca, and during the summer people camp there, all week, every week, for months straight. It eliminates travel time and maximizes time spent looking for people, many of whom would likely die if they weren’t found. Southern Arizona summers are extremely hot to be camping, but at the same time are so much harsher for people trying to cross, often with improper clothing and insufficient water supplies. The day perhaps wasn’t all I had hoped for, but it was interesting to learn more about what the Samaritans do, and how they’re out there helping. However, it ended on a very positive note. Although I didn’t get to see anybody else while I was in Tucson (if you’re reading this from Tucson, sorry I didn’t tell you I was in town! I’ll see you in July J) my country coordinator did let me visit my mom’s house. Our whole group actually got to go there for dinner, and then I spent one night. To be home with my mom and pets, to have a good meal and a comfortable bed, to be somewhere familiar and soothing, was a great blessing, if only for a night. I thoroughly enjoyed it, but I actually wasn’t regretting having to come back to Mexico. I don’t feel like I’ve finished with my time here, or that I’m quite ready to finish, so though I was sad to leave I was also happy to come back.

Continuing on; day two was split between informational time and recreation time. The previous day, after our time with the Samaritans, we also had a presentation from Derechos Humanos, an organization that fights for the legal and human rights of migrants. The second morning we had a presentation from the pastor of South Side Presbyterian Church in South Tucson (a heavily Hispanic area). It was where the sanctuary movement began in the 80’s; the sanctuary movement was in response to the civil wars in Guatemala and El Salvador, and the church provided, well, sanctuary for refugees escaping from said countries. They’re still very much involved in social justice, and now it’s become somewhat of a sanctuary for migrants. They have a day workers program, where men can come to look for work in the mornings. It’s not always a guarantee, but at least they have a safe place where they potentially find a job without having to worry waiting on the street corner and being picked up by the migra. There we also had a presentation by Gene, a founder for the No More Deaths organization, which is the one going out during the summer, camping, and looking for migrants. More than anything else, they’re committed to preventing deaths in the desert; they’re no so heavily involved in the politics, just the politics of saving lives. After our morning of presentations, it was time for a little recreation, so we headed to Sabino Canyon for a worship service, some hiking and reflection. I love Sabino Canyon; if you’re from Tucson, you know what I mean (if you don’t know about Sabino Canyon, you should go!) It’s an absolutely gorgeous state park in northeast Tucson that’s full of wildlife, saguaros, and great hiking trails. It was a good place to unwind a little bit from our trip and, after seeing and hearing about how desolate and dangerous the desert can be, enjoy its beauty as well. We had a small worship to the side of Bear Canyon trail, in which we got to sing, reflect, and as some of us brought along things we had found in the desert during our time there (abandoned water bottles, bandannas, barbed wire) we prayed for the people we met and those we didn’t meet, for all those risking their lives to cross the desert and migrate to a different country. I didn’t do so much reflection after the service, so much as walk around, soak up the desert sun, and enjoy my last afternoon in Tucson, but it was lovely nonetheless. A great way to end our trip (though it was followed the next day by a very long drive all the way back to Hermosillo, a plane to Mexico City, and a bus ride to Cuernavaca. Yikes).

On our last day in Tucson, almost at the end of our activities, Gene told us a story during his No More Deaths presentation. It went like this: There once was a quiet little village on a river. One day a boy went down to the river and saw that there was a baby floating in it. He went out into the river, rescued it, and brought it into the town, where it was fed and cared for. The next day the people of the village saw two babies floating in the river. They did the same thing they had for the first; rescued them, brought them in, and cared for them. The next day there were more babies, and the day after even more. They didn’t stop coming. The people continued to do the same thing: rescue the babies and care for them in the town. They didn’t question why there were babies in the river. They didn’t go upstream to see who was throwing them in. They just rescued all that they could. “This is what we’re doing,” Gene said. “We (the organization and its volunteers) don’t have the time, energy, or manpower to go upstream and see what’s going on. We just have to keep rescuing everyone we can.” This, I thought, was a good summary of our time in Tucson; we got to see the people doing the saving. It is good to know that there are people fighting the political fight, the ones who are going upstream to see what’s going on. But at the same time, it was inspiring to see what was going on at the most human level; the people hiking trails and leaving water, the people camping out in the desert during the hottest, most deadly summer months in order to be as close as possible to the people they’re trying to save, those that put gauze and bandages on the migrant’s blistered foot (more than anything else, a bad blister is the kiss of death for a migrant. Can’t walk, can’t keep up? You’re left behind).

That was the real point of going to Tucson. Being in Agua Prieta and talking to migrants, hearing stories of poverty and struggle and suffering, was heart-breaking. It makes you sad, it makes you angry, it makes you feel helpless. To hear all that and then just go home to our lives and jobs would have been difficult. Going to Tucson allowed us to see what is actually being done to help the migrants, by people from our own country. It gives us, or at least me, a glimmer of hope and inspiration.

So now I’m back in Cuernavaca, and have been for several weeks. Work continues on, and it’s going very well. I’m enjoying the company of the woman in the community center as much as ever, and am content with how proficient I’ve become with my job (it took awhile, but I got there). On the homestay front, however, things after the border didn’t go so smoothly. There were some unfortunate circumstances at the home of Angeles and Fernando, that I don’t need to share, and I felt it necessary that I move out and try my luck with a different host family. We were all disappointed; my decision had nothing to do with Angeles and Fernando themselves, because they were (and are) lovely, warm, welcoming people, and I very much liked living with them. I’m sad that it had to end when it did, but such is life. I moved in with a new host family a few weeks ago, Alicia, Hipolito and Alicia’s grown daughter, Mireya. They’re a very busy family, even more involved in church and community organizations than my first family (I didn’t think it was possible!), and it’s a more independent environment than my first home. Though I like my new family, I am still working on warming to them in the same way I did with Angeles and Fernando. I get the feeling it may not be as easy the second time around. I already have my routine, my friends, my jobs figured out; I don’t need them like I needed Angeles or Fernando, and I don’t need to be as involved in their lives. I gradually grew more independent from Angeles and Fernando as my time went on, but we formed those strong bonds early on. Now I live my life somewhat apart, which perhaps is neither good nor bad, it just is. I’m hoping in time that I’ll be able to maintain good relationships with both families, and as my coordinator said, “Have two places in Mexico to call home.”

Things look to be busy for the next couple weeks. My boyfriend Ehsan will be visiting starting on Saturday (more vacation!), and then it’s Holy Week and Easter, which are very important times in Mexico. It should be a good time.

Borderlands

2010-03-14T13:10:00.000-07:00

Day 200 in Mexico

I will begin this entry with an apology. This should have been written long ago. However, this installment is a little more complicated than others have been. It deals with our trip to the Mexico/US border in February. I have briefly mentioned it in past entries, but I’ll explain again. We have to renew our visas halfway through our trip, and as such, the renewing visas trip is expanded into a border immersion, where we spend a week learning and participating in a variety of activities in order to learn more about immigration and border issues. There was so much in this week that touched and saddened and confused me, that it made reflecting upon and conveying what I saw and experienced a difficult task. This may be a multi-part entry; bear with me. I’ll put a little disclaimer in here as well; I know that immigration is a touchy issue, often a very political one, and many people are very much in favor of the wall and current border policies in order to stem illegal immigration. I’m not writing this to argue about border policy or politics, or to convince you of my opinion of the matter. I only want to convey what I witnessed; above all, I think the most important thing is that we remember that it’s not about politics, it’s about humanity and the people whose lives are affected. I can’t talk about everything we did, because it was such a busy week, but I will try to share what impacted me most. Here we go.

Where we went: Starting in Cuernavaca; flew to Hermosillo, Sonora; drove to Agua Prieta (on the border, opposite Douglas, Arizona); spent two full days in Agua Prieta (sleeping each night in Douglas, on the US side); drove to Tucson, Arizona, where we spent our last two days.

What we did:

Participated in a Frontera de Cristo Immersion program (a program with the Presbyterian Church on the border in Agua Prieta that brings in immersion groups), in which we visited the drug rehab center CREEDA; helped them in their Agua Para La Vida (Water for Life) project where they fill drinking water tanks on the Mexican side; hiked to the wall outside of Agua Prieta with CREEDA; ate dinner with migrants at CAME, a safe house for repatriated (i.e. deported) migrants in Agua Prieta; volunteered at the Migrant Resource Center, a center right on the border for migrants that are repatriated and are often in need of medical attention, food, water/coffee, a change of clothes, and information.
Visited the Border Patrol Station in Douglas, Arizona, and participated in a Healing Our Borders vigil to remember those who have died crossing.
In Tucson, went out on patrol with the Samaritans, a group that hikes migrant trails to put out water and assist migrants in distress; visited South Side Presbyterian Church, which has a day worker program for immigrants; had talks from border activist groups such as Derechos Humanos (Human Rights) and No Mas Muertes (No More Deaths); visited Sabino Canyon, a beautiful recreation area, for worship and reflection.

On our first day we went out into the desert outside of Agua Prieta with some men from CREEDA, Raul and Rigo. I’ve lived in Tucson for four years, and I’ve even done this exact trip with my campus ministry group, so the desert is familiar to me. I love the desert, but it feels like a sadder, more desolate place at the border. There the desert reminds me of “The Things They Carried,” the Tim O’Brien story; everywhere you look there are traces of groups that have passed through: empty water jugs, soda cans, torn shirts, food wrappers, bandannas. The people are gone, but their things remain. Our first job was to fill up the water tanks with a huge jug of water, the desert’s most precious and life-giving resource, that we brought along in CREEDA’s pickup truck. Some of us wandered off a little bit to explore the surrounding area, and we found a small gully that was particularly littered with stuff – clothes, food, water jugs, even a ladder. They must be coming back, Rigo told us. I wandered a little farther down the gully, down to were it bent into a corner, and just barely around the corner there was a man, sitting on the ground. He saw me, and I saw him, and we looked at each other, and for a second I didn’t know what to do. Should I just pretend I didn’t see him and leave him be, or should I tell Rigo? I told, and he went to go speak to the man. The other girls and I went along, and rounding the corner, we found this man was not alone. In fact, he was with a group of about twenty other migrants, both men and women, all presumably waiting for nightfall to cross. It was one of those moments where I wish I could remember every detail, the faces of the people and what they said and how they looked, but I was too shocked; I had never thought we would actually encounter a group, only empty desert. Even a few minutes later I had trouble recalling them. They had come from the interior of Mexico, like us, and were heading for a variety of destinations around the US. Rigo just asked them a couple questions, told them there was water nearby if anyone needed it, wished them luck, and that was it. It’s hard to think of what became of that group. I’ll never know if they crossed or not, or where they ended up, or if some never made it out of the desert alive. But even though I don’t know, I wish them well from afar, and hope for the best for them.

After the tanks, we hiked to see the wall. It is ugly, some sections made out of old landing strips from the Vietnam and Gulf Wars. There are heat-sensing cameras, tall iron bars, white Border Patrol SUVS patrolling just on the other side. It’s a militarized zone, literally. Our guides took us out walking to the wall; in the middle of the day, where we could see exactly where we were going, it was a struggle to pick our way through the spiny, scrubby land (but migrants don’t travel during the day; they go at night, when they’re less likely to be detected. Sprained ankle city). As we walked, a small herd of deer, startled by our presence, went bounding northward towards the wall. Obviously unable to get past it, they veered east and continued running along it; it was a sad reminder that the wall doesn’t only affect the migration of people. Once there, we took pictures of it, through it, by it; one of our CREEDA guides, Raul, actually shook a section of the wall. It wobbled back and forth like a stake stuck infirmly and uncertainly in the ground. The wall is tall and imposing, but not impenetrable; it can’t be, for the number of people that get across.

Later that night, at CAME and the Migrant Resource Center, we had the chance to meet some more migrants. Over dinner at CAME, I met Jairo, who was from Honduras. I couldn’t figure out how old he was, probably pretty close to my age. He had a beanie cap and a winning smile, and was very talkative. He had been to more states in the US than I had: California, Colorado, Indiana, Florida, Tennessee, and on and on. He had worked all over, lived all over, had been going to the US since he was 14, had a young son there now with his girlfriend… his life story was really something. He spoke fondly of Honduras and especially his mother, but it was clear that he didn’t want to stay there; there just weren’t the opportunities available that there were in the US. He was bringing his teenage brother with him for the first time, and though I didn’t speak to him, I was told he was all smiles about the exciting adventure he was embarking on. One of the things about Jairo that struck me most was how he got to the US: jumping trains. I know this is how many people come; I’ve seen pictures and documentaries of people doing it. It was different meeting someone who’s done it many times. When I asked him if he thought it was scary or dangerous, he just smiled and said no, that he was used to it, that really it was rather normal. That’s the word he used: normal. I can’t envision a life where jumping northbound trains is normal.

We later spent four hours volunteering at the Migrant Resource Center, which was probably the most deeply moving experience of my time there. It was very hands on; we were constantly busy, heating sandwiches and pouring coffee and picking out clean shirts for arriving groups. It felt like we were actually helping, if only on the most minute level. And we got to hear people’s stories, the real voice of the border, if you will. There was a man from Chihuahua, who had tried to cross several times and failed. When he was telling us about his failing to get across, he hung his head and looked at his shoes. I’ve rarely seen someone look so defeated and tired. There was another man, whose name I unfortunately don’t remember. He was heading for Salinas, California, to work for the same farm he’s been working at seasonally for years. He talked fondly about the work and his patron, who was Italian and a good boss, and at the end of the season would have a big party for all the workers. He talked about the crops they grew, how the soil was good there for certain crops, how the color of the soil dictated what kind of chilies grew best. He proudly unzipped his jacket to show me his T-shirt, which had the logo of the farm emblazoned on the lapel. But what stuck me about him was how nervous he was; he had failed to cross and was waiting for a call from his brother, who was already in California, so he could plan his next move. Every time the phone rang, he would look up hopefully and expectantly, but it was never for him. I was sitting across from him, trying to smile and make small talk, but all I could think about was how powerless I was to comfort him, or to offer him any sort of reassurance. A big group came in, and by the time the bustling center died down he was gone. I don’t know if he got a hold of his brother or not, but I hope so. There was another young man whose story I won’t forget. He was young, 20something maybe, and when we asked him “Quieres más café?” (Do you want more coffee), he replied, “Nah, that’s okay, ‘preciate it,” in English. Sitting down to talk with him (Eduardo), he had gone to the US with his family when he was ten. He had gone to middle and high school in the US, spoke perfect English, and could have been any young guy walking around the UA campus. Cool kid, lived in California with his family. I don’t remember how he originally got deported, but the last time he tried to cross he was caught crawling through the ditch by the Douglas Walmart. He saw an agent in his truck and panicked and started running, which is when the agent started chasing him. I could hear the regret in his voice, the “if only”; if only he hadn’t run, maybe he would have made it. He didn’t offer a lot more insight into his situation than a shrug and “it sucks,” but hearing his story made it seem ridiculous that he was deported to a country that was no longer his home. He had no family there, he hadn’t been there in a decade, and it was obvious that he wasn’t going to stay. Without a doubt, he won’t stop trying till he makes it.

The next day we visited the Border Patrol. It was hard walking in there after a night spent with people who had just been caught by the migra (slang for the BP) and had only terrible things to say about them, but I was pleasantly surprised by the openness and the professionalism that I witnessed. The agent that gave us our tour, agent George, was a slight, blond woman shorter than me, serious but friendly, who was in fact a former kindergarten teacher who absolutely loved her job on the Border Patrol. Our whole tour was way more thorough than I ever expected. The station was new and spacious; there were pictures of their K-9 and ATV units and of agents at local school fairs on the walls. We saw their trucks, the holding cells where they keep recently apprehended people, even the control room where they control all of the equipment along the border and monitor the agents in the field via cameras. They were very excited to be able to actually catch someone while we were watching. “You guys are lucky,” one guy said, “Usually when groups come in there’s no action.” It seemed like they were playing a computer game. During our whole tour, agent George was game to answer all our questions; surprisingly, she said that the wall wasn’t diminishing the number of people that were coming across. I knew this was the case, but I never thought it would hear it from the mouth of the Border Patrol. I asked her if the wall wasn’t working, then what would, and her response didn’t involve anything about further barriers or tightened security or militarization; she said there needs to be a easier way for people to get visas to come legally (from what I understand, it’s extremely difficult, and next to impossible if you don’t have the money or family already in the States to petition for you to come). She didn’t seem particularly interested in the making of immigration policies; she was very much focused on the task at hand: apprehending “aliens,” as she said, be they migrants or drug dealers or what have you. The visit was perhaps just as important as our time in the Migrant Resource Center. Both migrants and the people that catch them need to be humanized. There are migrants that come across looking for jobs to feed their families, and people that come across smuggling drugs. There are migra agents that do their job professionally and perhaps even compassionately, and then there are jerks. Neither side is all good or all evil; neither side deserves to be made the villain. It’s far too complicated for all that.

After that visit, we wrapped up our time in Agua Prieta by participated in a vigil at the border, remembering those who died (at least those who were found). I thought it would be a quiet, reflective time at the wall. It wasn’t. Instead, a small group of us walked down the road that leads to the border check point, each carrying an armful of white crosses. Every few feet a person would stop, hold up a cross, and scream the name inscribed on it in marker to the passing traffic. Then the cross was placed along the side of the road. By the time we were done, the road was lined with crosses… women, men, young, old, unidentified. I’m guessing that when the people whose crosses I held were making their way through the desert, they never imagined that some day some white girl would be reading their name and shouting them to the world. I wish they would have made it, so I wouldn’t have had to. But perhaps it is some very small comfort that they were not forgotten.

That’s a glimpse of my two days in Agua Prieta. Just two days. I could write pages and pages about it. But I will stop for now. I’ll share a bit about my time in Tucson later.

Asi Vamos

2010-01-27T15:54:00.000-08:00

Day 154 in Mexico

It was recently brought to my attention that I don’t blog as frequently as I used to. It’s true; when I first arrived here in September, I was blogging every week, and then every ten days to two weeks, and now… well, now, as I hit my five month mark, it’s definitely tapered off. But when I thought about it, I maintain it’s not because I’m lazy (or not only because I’m lazy). Everything at the beginning was new and fresh and exciting. Each day at work brought something new; I was learning all sorts of things about my host family (and their Zapatista involvements); I was having experiencing a wide spectrum of emotions, from frustration to elation at finally feeling comfortable in my job to homesickness around the holidays. But now everything seems to have evened out. I have bad days still, obviously, and I have really good days, but things seem to be rolling along just fine. There just seems to be a lack of momentous events to keep you all updated on.

I’ll do a brief overview. Life at work is plugging along. I’m still hard at work in the kindergarten, racking my brain for activities that’ll keep the kids occupied, semi-quiet, and teach them a couple words of English. My duties have also expanded somewhat in the community center; in addition to the afternoon workshops that I’m in charge of, I also do more regular translation work, both written and oral. The written translation involves working on the regular letters that the sponsored kids in the community center write to their US sponsors. The oral translation is more exciting; the La Estación community center has visits from immersion groups, which are foreigners, usually American, that come to Mexico for a week or two for an “immersion experience,” or to see what Mexico’s really like. Instead of coming to study Spanish at one of the many language schools or drink Coronas on the beach, these groups come to do work projects in the community; visit different local justice, education, or service organizations; learn about Mexico’s social and economic structure and see how some grassroots foundations address these issues; and usually do a little sightseeing along the way. These visitors usually come from universities, masters programs, churches groups, that sort of thing. La Estación is a natural choice, both because it’s funded by a number of local organizations that host these immersion groups and because it serves a very marginalized community that they come to learn about. Last year was a rough year for visitors; between the poor US economy and the budget cuts it brought and the swine flu outbreak, many groups chose to cancel. This year, however, things seem to be doing better.

I actually really enjoy when groups come in, for several reasons. Mostly I enjoy it because I get to translate, which I really like. My supervisor gives the presentation, I translate, and she often lets me field a lot of the questions. It’s also interesting to see what an incoming group’s perspective is of the community, especially since they get such a limited time there, usually not more than a couple hours. They often provide fresh perspectives or questions that I never really even considered, that allow me to see the community or my work in a very different way. For instance, as I was explaining what I do to a recent group, a person asked me, “Is it a priority that these kids learn English?” A simple question, perhaps, one that could even be answered with a yes or no, but it proved way more complicated and thought-provoking than it originally appeared. It made me a take a step back and actually really about what I’m doing. Is it a priority? Do I teach English because it’s what the kids benefit the most from, or is it to give me something to do? How much is it really a “priority” that I’m there, would their education really suffer if I wasn’t? I didn’t have a definitive answer to any of it, and I still don’t. In response to the student, I said that I didn’t know if it was necessarily a priority, but that all of them will take English classes once they get to elementary school (which is true), and even though they’re so young, at least this might give them a small head start on what they’ll eventually have to learn. Still, does their education hang on my presence there? Probably not, but at this point I don’t want to have that kind of power, to make or break their education.

Shifting gears to home life, things are going fine at the Angeles and Fernando home. They’re staying as busy as ever with all their church and community activities. We also had a language student staying at our house a couple weeks ago; my host parents occasionally host short term students from one of the local language schools, so this is something I was expecting. She was really nice, and I enjoyed having another person in the house. It spiced things up a bit, and it was nice to have another person at the dinner table. Her arrival also made me think of when I got here; hard to believe I’ve been here almost five months already. When I first arrived, even though Angeles and Fernando were really welcoming, I couldn’t imagine this being my home for so long; now, of course, it’s become just that.

Bueno, asi vamos. So it goes. I might be in a slight lull, but things are looking very exciting in the next couple months. Part of the program involves a weeklong retreat at the halfway point, where we’ll be visiting the US/Mexico border to talk about border policy and immigration issues that affect so many of the people we live and work with (I think I already mentioned that I haven’t met a single person in Mexico that doesn’t know someone in the States, many times a sibling, child, or husband). This week we had a mini-retreat to prepare for that, and now my parents come for a week of vacation (!!). A week after they leave we’ll be headed for the border, and then just a month after that’s done Ehsan will be coming to visit too! Whew. I get excited and tired just thinking about it all, but I’ll be glad to have a break in my routine at work and home, eager to do some reflection at our retreats, and extremely excited to have visitors. Living here has become, well, normal. I experienced this when I studied abroad as well. At the beginning, it seemed like I would never get used to it, that it would always be new and different, but I adapted. Here too; after awhile, it’s just normal, everyday life. I think having visitors, like having those immersion groups at work or students at home, will help me see my everyday life in a new light, or least remind me how special the opportunity to be here is. In any case, I’m looking forward to it.

That’s all for now. I hope all of you reading this from the Midwest (aka the arctic tundra) are handling the winter cold okay; I’ll try to send some of this eternal spring your way.

What I Did on My Christmas Vacation

2010-01-04T09:17:00.000-08:00

Day 131 in Mexico

Happy New Year! Happy new decade, for that matter. So far, it’s been a relaxing 2010 for me – sleeping late, staying pretty close to home, and gearing up to head back to work. I feel pretty refreshed after a wonderful Christmas break, which I had just barely begun the last time I wrote. I was feeling kind of bad that I hadn’t had the opportunity to travel much, but this break certainly gave me the opportunity I was waiting for.

I began my travels with my Christmas trip to Toluca with my friend Sara, which I touched on briefly in my last blog post. Some family friends of hers invited us to spend the holidays with them, and they turned out to be the most hospitable, gracious hosts imaginable. They took us, as I also mentioned, to the Monarch Butterfly Reserve in Michoacan, and (like I also already mentioned), it was magical. Here are some pictures to give you an idea, though pictures couldn’t really capture the feeling of walking through the forest being surrounded by fluttering butterflies that landed on our hair, jeans, and gladly stepped up onto our outstretched hands. They must have been tired little guys, though, after coming all the way from Canada and the Great Lakes. The trees were so coated with them it looked like they were covered with orange leaves. The butterflies have a couple more months of Mexican hibernation vacation left, before they mate in the spring and then return their long journey back to the U.S. and Canada. Interestingly enough, it’ll be a whole different batch that goes back from the one that arrived; the males die after mating, and the average butterfly only lives about eight months anyway.

The day after our trip to the butterfly reserve was spent in Toluca, preparing for the Nochebuena (Christmas Eve) celebration at our host’s home. In Mexico, it seems that Christmas Eve is actually more important than Christmas Day. Many families get together on this day and night, but Christmas Day is pretty much a day to eat leftovers from the previous evening’s big meal and say goodbyes. Sara and I got to help in the preparation of bacalao, a dish of Norwegian white fish that’s salted, shredded, and then cooked with tomatoes, almonds, celery and spices. The dinner also featured a big ol’ turkey, tostadas, a version of Waldorf salad, and sweet breads for our dessert. We went to Mass in the evening, which was so packed that we didn’t even get a seat; we had to stand in the back. The choir, all festive in red scarves, sang familiar Christmas tunes with Spanish lyrics (Silent Night, Joy to the World), so I just sang along in English anyway. Many people also brought the baby Jesus from their nativity scene so it could be blessed by the priest, which was kind of interesting; so many people carrying around a (usually kind of creepy-looking) baby Jesus in a basket under their arms. After Mass, we went home to play dominoes, and then (finally!) began our dinner just after 11 p.m. In relative terms, this was pretty early; the custom is to have a midnight dinner and Christmas toast, and many families stay up into the early morning. Sara and I were so tired after eating so late, however, that we didn’t make it very long after dinner. Christmas Day began late, with some phone calls home and leftovers from the night before, and then our hosts took us to Mexico City for some more sightseeing; we got to see the largest Christmas tree in the world (so the signs claimed, although it was an artificial tree), the downtown zocalo with the National Palace, cathedral, and the enormous temporary ice skating rink, and then we went to the National History Museum, which is housed in the Chapultepec castle, a building used by past aristocracy; Porfirio Diaz, one of the most notorious dictators in Mexico’s history; and, randomly, also in Baz Luhrmann’s movie Romeo+Juliet. We finished the day with a tasty pizza dinner with cheesecake and then returned home to Toluca. Thankfully, Christmas wasn’t as melancholy as I thought it might be. The anticipation of it was actually harder than the day itself, both because I was so busy and because we were welcomed so warmly by this family. I am so grateful for them for making it a good holiday for us, and grateful also that next year, God willing, I will be back at home, appreciating how good it really is to be with your family at Christmas.

My Christmas travels didn’t stop there. The day after returning to Cuernavaca, I headed off with the four others in our volunteer group to Acapulco! We thought a few days at the beach would be just the thing to de-stress, and we were right. We actually stayed in Pie de la Cuesta, a lovely little seaside town just outside of Acapulco, with fewer crowds, fewer vendors, and a generally more relaxed pace. Our hotel, while simple, was like an oasis, and we had hammocks right outside our room on our balcony to relax in after our long hard days soaking up the sun, ha. The waves on the beach were pretty wicked to allow for swimming, but it was so good to lie on a beach for a few days, doing absolutely nothing (in my case, anyway; another member of our group was very excited to have long stretches of empty beach for her daily runs, a thought which never crossed my lazy self’s mind, ever). And the sunsets were magnificent; Pie de la Cuesta is famous for them.

On our last day we got up the energy to do a little sight seeing and went to see the famous Acapulco cliff divers, who were pretty spectacular. They dove off cliffs about 35 meters high (that’s approaching 100 feet) into a narrow, rocky ocean cove. Fearless. However, there was a lot of praying going on to altars of the Virgin Mary at the top of the cliff before they dove, which I don’t blame them for; I was nervous just watching them. Here's a picture; I don't know if it may be too difficult to see the diver, but he's there.

After our four days in the sun, it was back to Cuernavaca to spend the New Year with Angeles and Fernando. New Years here is celebrated a little differently than in the United States; it’s much more of a family holiday, actually pretty similar to their Christmas celebration. Many people go to Mass on New Years Eve as well, then go home and have a late dinner with their families and a midnight toast. All of Angeles and Fernando’s children and grandchildren were also around to celebrate with them. So, after the church service, we went back to their daughter’s house to eat pozole and tacos. At midnight, all the heads of the family made their toasts, and then we went around giving each other hugs and congratulations for the New Year. It was a quiet holiday, but not any less festive. I only made it till about 2, but a lot of the family stayed up, just hanging out, until 5! I guess I just don’t have what it takes to party with my Mexican family.

Back to work I go tomorrow, but not without feeling satisfied, both with my successful travels and a good start to the decade. Here’s hoping for more good times and travels in the year to come.

Feliz Navidad

2009-12-23T20:01:00.000-08:00

Hello, happy December, and Merry Christmas! I've certainly fallen behind on my blog posts, and I apologize for that. The first few weeks of December were busy, yet not particularly eventful, so it didn't seem incredibly pressing to post an update (as in, today in kindergarten we talked about the number 8). However, with almost a month gone by since I last wrote, I thought you might like to know what I've been up to. So, in no particular order:

Celebrated a very nice Thanksgiving, YAGM style. After I was glooming and dooming about not being able to spend Thanksgiving with my family, our whole volunteer group got together at our country coordinator's house for a good, old fashioned Thanksgiving meal. I made cranberries; it was the first time I've contributed something to the holiday besides my appetite. It was wonderful to enjoy delicious food, each other's company, and talk about some of our favorite Thanksgiving memories.

Began celebrating Christmas, Mexican style. I was worried that I wouldn't have much of a Christmas this year, but the truth is, Christmas is everywhere! Stores, restaurants, and homes alike are all decked out in lights and decorations. Even my host family, who is usually pretty bare bones when it comes to decorations, really got into the decorating. We have a nice little Christmas tree, a Nativity scene, lights, and Angeles even decorated the gas can like a reindeer. They also celebrated the Day of the Virgin; the Virgin of Guadalupe is a very important religious and cultural figure here in Mexico. Her image is everywhere, and her name is often invoked to help, guide, and protect the people of Mexico. Thus, she gets her own day in December, where there were masses especially for her, parades, songs, and the like. Our volunteer group also celebrated together this past weekend; we baked Christmas cookies, had a white elephant gift exchange, and watched "A Christmas Story" and a "Charlie Brown Christmas" (classics, for sure).

Went to the ballet for the first time! The Moscow State Ballet company is touring and performing "The Nutcracker," and they came to Cuernavaca. The movie always scared me a little, but the ballet was wonderful. I love the music; I listen to the soundtrack every year while baking Christmas cookies with my mom, so it was a special treat to be able to see the actual show.

Witnessed Mexico on Ice, i.e. Cuernavaca setting up an outdoor ice-skating rink in the middle of the zocalo (the downtown plaza). It's an idea copied from Mexico City, which apparently did the same thing last year. Keep in mind that, even though it's December, daytime temperatures in Cuernavaca can easily reach into the 70 or even 80 degree range. The zocalo is not particularly shady. It's a remarkable feat to actually have a cooling system strong enough to keep a sizable ice rink going in such a climate, as well as a pretty remarkable waste of government money. Still, people seems to enjoy it, and it's pretty funny to watch people try to skate, or rather pull themselves along the outside railings to keep themselves from falling (not being a good skater, I strongly identify).

Put on a Christmas pageant at the kindergarten. Each year, much like in the US, the kindergarten does a Nativity play for the parents, along with some song and dance numbers from each individual class. They decided that it would be a very good idea for the kids to sing a song for their parents in English! So, in less than two weeks, I had to teach the classes a song to perform as the last number in the pageant. I chose "We Wish You a Merry Christmas," though I didn't even attempt to teach them anything beyond the refrain (we just swayed back and forth during the verses). It actually turned out very well; the kids really enjoy singing, and they picked it up a lot faster than I thought they would. The whole pageant in itself was very cute; kind of chaotic, but cute, the nativity play in particular. There was a Mary, Joseph, three wise men, angels, kids dressed as sheep (especially cute) and even a group of boys dressed as devils (I don't exactly know why they included devils in the birth of the baby Jesus, but it was funny, and not totally inappropriate costumes for the boys).

Saw some pretty grim drug violence go down in our beautiful Cuernavaca. I'm sure almost everyone reading this had heard some reference to the incident on the news, since it broke on all the major US news networks. But if you haven't, here's a brief synopsis: one of the most powerful and malicious drug cartel leaders in Mexico, Beltran Leyva, was killed in a luxury apartment complex during a shootout between his cartel and the Mexican Navy. Apparently the state police and army are so corrupt that they had to call in the more qualified Navy to take care of a drug conflict. During the middle of the afternoon a week ago, helicopters, tanks, and ground forces moved in on the apartment building and began firing on Leyva and his men. Several narco-traffickers were killed, including Leyva, and one sailor was killed as well. It was an ugly scene, but solely between the military and the drug cartels, not civilians. Cuernavaca is not a drug contested city, and who knows why the cartel was here in the first place. Unfortunately, the war on drugs that incredibly incompetent President Felipe Calderon has been waging is tearing Mexico apart. He and news sources claim Leyva's assassination as a victory, but who knows how the drug cartels will respond to their power being challenged. Again, violence is not directed at civilians; I'm in no real danger, and the YAGM program keeps us well protected. But it still hits too close to home.

On a much lighter note, I went on vacation! My friend and fellow volunteer Sara has family friends that live in Toluca, another mid-sized city a couple hours from Cuernavaca. They invited us to spend the Christmas holidays with them, and they're taking us around to some tourist sites as well. Today they took us to the Monarch Butterfly Reserve in Michoacan, a neighboring state. Millions of butterflies migrate annually from Canada and the Great Lakes region to this part of Mexico. They rest here for the winter, mate in the spring, and then migrate back in warmer weather. Simply put, it was magical; the air was filled with butterflies, and some of the trees were so thick with them they looked like they had orange leaves. They landed on our clothes, our shoes, our hair; it was really special. Pictures to come soon. The family we're staying with is so wonderful, and I'm so grateful for their hospitality. We'll spend the next couple days with them, and then over the weekend head off on another mini-vacation to the beach! How I look forward to relaxing on the sand.

I think that's all in a nutshell. I'm sorry I let so much time elapse between updates, so I can't get much past a simple synopsis of my activities. I'll try to do better (New Year's resolution!) I hope you all have a wonderfully Merry Christmas; know that I'm thinking of and missing all my family and friends, and that your support and kind words are so appreciated. It means a lot to know that people take an interest in what I'm doing here and take the time to follow my blog. Here's hoping and praying for a peaceful Christmas season, in Mexico, the US, and all the world. Feliz Navidad!

Missing Home

2009-11-27T16:39:00.000-08:00

Day 93 in Mexico

Thanksgiving: It’s a hard time for me to be away from home, especially since it’s one of my favorite holidays. Great food, a short week of classes, time to relax and spend time with family, the day when I start listening to Christmas music (I refuse to do Christmas stuff before Thanksgiving). This year, it was just another work day. Unfortunately, the week was made even more difficult by my first bout of real stomach sickness since being in Mexico. Being sick is never fun, but it’s worse when you’re not at home. It’s unfortunate that these events had to come on the same week, but perhaps it’s better to get it all over and done with and then move on.

Last week, however, was a very good week; we had our first YAGM retreat. We have periodic retreats throughout our year of service, times where we gather together for a few days and discuss some of the bigger social, political and economic issues that impact Mexico and its people, many of them relevant to our worksites. This retreat was focused on globalization and food supply. It was good to be able to take a step back from work and talk about some “big picture issues,” because I often find myself getting tunnel vision when it comes to my work here. I worry so much about the day to day stuff, which mother is going to take me to eat with her, what lessons I’m going to teach the kindergartners, how I can be useful in the community center, that I forget the reasons why I’m here. The issues that we discussed – globalization, free trade agreements, and agricultural monopolies – are ones that directly impact the women with whom I work. Many of them come to Cuernavaca from rural areas, where they couldn’t make a living anymore working in the fields, and many of them have husbands that went to the United States looking for work. It’s frustrating, and even enraging, to talk about things like food supply and free trade agreements, which often undercut small farmers in favor of giant corporations. I admit, I’m not a very conscious shopper. I don’t think much about where my food comes from; I go to the grocery store and buy brand name products. I like farmers markets, but I usually don’t give that much consideration to buying locally. As much as the documentaries that we watched made me feel helpless about the state of the world and the imbalance of power, they at least made me aware of my own habits and knowledge, and that I need to be much more intentional about my consumption.

At the same time that we were dealing with some pretty heavy issues, we also had to time to relax and just be with each other. None of us have tons of free time, so it was nice to just sit, take a breath, talk and laugh together, have time to take a nap or a walk, do some sightseeing, and enjoy each other’s company. We visited the Robert Brady museum, the once-home, now-museum of a wealthy artist living in Cuernavaca who dedicated his life to traveling the world and collecting all sorts of art and treasures, and some waterfalls, Saltos de San Anton, that are in walking distance of the downtown. As part of our retreat, we also took a field trip to an organic, sustainable farm south of Cuernavaca owned by an American expatriate. She took us on a tour and explained some of her “permaculture” (sustainable agriculture) techniques. It was amazing how simple and sustainable her farm is; no huge combines or crop dusters for her. Here´s a picture of some of the sheep grazing and the beautiful wildflowers that grew everywhere on her farm. Afterwards, we got some more play time, with a trip to the balnearios (pools) in Tehuixtlza, where we got to swim and relax in the afternoon sun. It was a very fast four days, both thought-provoking and refreshing. At the same time, however, it also made me a little homesick when I returned back to my normal routine. Being with my fellow volunteers is easy and fun; we get along well, joke and laugh, and our relationships are not a struggle. As much as the relationships that I’m forming both at home and my work are becoming very meaningful for me, they’re not always easy. There’s a language barrier, many cultural differences, and I often feel like I can’t express myself how I’d like to, sometimes because I simply don’t know the right words in Spanish. Some of the women in La Estación are very close to my age, but we are worlds apart in terms of lifestyle. By the time they’re my age, they’re married with children and spend their days doing housework and taking care of their kids. I love to listen to their stories, but I can’t always relate. I feel so far from home when I’m there that this past week of familiarity was hard to leave. In the face of these emotional difficulties, missing home and my family, this Thanksgiving week has to take on a different meaning for me. Instead of being a time to spend with my family, it is a time to give thanks for my new Mexican family and community. As hard is it is not to be at home, I’m so grateful to Angeles and Fernando, who have taken me into their home, and to the women at La Estación who invite me into their homes every week. It is a blessing that I am able to be here, that I’ve been accepted into a family and a community, even as an outsider who doesn’t always speak the same language. I’m going to borrow some words here from the book Gracias! by Henri Nouwen:

“What is most important is to be grateful today and to give thanks… [Gratitude] reaches out far beyond our own self to God, to all of creation, to the people who gave us life, love, and care. It is an emotion in which we experience our dependencies as a gift and realize that in the celebrations of our dependencies we become most aware of who we truly are: a small but precious part of creation and above all of the human family” (p. 55)

I think that says it perfectly. I give thanks for my home in the States, my new home in Mexico, my family, my friends, good health, well behaved kindergartners, good Cuernavaca weather, and especially for all of you who are reading this, for your love, support and kind words. Happy Thanksgiving!

To Guerrero We Go

2009-11-13T16:17:00.000-08:00

Day 79 in Mexico

This week, I´d like to share about last weekend´s adventure, which was very interesting but for much different reasons that the Day of the Dead extravaganza the weekend before. We actually got to take a much anticipated day trip to visit the worksite of the two volunteers, Katie and Sarah, that work outside of Cuernavaca in a puebla in Guerrero. If you remember, when our volunteer group arrived here we spent a week in orientation and visited everyone’s worksites except that of these girls working in Guerrero. They spend three days in Cuernavaca, working at the office that directs development programs in the village, and four days a week they spend in the village itself. Because it’s a pretty long hike to get there (two hours up some pretty windy mountain roads), there wasn’t time to go during orientation, so we planned our visit for this past Saturday. I was excited, but I had no idea what to expect. The very words puebla or village are pretty ambiguous; the first thing that comes to my mind (unfortunately) are images like dirt huts, but the girls told us stories about the Coke and beer trucks that race through town everyday, which didn’t seem to be congruous at all with what I was picturing. So I was very eager to see it for myself.

Before we actually went, we attended a presentation at the organization’s main office in Cuernavaca to discuss the issues that face this village, some of the harsh realities of life for the people there, and a few of the development strategies that are at work (when I say “development,” I don’t necessarily mean modernization, or making sure they have grocery stores and access to American products. I mean better health care, working with women to improve self esteem and confidence, improving and expanding education, etc.). Even after having some idea about what these people face after hearing stories from the girls, it was still daunting and, honestly, depressing to hear about all the problems this village faces. It’s an extremely poor and marginalized community, where everyone makes their living by producing woven palm baskets. Some people go to the forest to cut palm, some dye it and sell it, some sell the actual baskets, but everyone’s livelihood in some way depends on palm. I asked where and who they sell their crafts to, since if everyone’s making the same thing they’re obviously not buying each other’s stuff. Apparently there are people (not tourists; it’s too far off the beaten path to be a tourist attraction) that come and buy their wares for dirt cheap, and them sell them at much higher prices in markets in bigger cities (that tourists do visit), thus turning a profit for themselves but cheating the actual artists. Many of the people live in houses made out of corn husks tied together, and cook over three stone fires (actual kitchens and stoves are few and far between). More than just poverty, though, there are significant health issues in the village. Perhaps the most obvious is a significant water shortage; water is very hard to come by in the village, and the water that is there is contaminated with lead and arsenic. They live on less water per day (every day) than people in severe disaster zones. There are a few wells in the village, but because of the contamination it’s not drinkable. Any drinking water has to be bought, and if they can’t afford it, then they drink the contaminated stuff and take their chances. There are pockets of dangerous metals in the soil too, and many have only dirt floors, so they’re living right on top of it. There are issues with malnutrition, birth defects because of the toxic metals in the water and land, worms and other parasites. There’s rampant alcoholism amongst the men, as well as male migration to bigger cities and to the U.S. and very strong machismo attitudes towards women. Most people are not educated, many of the older women can’t read, lack of knowledge about birth control or family planning… the list goes on and on. And this was all before the actual visit! I know this sounds trite, especially because we´re all working in poorer or marginalized communities here, but it’s hard to think that things we take for granted everyday, the fact that we can drink the water that comes from the tap, that we have a stove, that we live in towns with drainage and sewer systems, are not givens for everyone.

So, last Saturday, after a couple hour drive, we finally arrived to see it for ourselves. I’ll admit that my first thought when we pulled into town was that it looked better than I expected; at first glance the buildings and roads didn’t seem that much different than those in Cuernavaca (we were told, however, that you need to venture off the main road through town to see how most of the people really live). We visited the community center where the volunteers both work and sleep; there are classrooms, a sewing room, medical exam rooms, lots of people coming in and out and not a lot of extra space! There was a lunch set up when we got there, and maybe about forty or so young women from the community milling around (as I understood it, they are supporters/participants/educators/promoters of the program in the village). They gave us a warm welcome, especially to Peter, another YAGM volunteer – there were several questions directed at him regarding his age and if he had a girlfriend; I enjoyed it very much. I kind of felt like I was back in high school, surrounded by teenage girls laughing, whispering to each other, shyly and a little hesitantly participating when called upon. I guess I’ve gotten used to being the only young adult in a classroom full of five year olds. Very different work environments, that’s for sure. After our initial welcome, we were sent off on a several hour tour of the town with two young girls as our tour guides. They too were shy, and whispered to each other as we walked. They took us on a tour of the wells where people gather water, of the three churches in the town (which is divided into three barrios, or neighborhoods, each with its own church) and then up to the top of the mountain to the best, most reliable well in town (this town, by the by, is literally on the side of the mountain, and thus most of the roads are quite steep). It was quite a hike to get to the top, climbing over rocks, and one of our guides had an empty 18 liter water jug strapped to her back. When we got to the top, we filled the jug from the well and then each took turns carrying it. It was heavy. The women carry water on their backs with a strap going across their forehead, and the girls start doing this at five years old. What’s more, they climb this mountain to get water three times per day! I couldn’t believe what an arduous process it was to simply get water; I couldn’t handle carrying the jug for more than a few minutes. After this, we made a visit to a woman’s home, where she was cooking in her “kitchen,” a corn husk structure with an oil drum lid perched over a campfire. We not only got to talk with her, but try our hand at what she does every day – weaving and making tortillas. It was an interesting role reversal; I think the tendency is usually for the person with more education, more expertise on health or nutrition or whatever to give the instruction. Eat this, don’t drink this, do this when you’re sick, don’t do this when you’re pregnant, etc. I’m sure this woman has gotten a lot of that, but on this visit, she was the expert. My tortillas were lumpy and weird-looking, and I ended up breaking or burning more than a couple. Her tortillas were perfect, and delicious (mine still tasted okay, they just weren’t very pretty). Then we each got to make a small basket, and while she was demonstrating how to weave, her hands moved so fast my eyes couldn’t keep up. She ended up making most of my basket for me, because I was just too slow, and she said that she can make up to thirty of these in a day (here´s her/my finished product). As beautiful as her craft is, however, it sells for very little money, barely enough to scrape by. Meanwhile she told us about her life and her children; she was very friendly and open, and reminded me a lot of the women I work with in La Estación. It still really impresses me that, even with all the work they have to do on a daily basis, these women still take the time to open their homes to us, put up with our bad Spanish, field our questions, and share a glimpse into their lives. I think it’s an incredible display of hospitality. After an hour or so placticando (chatting), we headed back to the community center, rested for a bit, had a bite to eat, and then headed back to Cuernavaca as the sun started to go down.

It wasn’t the longest visit, and I wish I could have gotten to spend more time observing my fellow volunteers in action (Katie was leading a second tour group, and Sarah was teaching a class all afternoon, as she works with education in the village). But I’m very glad I got to see the town, and after seeing it I’m thoroughly impressed not only with Katie and Sarah for the hard work that they do, but also with the women and how they make their lives in this place. When I was carrying the water jug, a woman in my tour group (who declined to participate in the activity) commented on how gutsy and strong I was for carrying it. I replied that I was in no way either, but the women that do this all their lives, day in and day out, certainly are.

¡Feliz dia de los Muertos!

2009-11-05T11:37:00.000-08:00

Day 71 in Mexico

Hello and happy November! It seems like just last week that I was saying happy October, and we’re already in a new month. It’s been a little while since I last wrote, and between then and now I got to experience one of the Mexican holidays I was most excited about – Day of the Dead! I didn’t know exactly what to expect. I did know that it’s a deeply traditional event, much more religious than Halloween, where people construct altars and make offerings to their family members who have passed away. They typically lay out food, drink, flowers (marigolds and beautiful fuchsia flowers), candles, candy skulls, and other favorite items of the deceased, both in their homes and in the cemeteries. It’s a time where the living commune with the dead, a day dedicated more to celebrating their life than mourning their passing, and, I think, one of the most uniquely Mexican holidays. I’ve been learning about it ever since high school, so I was very excited to finally get to see it in person.

I was not let down; it was a very interesting weekend indeed. I say weekend, because Day of the Dead did not last one day, but really ran from Friday until Monday. I knew that November 1st is actually Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead or All Saints Day) and November 2nd is All Souls Day, but evidently Day of the Dead here has become a mash-up of the traditional Mexican holiday and American Halloween. There were Halloween masks and costumes for sale everywhere, pumpkin and witch decorations alongside the skull candies, and kids dressing up in their Halloween finery on Friday at school. Children here do wear costumes and ask for candy on Halloween, but there’s no one trick or treating time. For four nights straight there were kids running around the city, asking neighbors and even people in their cars for treats (although here, they have a little song instead of saying “trick or treat,” and people give out sweets, bread, money or fruit – no concerns about unwrapped candy). At the same time, families were setting up their altars. I kicked off my Day of the Dead experience by visiting the large altars in the central plaza in Cuernavaca on Saturday, which are put on display for the public. I took A LOT of photos; here's an example.

I too had a mixed holiday; I followed visiting the ofrendas (offerings) by watching Hocus Pocus and hiding from the trick or treaters with my friend Sara. On Sunday, I visited one of Cuernavaca’s most popular tourist sites, the Jardin Borda, which is a beautiful museum with expansive gardens; however, they transformed it into an artisan’s market and Day of the Dead art show. Skulls and skeletons are very common decorations for the holiday, and in Jardin Borda they set up a show of Catrinas, or dressed up skeletons. They’re a unique combination of art, beauty, and the macabre, and some of them were so beautiful and intricate it was amazing. Again, I took lots of photos, and I couldn’t help but buy myself a miniature Catrina; she’s so pretty, with a blue ballgown and her big skeleton grin.

Then, after a break to watch the Packers/Vikings game (boo Vikings), some of the other volunteers and I headed off to a very unique Day of the Dead celebration just outside Cuernavaca in a town called Ocotepec. There, any household who has had a family member die in the past year opens their home to the public. You can pass through their homes and visit their ofrendas, which were massive beyond words. Every group visiting brings a candle or flowers to give to the family, and in return they give everyone passing through something to eat – tamales, pan de muerto (Day of the Dead sweet bread), atole (a cider like drink that can be fruity, spicy, or chocolatey), or punch. This event lasted all afternoon and all night long, and these families had literally hundreds of people passing through their homes. At times the lines to visit a home’s altar were a block long, and yet they always had something to give everyone that passed through, even if it was just bread and coffee. It was such an interesting experience to be invited into strangers’ homes, to be given something to eat, to give a gift in return to someone you’ve never met, to be invited to share in the celebration and remembrance of their deceased family members. In just passing through, we got to learn about the person through their altar – they had all the foods they liked, cigarettes if they smoked, their pictures, their shoes… one even had his teaching memorabilia. All the front doors had decorated signs saying, “Welcome, Mom,” or “Welcome home, Grandpa.”

It was a bittersweet display for sure, sad because the person was gone, but joyful because this one night was dedicated to communing with them as if they were still alive. The whole event was so much more involved than I expected; I can’t even imagine the amount of effort and time that must have gone into preparing the ofrendas and all the food. Even the churches in town had offerings in them; I think it was the only time I’ve ever seen skeletons hanging from a church door (the church usually isn’t so big on Halloween). It was a very cool night, to be sure, but it was more than cool; it felt sacred. It was about celebrating family, community, and the life beyond; to me, it seemed much more special than knocking on doors asking for candy or watching horror movies (though that's fun too). I’m glad that I got to be included. Monday is typically the day when families take their offerings to the actual cemetery, decorate the graves with flowers, and even share a meal or a drink at the gravesite. I thought my host family would be doing this, but we didn’t go. As Angeles explained it to me, the cemetery would be packed with people and because of the rain it would be muddy, so better we save a visit for another day. Still, I feel like I had a very complete Day of the Dead experience. Who knows, maybe next year I’ll be making my own mini altar next to the bowl of Halloween candy! ¡Hasta luego!

The Many Faces of Angeles and Fernando

2009-10-24T14:12:00.000-07:00

Day 60 in Mexico

I thought this might be a good time to talk a bit more about my host family. Who are Angeles and Fernando? After all, these people have invited me into their family and home for a year, it would seem fair that I should get to know a little bit about them. And so I have, mainly through our after dinner conversations, which can easily stretch an hour or more. There’s no two ways about it – they are a couple of characters, and their lives have been far crazier than I could have ever imagined when I originally got a description of them, or even when I first met them. I’ve already said a little bit about them, and for those of you who don’t remember, here’s a refresher – Fernando is a taxi driver. Angeles takes care of the house. They have three grown children, all of whom live in the same neighborhood and have families of their own. They have their family over for a late breakfast on Saturdays. They are very involved in their church, and often have meetings in the evenings regarding church events. However, this isn’t the half of it. When I mentioned that they’ve dedicated their lives to social justice, I didn’t realize exactly how literal that statement was. Let’s start with Fernando…

Fernando – taxi driver, father, life risking social activist, Zapatista, lucha libre fighter. I don’t know exactly how we got started on the topic (I don’t know how we start talking about half of the stuff we talk about) but one night Fernando proceeds to tell me about the time he went to Nicaragua. During their civil war. Apparently, during the war between the Contras and the Sandanistas in Nicaragua, Fernando went with a group from Mexico to cut the coffee plants during their harvest season in Nicaragua. He didn’t exactly explain why he went to do this; I think it was a way in which to assist the poor people of Nicaragua, who during the time of violence didn’t have time to attend to their crops. This was no small trip; he told me that it was so dangerous to go there during the war, he went figuring he had a 50-50 chance of coming back. His daughter got married a couple days before he left, just in case. Their priest called Angeles the “almost-widow.” As he was describing his trip, he told me how he was always armed with a gun and grenades while he was there, how they heard gunfire all around them, how one time he got lost and separated from his group and was wandering around by himself, trying to find them. He stayed there for a month and a half, until the coffee harvest was done. Just as I was thinking that how crazy he was for risking his life like that, Fernando launches into his next social justice story. He went down to Chiapas in 1994, right after the appearance of the ELZN (Zapatista National Liberation Army). For those of who don’t know, the Zapatistas are a guerrilla army that primarily fight for social justice and land rights for the indigenous people of Chiapas (Chiapas is one of the states in Mexico with the greatest indigenous population). This army is often at odds with the Mexican government and army, which have never been known to cater to the poor, indigenous populations, and Chiapas has experienced some turbulent and violent times because of this. The Zapatista leader is Subcomandante Marcos, whom Fernando (surprise, surprise) has been in meetings with. He went to Chiapas to help support the ELZN movement, to bring the people living in the mountains there supplies, and aid Subcomandante Marcos and the army in their (he said he was usually appointed as one of the watchmen, to make sure no one attacked Marcos or his men). So, there you have it. My host dad is a Zapatista.

His story doesn’t end there. He was also a lucha libre fighter in his spare time! Lucha libre is Mexican wrestling, where men in masks and costumes with crazy names wrestle in arenas. It’s more show that actual wrestling however, much like the WWE. Apparently this is what Fernando did on weekends for 20+ years, and Angeles would take the kids down to the arena to watch him. I thought it was interesting that there was a significant amount of lucha libre apparel and memorabilia in our house (like his mask, shown here), but just thought they were fans of the sport. Never would I have guessed Fernando was actually the one doing the wrestling. As Angeles put it for me, “He fought inside the ring, and fought outside of it for justice.” Which brings me to Angeles…

Angeles – mother, devout Catholic, tireless and fearless fighter for social justice. Though she didn’t accompany Fernando on his trip to war torn Nicaragua, she did go with him to Chiapas to help bring aid to the people in the mountains. This little woman has stood face to face with Subcomandante Marcos (she was describing how he was actually a pretty attractive guy, even though he always wears a black mask covering half his face) and has trekked through the mountains of Chiapas, sleeping on the ground and giving her clothes away as she went to lighten her load. She also told me that during the civil war in El Salvador, she and Fernando helped El Salvadorians fleeing their country to come to Mexico. They helped arrange places to stay for these refugees, but had to speak in code over the phone, in case the phone lines were tapped. And of course, she and Fernando both have marched and protested in many different demonstrations here in Mexico. There was recently a protest about the power company here, Luz y Fuerza. Angeles told me that it was going to happen, but that she doesn’t participate as much as she used to now that she’s older. The next day, the protest was shown on the news, and Fernando turned to Angeles and said, “We really should have been there.” She just nodded in agreement. Apparently age hasn’t slowed them down much. It should also be mentioned that they decided to tell me all these stories on the same night, back to back. All I could say is, “You guys are crazy.”

So, there you have it. I feel like I’m living with living Mexican history; they haven’t let Latin America’s turbulent times pass them by quietly, they have been involved the whole way, fighting to make their country a better and more just place. For those of you who would like some more background information about the social movements I mentioned above, here are some helpful links (they’re Wikipedia, but they’ll do):

Nicaraguan civil war: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Contras

Zapatista movement: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zapatista_Army_of_National_Liberation

Lucha libre: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lucha_libre

Why Are All My Birthdays in Latin America?

2009-10-14T16:07:00.000-07:00

Day 50 in Mexico

Good news this week – the creepy crawly critters have not shown themselves in my room, the bathroom, or the stairs. Either the second fumigation really did do them in (I think the first fumigation attempt just riled them up), or they’re in hiding, regrouping and planning their counter attack. I’m really, really hoping it’s not the latter.

The time since I last wrote did indeed prove to be eventful, most notably with my birthday on Sunday. It’s never ideal to spend your birthday away from your friends and family, but my fellow volunteers came through in fine style for me. Like I mentioned, we had a mini celebration at our monthly meeting last weekend, but we got in a good deal of celebration this weekend as well. We all decided to meet in the downtown on Saturday night, after the Tlamacazapa girls got back into Cuernavaca. When I arrived there, I got out of my taxi to an absolute madhouse:

people everywhere, many in Mexico jerseys with painted faces, yelling and cheering, dancers, drummers, people waving Mexican flags, and a group of crazies running out in the street to jump en masse on the bumpers of passing cars and buses, jiggling them up and down. At first I was like, what Mexican holiday is it that I don’t know about it? Turns out it was even more important than a national holiday; Mexico’s football (read: soccer) team beat El Salvador, qualifying them for the World Cup. I don’t even know if I can describe how important or prevalent soccer is here; I guess there’s obsession, and then there’s Mexican soccer. Anyway, as I was busy snapping some photos of the revelry, Peter and Sara arrived, and we went out for a few birthday beers at a café while we waited for the other girls to join us. Not only did I get a free beer, I also got sung to by my fellow volunteers (Katie and Sarah too, once they arrived) and a surprise birthday treat (it was kind of like a fancy ho-ho) brought to me by the waiters; they even wrote “Happy B-day” on it in English. I was impressed.

Afterwards, we wandered down to La Plazuela, a popular bar lined street that features everything from small watering holes with live guitar music to full-on discotheques. We opted for a livelier spot with dancing. It was the first time we had been actually “out” in Cuernavaca, and we all had a lot of fun. Of course, when we left it was pouring rain and none of us had any sort of umbrella or jacket, but luckily we all got taxis quickly and headed home. On Sunday, my actual birthday, we met up again at the same retreat center we were at for orientation for relaxing and swimming. I also took advantage of the phone and Internet to make some birthday phone/Skype calls. The pool turned out to be a bit chilly; only Katie and I were brave enough to get in. Still, it was a very enjoyable afternoon, and I left feeling refreshed. Sara even brought me a scarf that she knit herself as a present; every time I see her she has a new craft that she learned at her work sites. It’s a legit scarf too (like you would actually pay money for it); once it actually gets chilly enough to wear scarves (if it ever does) it won’t leave my neck. My birthday present to myself (besides blowing almost a third of my month’s allowance in one night, haha) was having a Mass-free weekend. As much as I like that Angeles and Fernando include me, their weekends are so full of activities (almost always church activities) that I sometimes feel like I don’t get a weekend when I go along. It was very nice to have a couple days all to myself to do as I pleased. I may try to cut my Mass count down to one a week, try a different church once in awhile, and have an occasional church-free weekend.

Work has also been busy for the last few days. As I mentioned, I had a visitor from EdgewoodCollege come to watch me work in the kindergarten on Friday morning. She’s doing half a semester of student teaching here in Cuernavaca at an elementary school, and then returning toMadison to finish her student teaching there. I really enjoyed hearing about her experiences as a teacher here, and sharing some of my own. It was also very nice to have an extra pair of hands to help with the day’s project. She and another girl working in Cuernavaca participated in a mini-immersion program over the weekend, part of which was visiting the community in which I work. After I finished with work, my fellow volunteers and I met with the girls at the retreat center to talk about our experiences living here, working here, and being Americans in a foreign place. Again, it was nice to share and hear some of the experiences of other foreigners, where our experiences overlap and where they differ.

Then, just yesterday, we had perhaps one of the biggest events of the year at the community center in La Estación – a visit from their sponsors. As I may or may not have mentioned, children in the La Estación community project can be sponsored by families in the US and Canada, who send money for things like food, school supplies, and clothing. In return, the children’s mothers must participate in the center, the children must write letters and send pictures to their sponsors, and they also must attend the workshops that the community center provides. Five of the sponsors came to visit the center, as well as the staff of the organization that coordinates the sponsorship program, and everyone in the community went all out for it. The center was cleaned like I’ve never seen it cleaned and decorated with paper chains and flowers. The kids and I made cards for them in one of our workshops. Tons of kids packed into the center to welcome the guests, so many that there wasn’t space or chairs for all of them. There were readings, gifts (embroidered pillowcases that the women made), a traditional Mexican dance performance, two home visits… it was definitely the busiest and one of the most wonderful mornings I’ve had to date. It was wonderful to see both the outpouring of gratitude that this community has for those who help them ensure that their kids are properly prepared to receive the education they deserve, as well as the delight of the foreign sponsors at the warm welcome they received.

I did, however, have two regrets about the event, the first being that I forgot my camera! It would have been the perfect opportunity to take pictures. The second is that it didn’t last longer; the sponsors only stayed for about an hour and a half, which seemed very short. Even when they visited the homes of the mothers, they only stayed about twenty minutes. Logistically I understand why they couldn’t stay longer, but at the same time I wish they could have stayed a while, talking to the families and learning their stories. Their conversations couldn’t get much beyond asking how many children the women had, their ages, their names, how long they had lived in the community, etc. However, one of the women they visited, Lulu, was asked about what dreams she had for her five children, and she started to cry. She said, “I have such enormous dreams for my children. I want them all to become successful professionals, so that they don’t have to live like this, so that they can leave this life of poverty.” It was such a touching moment; more than anything, I wanted these strangers to be able to stay, to talk to her and her daughters, who, I have learned from them coming to workshops, are incredibly bright, talented, social, and driven, to show them really how much they deserve every opportunity in the world and how vital their sponsorship is in making sure these girls receive those opportunities. At the same time, all the sponsorship in the world doesn’t change the fact that these girls, because of where they live, because of their socioeconomic status and lack of resources, are going to be fighting an uphill battle the entire way. In that moment, the reason I am here became much clearer; I am here for them. I cannot provide monetary support, but I can give them knowledge and encouragement, learn their stories, and share their lives more than any immersion group or day visitor ever could. Unfortunately, that won’t put food on their table or books in their backpacks, but nonetheless I choose to believe that my presence here can make a difference in their lives and the lives of those in the community. Sorry if that sounds soap-boxy or sappy, but it’s moments like those that keep me going here – moments where I feel useful and part of a community. I almost started crying along with Lulu! But, luckily, I restrained myself.

That’s all for now; this week looks to be a quieter one, but here you just never know what will happen next.

The Good, the Bad, and the Creepy Crawly

2009-10-07T17:00:00.000-07:00

Day 43 in Mexico

Happy October to all! September has come and gone, and now we’re into one of my favorite months – the month of Halloween, my birthday, and cooler temperatures in Tucson. However, this October will surely be different than those back home, for obvious reasons. As for my favorite highlights of the month, I do think they celebrate Halloween, though it’s not nearly as big a deal as Dia de los Muertos, which I am looking forward to. My birthday is only days away, and I’m not too freaked out about celebrating it away from home, since I turned 21 while studying abroad in Argentina; I’m more worried about being 23. I seem to be getting older very, very quickly. Everyone in my group is a good six months to a year and six months younger than me, so that doesn’t help much. And as for the weather, it seems to be getting warmer instead of cooler now that the rainy season is coming to a close. I guess I’ll have to modify my ideas about the month.

I’ve had some interesting moments in the past week, both good and not so good. Work has still proven to be challenging in several respects. As much as I do enjoy teaching my English classes in the kinder, the kids are often a handful, and it’s hard to garner a lot of authority with five year olds when I don’t speak the language as well as a five year old. I’m still searching for the balance between having good activities that get them actively learning and activities that are calm enough that I can keep some semblance of control. My last blog was about the lessons that I’ve learned, but I think I forgot the most important one: Kids are hard work. At the same time, I get frustrated with myself when I feel I haven’t progressed as much as I should have; that I don’t know the women of the center like I should, the kids don’t know their colors as well as they should, I don’t feel as useful as I should. I get hung up easily on how things “should” be, which is a complete figment of my imagination, rather than how they are. However, I had a breakthrough moment this past week (I love those). A group of study abroad students from NAU (fellow Arizonans!) has started to come on Wednesday afternoons to give an English class in the community center. This last Wednesday was their first session, and it falls under my job to the facilitator for their sessions, observing, making sure they have all the materials they need, etc. When I welcomed them to the center, after introducing myself, I gave them a brief introduction to the community center. I shared about the center itself, who sponsors the project, a little about the community that it serves how the kids and their families come to be involved, and so on. When the kids came to the class, I knew their names from the kinder, I knew the moms that dropped them off, I knew how much English they could be expected to know, I knew which colors they would be able to correctly identify… I realized that I know a lot more about my job than I think I know. It took another group of outsiders to make me realize that I’m not as much of an outsider as I used to be. Slowly but surely (or, poco a poco, a phrase I use a lot here) I am becoming part of a community, and that realization was one of the most reassuring moments that I’ve had to date.

My time with my host family is still proving to be very enjoyable; however, I seem to be attracting the attention of some less favorable residents of the house: the bug population. After my first encounter with the whopper of a spider in my bathroom, word must have spread amongst them that I’m afraid, and they’ve decided to join together and take advantage of that fact. I’ve seen a couple in the past weeks on the stairs; I’m the only one who lives upstairs, so they must get a kick out of me being too scared to pass by them to get to my room. However, they’ve taken things to a new level. This past week, on my way to brush my teeth before bed, I flicked on the light in my bathroom and there was a centipede on the wall. If there is a bug that rivals a spider for the fearful reaction elicited from me, it’s the centipede. I yelped and called for Angeles and Fernando to come kill it. It wasn’t super huge, but it was a good couple inches long. It made me feel kind of jumpy as I headed to bed, but I didn’t see anything else. I got into bed, turned off the light, and was on my way to falling asleep when I heard a very faint scratching sound. I debated for a few seconds whether or not to turn on the light and find out what it was, figuring I might regret it if I did, or try to forget about it and fall asleep. Long story short, I turned on the light and there was a centipede, at least twice as big, on the ceiling above my bed. I flipped out, ran yelling for Angeles and Fernando to “Come! Come! Kill it! Kill it!” They came, and, because they didn’t want it to fall in my bed, scraped it into a jar to get rid of it. It took me a looong time to fall asleep after that dual encounter. The next morning, I wake up, and sure enough, there’s a big, black spider hanging on the wall over my bed. I told Angeles, so she could come kill it, and she said, “I don’t even believe you.” But it’s true. They know I’m afraid, they think it’s funny, and they’re stalking me. Today another spider was on the wall directly behind my pillow. The suckers are getting bolder. I wish they would figure out that it’s not worth the risk; they might get a good scare out of me, but it’s a suicide mission. They always end up on the bottom side of a shoe.

On the brighter side, we had our first monthly volunteer meeting. Every month, the five of us meet at our country coordinator’s house for an evening of food, conversation, and relaxing. It’s a very informal meeting, where we can just hang out or watch a movie or whatever. This Sunday, we all brought an appetizer and sat around the table talking a long time about our experiences so far. It’s really cool to hear how everyone else is doing, especially the two girls who don’t work in Cuernavaca, because we don’t get to see them as often. It’s also reassuring to hear that everyone has struggles; they might not be the same as mine, but it’s reassuring to hear that it’s common theme (it’s not just me!). I like that we have a good group where we can share those struggles, as well as our successes, and get support from each other. My country coordinator and her husband will actually be in Tucson over my birthday (lucky devils; I would stow away in their suitcases if I thought I could pull it off) so they had a mini celebration, made me spinach artichoke dip and delicious birthday cupcakes, and sang Happy Birthday to me (in English; the Mexican Happy Birthday song is called Las Mañanitas, which is actually a very complicated song with multiple verses that are not repetitive). It was very enjoyable. I think those monthly meetings will be some of the times I look forward to most; it’s not often that we all get to be together as a group.

I think that about sums up the big events of the week. This coming week may prove to be an eventful one as well: there’s another American volunteer (from Madison, go figure) coming to shadow me at work, my actual birthday, and a much anticipated visit at the community center from their sponsoring organization. Here’s hoping it all goes smoothly!

Lessons Learned

2009-09-28T16:11:00.000-07:00

Day 34 in Mexico

Two days ago, I had my one month anniversary in Mexico. I won’t claim that every day has flown by (though the weekends sure do), but looking back it’s hard to believe that I’ve been here that long already. I’m quickly falling into a routine, feeling surer of myself as I continue to learn the city, and my Spanish speaking skills are starting to come back to me after a long period of disuse after my study abroad time in Argentina. I thought it might be interesting to reflect on some of the things that I’ve learned so far in my time here. We (the YAGM group) were told at our Chicago orientation that we would almost certainly be taught more by the people we lived and worked with than we taught them, but some of these things I never expected to learn. I’ve already mentioned learning the difficulty in saying no, and that water usually isn’t really water, but that was just the beginning. So, in no particular order:

Vocabulary. I thought my Spanish was actually pretty good before I came, forgetting that the only time I was using it was in classes, writing essays and analyzing literature, not related at all to daily living. Some of the new words I’ve learned actually summarize my experience here pretty well, I think.

§ Órale and Ándale, pues – probably the most common phrases I’ve heard here. Órale translates to “cool” or “okay.” As in, “Look at this (insert cool object here).” “Órale.” But it’s a word that seems to pretty much fit any situation, person, greeting, or conversation. Ándale, I would say, translates to a more polite way of saying “Get out of here, you.” When I tell someone I have to go, this is almost always the response.

§ Mande? – also very common, Mexicans here use this phrase instead of como, meaning “Come again?” if you didn’t hear what someone said. It is a phrase I hear often, and a more literal translation as it relates to me is, “Good lord, I have no idea what you’re trying to say.”

§ Me pica – what you say if something’s spicy (the verb picar means to bite); probably the next most commonly used phrase for me after the above phrases. Also formed as the question, Pica mucho? or, “Is it really spicy?”

§ Goteras – leaks, as in, “the roof over my bedroom has several goteras.”

§ Topes – speed bumps, a very common occurrence here. Particularly unpleasant to go over in a bus, they are even more common in some smaller towns, like Temixco, a small city close to Cuernavaca. There you can find them every 20-25 feet or so on virtually every road.

§ Zancudos – mosquitos.

§ Patas – Chicken feet, as in, “My friend Sara frequently has patas in her soup.” I have not yet had the pleasure of trying them.

§ Cinta – tape, learned from projects at the kinder.

§ Guajolote – turkey, and ardilla – squirrel, both learned from animal bingo at my job.

§ Internet inalámbrico – wireless Internet. Quite helpful.

§ Various new food words, such as chilaquiles, tunas, micheladas and nepales.

My bus routes. This is something I did expect to learn, but some things about them are rather unexpected. The buses here very widely, from glorified vans to luxury tour buses. I take two of the various rutas (another vocab word, simply meaning bus), the 1 and the 13. I have learned to expect good things from the 13 buses. Most of them are much more luxurious than average, with cushy cloth seats and less jarring transmissions, although there do exist the few exceptions. Other things I’ve come to expect from them include truly impressive, tricked-out sound systems, black lights both inside the bus and underneath it, and gleaming silver spikes on the hubcaps. I do love my number 13 buses, and I find my rides to and from work surprisingly relaxing, and some of the time I do my best thinking, planning, and reflecting.

To take my umbrella with me everywhere, no matter how pleasantly warm or sunny it is. The chances of it raining any given day are very high during this season.

That roosters are smart enough to start crowing every morning at 6:30 a.m. (pretty much on the dot) but are not smart enough to realize that morning is over, and thus keep crowing throughout the day. They have also not gotten the memo about weekends.

That, for young children learning English, yellow is across the board the easiest color to say, and usually their favorite.

That, every Monday, Mexican school children must wear white for Honores, a ceremony saluting the Mexican flag.

Traffic rules. I think it’s a very common experience for Americans to go abroad and be surprised, even shocked, at the lack of traffic control in different countries. That was my experience going to Spain, Guatemala, and Argentina, so I expected the same in kind from Mexico. Still, it’s always an adjustment period. I’ve learned that in Mexico, the right of way belongs to the one who muscles his way in. If you want to turn left across traffic, you pull out and force the oncoming cars to yield to you, and then continue. Same for roundabouts, same for merging onto highways. Pedestrians are not given right away, but there are traffic cops that prove helpful for this purpose. Seatbelts are almost never used by anyone besides the driver (even for young children, which I admit I have a hard time accepting).

Slowly but surely, some of the many cafés here. I now know, for example, which ones have wireless Internet, which ones are considered expensive, which one serves the best chicken sandwich ever (I would say equivalent or better to the turkey sandwich at Tucson’s Coffee Xchange, and that’s saying something), which one serves heavenly mango smoothies, and where you can get alfalfa sprouts. Unfortunately, I’ve yet to learn where I can get a truly reliable Skype connection (one of my big priorities right now).

That if my host parents eat something and think it’s really spicy, that I should not try to eat it myself. I have had two dangerous run-ins with spicy food – once I was told to try the beans in a soup to see if I liked it. Mistaking a floating chile (added only for flavor, not for actual eating) for a large bean, I ate the entire thing. Oops. I also tried adding a very small chile to my dinner one night, as it seemed like it could have benefited from a little spice. It didn’t seem that harmless when I tasted the tip, so I added the whole thing, seeds and all (it really was quite small). The smallest chiles, turns out, are often the spiciest. There was some serious crying, mouth fanning, and milk drinking that followed.

Some of the basic responses at mass; I do, after all, average two masses a weekend. It’s really quite similar to the Lutheran service, but unfortunately even when I recognize something from our service I don’t know how it translates into Spanish. I’m learning just enough, however, to become a more active participant.

Many of the injustices, corruption, inequalities, and difficulties that plague Mexico, as well as the stories of some of its people, related to me through my host parents over and after dinner. I’ve heard some of their stories from travels to poorer, more indigenous states, like Chiapas and Guerrero, as well as some from their conversations with the inmates at the jail they visit on Saturdays. Though the subject matter is not often easy to hear, they’ve already taught me a lot, and our conversations after the meal and before I head off to bed are some of my favorite times.

I’m sure there are many more lessons that I’m forgetting, but it’s a start. Next I’m searching, as I said, for reliable Skyping locales, as well as some lessons in Mexican cooking. Hasta luego!

¡Viva Mexico!

2009-09-21T15:50:00.000-07:00

Day 27 in Cuernavaca

Another week gone, and another begins. I’ve started teaching English in the kindergarten at La Estación, which was a little nerve wracking for someone with absolutely no teaching experience. I did work in a tutoring center, but I don’t think doing the crossword puzzle while making sure no one messed up the computer log-in system qualifies as experience. Thankfully, it is going pretty well (though I’ve only had two classes, so I guess we will still have to wait and see). I have to teach five different classrooms English, half an hour each, three mornings a week. When each class averages about 30 kids, it’s not an easy task. The kids, however, seem to like me okay. I’ve now become “Maestra Katy” or “Meesss Katy,” which they started calling me before I had even taught them anything; they see me walking by on the street and call out “Maestra! Maestra!” (Teacher! Teacher!). We’ve started with colors; next I’m thinking numbers. In addition to teaching, I’m spending time in the community center, primarily helping out with serving breakfast, cleanup, and whatever other odd jobs they find for me to do; basically, my job description is ESL teacher/dishwasher/inept babysitter. I’ve also begun eating lunch, or comida, in the homes of the women who come to the community center. It’s really remarkable to me how much work these women squeeze in a day, though they don’t work outside their homes. Many of them have upwards of five children, who only go to school for half the day (either morning or afternoon), so they have to do all the cooking and cleaning for a family of seven or more by themselves, plus pick up and take care of their kids when they get off of school, plus do all the shopping, and still find time to spend at the community center, making breakfast for 120 people. I ate today with a mother of five, who was also in charge of the community center breakfast today. She was apologetic that she didn’t have much time to fix me a good meal – she made me chicken in mole sauce, Mexican rice, and tortillas. It was fantastic.

I had a shorter week last week, because of the Mexican Independence Holiday. That was an interesting experience for sure. They block off the downtown and there were tons of people in the zócalo (the central plaza) for the Grito, the cry that kicked off the Mexican War for Independence that they reenact every year at 11 p.m.; at the end they all shout the names of the heroes in the war and “Viva Mexico!” several times. There was mariachi music, street vendors, lots of food, dancing, etc. etc. Before going, I heard all sorts of advice and opinions on the celebration, ranging from “everyone’s drunk and crazy and it’s really really dangerous” to “it’s not dangerous at all, everyone takes their kids.”

Our YAGM group (at left) decided that we couldn’t miss out on the experience, so we decided to go to the Grito but leave fairly early before things got too crazy (though I’m pretty sure Peter thought we were going to get shot). We had absolutely no trouble at all, which was great, and there were a lot of families there. We were going to eat at the house of one of Sara’s teacher friends, but that didn’t exactly work out. She wasn’t there when we arrived, and her family had no idea we were coming; just another cultural mix-up. By that time it was getting closer to the Grito, and also pouring rain, so we went back to the center and camped out in a tarp-covered outdoor restaurant to munch on quesadillas. Then we grabbed a spot standing on some park benches to watch the festivities from a bit of a distance. The crowd went crazy for the mariachi music, though to me it really all sounded the same. Every song that they played, however, got a big cheer from the plaza. They had big screens set up too, so everyone could watch the governor of Morelos as he came out onto the balcony and delivered the Grito, waving the Mexican flag. It was pretty cool to see everyone get whipped into such a patriotic frenzy. Immediately after the Grito, they had a huge fireworks show right overhead; it was so close that I’m pretty sure they shot them off from the other end of the plaza.We did book it out of there fairly shortly thereafter, though, for safety reasons and because of the rain and because two members of our group didn’t have a day off the next day (poor girls!) The rest of us, however, got to sleep in on Wednesday, because there was no work or school. It was very nice to have a mid-week break, though I think that’s the last holiday that we’ll have in awhile, perhaps until Dia de los Muertos in November. Here are some pictures of the festivities, the rain-soaked crowd, and me and Peter (also rain-soaked) all courtesy of Sara's camera/Facebook album that I decided to steal. Gracias!

Other than that, things are going pretty well; I’m just starting to settle into a routine, which apparently involves two masses a week – one on Saturday at the jail, and one on Sunday (and I’m not even Catholic!) The weather has improved, thankfully, and although it still rains quite a bit it’s interspersed with some warm, sunny days. I’m starting to catch on to some of the Mexican customs; I’ve recently discovered how difficult it is to say “no” to an invitation, especially since it’s considered rude here to say “no” outright. At the same time, even if you do manage to say “no” in an indirect way, that somehow translates into “yes, of course.” It’s just easier to accept and go along. Thing is definitely a learn as you go experience; it’ll be interesting to see what I learn next.

Am I in Mexico or Seattle?

2009-09-14T16:20:00.000-07:00

Day 21 in Cuernavaca

Well, unfortunately the beautiful weather has subsided for now and has been replaced by almost relentless rain. It not only pours every night, it now rains almost every afternoon, and some mornings as well. It seems to have been perpetually cloudy for the past week and a half, and my host family said that Mexico City is having some pretty major flooding problems. Yikes. I look forward to seeing the sunshine’s return (my Arizona summer tan has, alas, faded away).

I’ve completed my first week of work and am just starting on the next. I’m still working on figuring out my role at work, as there appears to be a lack of the workplace structure that I am familiar with. I’ll walk you though what has so far been a typical day: I arrive at my first work site, the community center at La Estación, shortly before nine, at the tail end of their breakfast program. One of their most successful programs is their breakfast program; they provide a hot meal with juice and jello to the neighborhood’s mothers and children. Between 100 and 120 people show up between 8 and 9 a.m. every weekday to eat, and it’s no dining hall. It’s a rather small space that for an hour comes alive with people. The mothers in the community sign up for rotating breakfast shifts every week, doing all the shopping, cooking and cleanup. They make a mean breakfast, though it’s not a breakfast that I’m used to. I am now, before nine in the morning, eating tamales, enchiladas, quesadillas, tostadas, and everything with salsa picante (translation: spicy!). It’s really something. Then I go to the kindergarten. There are three different levels, from three year olds to five year olds, and I’ll be teaching (or trying to teach) them some basic English – colors, numbers, basic vocabulary. This first week I spent observing, and now I’ll be forming some lesson plans and starting this week. I think we’re going to start with the color red. The three year olds don’t know their colors in Spanish yet, so it will be interesting for all of us, especially since I have no teaching experience and the kids can be rather… rambunctious.

When the kinder gets out at noon, I go back to the community center (it’s right across the street). So far, there hasn’t been too much to do there; the center offers workshops, but apparently the workshops haven’t been doing well, and it’s hard to maintain an interest level in the community. I did go to a reading workshop for children on Friday afternoons, where the kids can borrow books to take home, bring them back and exchange them for a new one. It’s a good program, but not very many kids came. I imagine that the day to day life in the community, which as I mentioned is one of the most marginalized in town, can be so demanding that attending community workshops almost inevitably takes a backseat to other, more pressing needs. There are several very dedicated women, however, that spend a lot of time in the center. I’m beginning to understand the importance here of “placticando,” or chatting. Face to face communication is not curtailed like it is in the U.S. There is a lot of importance placed on simply talking, chatting, and catching up. I spend quite a bit of time placticando, either at work or with my family, though my Spanish is definitely in need of some improvement. Hopefully that will come with time. We also eat in the early afternoon as well, and starting this week I’ll be going into the women’s homes to eat. I’m very much looking forward to that; some of them are talking about teaching me how to cook, which sounds fabulous, though since I’m so inept in the kitchen it might be harder than they expect.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I leave after lunch and go to Casa Tatic, where I am helping seven to nine year olds with their reading, homework, and spelling (in Spanish). I’ve only been twice, but it seems to be a good fit for me; there aren’t as many kids (in the kinder at La Estación, class size averages around 30), so I can sit and work with them individually. I feel more like a tutor or reading specialist than anything, and it’s really a joyous feeling to sit and listen to a little girl read a book aloud. We also eat at this worksite; Casa Tatic is part of a larger group of programs, and it not only provides an after-school program, but the kids get a meal, a vitamin, brush their teeth, and get some play time. A couple of them haven’t gone to school, and this is their only place to learn how to read. It’s really an impressive program, I think.

My host family continues to include me regularly in their activities. This Saturday I accompanied them to the prison outside of Cuernavaca. Every Saturday they and other volunteers visit the inmates, bring a meal, and host a Mass. I walked with them into an outdoor courtyard with about 400 inmates milling around. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous; in fact, my eyes nearly bugged out of my head. We’re taught to be wary of men here in general, that they can be more verbally aggressive than men in the States, and I was walking into a crowd not only of 400 men, but 400 men convicted of crimes? However, it turned out to be a really good experience. All of the men were very kind, friendly, and respectful. I ate with a few of them (eating is a very common theme to my activity here, if you haven’t noticed), and one even got me a Coke when I said I didn’t like the water (which isn’t really water, it’s fruit juice, or agua de whatever fruit). Many of them came up to shake my hand after the mass, and a couple even spoke some English to me (not much more than “where are you from?” but I was still impressed). I definitely think it’s an activity I will continue with.

I’m enjoying the company of my fellow volunteers, though I do miss seeing them as much as I did when we were in orientation. Still, it’s nice to meet up and chat, and watch television when we can, haha. Poor Peter is seriously missing his tennis and football, and I almost died when I went to Sarah’s house over the weekend and Friends was on. I am such a television addict; it’s like going through withdrawal. I also miss my kitty friends, though I did stop by the retreat center this week to say hello. They didn’t seem overly impressed to see me.

Looking forward to this week; it’s Dia de Independencia on Tuesday night/Wednesday, which kicks off with the Grito de Dolores in the city center and is followed by much celebration and a day off on Wednesday. Should be quite the experience. Also hoping the weather will improve, but we supposedly have a month to go in the rainy season. Ah, well. Hasta pronto!

Ay ay ay, estoy en Mexico!

2009-09-07T15:50:00.000-07:00

Day 13 in Cuernavaca, Mexico.
Favorite things so far: pozole (this amazing soup made with chicken and hominy), the weather, my fellow volunteers, the beautiful greenery and flowers, the cats at the retreat center for whom I’m thinking up a plan to smuggle them home (sorry, Ehsan)

Least favorite things: dodging traffic, the tarantula-sized spider I found in my bathroom at 6 a.m., the neighbor’s dog that starts to bark endlessly in the middle of the night (grrr…)

¡Hola todos! It’s my second full week in Mexico, and already so much has happened. We arrived on the 26th, after a weeklong orientation in Chicago that involved a lot of listening to speakers, small group meetings, and lots of discussions about our upcoming adventures, with a little Chicago sightseeing thrown in as well. It’s very odd to think that just two weeks ago I was sitting on the top story of the Hancock Tower in downtown Chicago, and now I’m here in Cuernavaca. It was kind of emotionally exhausting to talk about our feelings, hopes, and apprehensions so much, but it was good to get into the mind frame of this trip and spend time with fellow YAGMs (that’s Young Adults in Global Mission). Then, after a relatively short flight (compared to, say, the YAGMs going to Malaysia or South Africa) and two hour bus ride from Mexico City to Cuernavaca, we settled in for another ten day orientation. This one was much better, however, in that it involved much more going out and doing stuff than just sitting and passively listening.

Andrea, our country coordinator who’s in charge of us here during our stay, packed a lot into just over a week. We visited almost everyone’s worksite, which was really cool to see. For those of you that don’t know, I’ll be working at a community center and kinder in La Estación, one of the most marginalized neighborhoods in Cuernavaca that’s smack dab in the middle of the city, and at an after school program called Casa Tatic, that mainly serves the children of indigenous street vendors. The other YAGM worksites include another school program; a human rights foundation; an arts and crafts project for the elderly; an organization that builds wheelchairs for the handicapped; and an organization that works in Tlamacazapa, Guerrero, a very marginalized village about two hours outside of Cuernavaca. Quite a variety! I’m looking forward to hearing stories from everyone’s different placement.

Our orientation also involved a lot of group bonding at our oasis-like retreat center, the Cuernavaca Center for Intercultural Dialogue Development (or CCIDD; picture on left), and I’m happy to say that we have a very good group and we all (so far!) get along well. There are five of us total, including myself. Katie and Sarah will be working in Tlamacazapa for the year, although they’ll be in Cuernavaca three days out of every week. Katie jokes that they’ll be buff babes by the time the year is over; apparently, Tlama is basically perched on the side of a mountain, so there will be some steep climbing going on for those two. They’re both super fun girls; Katie was especially fun to tease about her fear of cats, though she claims that they just make her nervous (she also claims that one of the cats at the retreat center we stayed at for orientation bit her, when it actually just rubbed itself against her foot). But she has no trouble with cockroaches; she chased on out of Sara’s stuff and killed it with her Choco. No problem with disgusting bugs; terrified of kitty-cats. I’m really eager to hear some of their stories as their work progresses. Peter, basically the smartest kid to ever come out of South Dakota (he was on Teen Jeopardy and went to Princeton!) will be working at the human rights organization and the program that makes wheelchairs. It’s amazing to listen to Peter talk; he uses GRE words like nobody’s business (I like it when he talks in Spanish, because his vocab is more limited and I feel better about myself). Sara will be working with the elderly and the other school program. She’s also super fun, and can talk a blue streak. It’s hilarious to get her started on teasing Peter; that kind of became the theme of our orientation (good thing he has a sense of humor). We all told our life stories to each other, representing different stages with little sculptures made out of clay. It was really interesting to hear where everyone is coming from. We also spent a lot of time just hanging out, playing in the retreat center pool, playing cards, and getting to know each other.

Other than that, Cuernavaca is a nice city, though the extreme socioeconomic highs and lows of Mexico are both very evident; you can drive by beautiful, gated houses and glass-walled Starbucks and soon pass a neighborhood of ramshackle houses made with sheets of tin and cement blocks. The weather, however, is magnificent. Warm and sunny without being super hot or humid, though we’re in the rainy season, so it rains almost every night. I’m excited to explore the city more; we did a little walking tour of the city center and the market during orientation. The market itself is a giant maze of stalls, selling everything from DVD’s to shoes to handicrafts to poultry (the meat market itself was quite an experience, and I saw more than one pig’s head on a hook). We also visited Tepotzlan, a smaller community outside of Cuernavaca that has a market on Sundays and an Aztec pyramid perched on one of the cliffs overhead, which we hiked to. It was a great day trip; here are a couple pictures of the amazing views, and of the four YAGM girls enjoying them.

Now the real deal is starting; orientation is over, I’m at my host family’s house, and I just finished my first day of work. I was apprehensive to leave my fellow volunteers, especially after we bonded so well, but my host family is very nice. It’s an older couple, Angeles and Fernando, and they live in a house that is literally perched on the side of a barranca, one of the many ravines that run through Cuernavaca. Their three children live not more than a five minute walk away (one lives next door), and they have several grandchildren and a great grandson. I’ve already bonded with their five year old granddaughter named, ironically enough, America. She’s a huge talker too, and a little ball of energy who loves to drink coffee. They’re making me feel like I’m just another member of the family. Angeles already had me marching with her in a religious procession through the streets of Cuernavaca with one of the schools she works with; Angeles and Fernando are both very involved with Base Christian Community organizations, which work a lot with political and social justice causes for the poor and marginalized here in Mexico. It’s fascinating to listen to the kinds of work that they do – every Saturday they go to the jail here and give food and mass to the prisoners. They’ve offered to take me along with them; that will certainly be an experience.

There’s so much more to tell, especially since I haven’t even mentioned how work went, but it will have to wait; this entry is too long as it is, and (if you’re still reading, or at least skimming it) I apologize. ¡Hasta pronto!