Missing Home

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

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!

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!