Borderlands 2 - Tucson and Home

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

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

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

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

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

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.