(Mis)adventur@s en Oaxaca

Got to Matamoros, thanks to Tia Carmen. She is here with me now. I’m sitting in the airport in Mexico City waiting for my flight.  I’m here early thanks to her.

My trip ended with a really good talk with my Tio Hector.  I love my Tio, he looks alot like my brother.  I had forgotten he was a teacher so I asked him about what he thought about the teacher’s strike in Oaxaca.  He said things that were at times contradictory.  He said that teachers in Oaxaca were hurting the economy, the students, and other workers. But he also said that Oaxaca was known to be a “luchador” state, and that there were always strong social movements that came out of Oaxaca.  He said that as a teacher in Puebla, he’d never see a strong social movement there.  He told me that what they were fighting against in Oaxaca had already been implemented in Puebla.  That he would face his fate next year.  I asked him about it and my Tio got heated even thinking about the possible ramifications...

He said the teachers were fighting against a mandatory evaluation where a panel of supposed “experts” would qualify you a good teacher or administrator or not.  Who were these experts, nobody knew, and in Mexico, this evaluation process left lots of room for corruption.  My Tio Hector is the principal of the biggest school in a small town. He oversees 300 students and 24 teachers.  He will be up for this “evaluation” next year.  Should the committee decided that he is not an adequate administrator, he gets 2 more chances to pass this evaluation.  Should he not pass his “evaluation” on the third try, he will be demoted, to teacher and have his wages cut or dismissed and have his pension removed.  I couldn’t believe my ears.  How can you retroactively cut someone’s pension? DISGUSTING.  My Tio has been a teacher/administrator for a solid 30+ years.  

I later asked him the secret to being a good administrator.  He gave me lots of tips.  Honesty.  Setting good boundaries. Good communication. Being “friends” with colleagues was fine but nothing more, supporting the staff, respecting those who were in lower ranks, modeling how to be a good and hard worker. Hiring good people.  Giving people a fair chance.  Holding high expectations “for the benefit of the students.”  He told me he tried to instill a sense of pride in the school by forcing teachers to wear uniforms that they eventually liked.  He talked about how the students call him “Dire,” short for “Director.”  Tio went in for the kill on a few occasions in this conversation: 

1) He told me, with glassy eyes, that my dad, in spite of all his financial and medical hardships, helped pay for him to go to school to become a teacher.  He told me that when Dad moved to the US, he basically defected from the Mexican army, so he couldn’t return to Mexico or he would be arrested.  I told him I never knew that!  I asked him why he thought my dad defected and he said “Por necesidad m’hija,” and that he was worried and trying to find a way to make money to support my grandparents.

2) He told me that my grandfather, who my father always told me was a teacher, wasn’t an official teacher.  He was a man who knew how to read, and he did his best to help others in his town become literate too, as a volunteer. He said “my father was a man who loved to help others.” Again, my Tio’s eyes filled with tears.  He lived with my abuelito all his life, and I know he missed his old man.  His passing was still raw.  Tia Carmen was there too and her eyes got glassy thinking about her own mom who passed two weeks after my abuelito. They both told me to try to record the stories my parents told, because one day I would regret not having the documentation.  I’m trying!  

3) I asked him how he kept his cool at work.  He told me most things were a mental game, that required psychological tricks to get people to recognize your leadership, and your own mind control over your thoughts and to stay calm, thinking rationally, and above all come to agreements, mediate things to find solutions.  I told him that was hard for me cuz I was hot-headed.  He said next time I got upset about something I should talk a deep breathe and say to my self “Tio Hector, Tio Hector, Tio Hector.”  haha :P 

I come from a family of strong and honorable people, and sometimes that feels like a gift and sometimes it feels overwhelming.  Next to some of the Catholic families that I’ve met, including my own, I feel like a wretched sinner/loser!  I tell myself that either the stories they tell about themselves are inflated, or I’m being hard on myself. In any case, Oaxaca is a place of old world value and tradition. A place where a person’s word is taken seriously, honor is still important, and family and community are everything.   I hope that I can carry with me some of their teachings as I move forward and learn how to translate these values to work within the belly of the beast, America.  

I am so grateful that I was able to use my schooling to connect with my ancestry. I look at the little grade school sweater I bought and think about how many of the kids in Oaxaca are barely getting an education.  How ironic to have an elementary school sweater with an image of Flores Magon, the great Oaxacan thinker.  How many of the children will never realize their dreams, or have an outlet for their thoughts, or even get to know who Flores Magon was? When I was talking to my Tio, I was very aware that my Tia Maria sat away from us, on the couch and quickly left the room and went off to her sister’s house to cook.  She couldn’t participate in our conversation.  I think about how my mom plays with her hands or stares at the ceiling when she doesn’t feel she has anything to add when people around her speak.  For all the women who never got a chance to go to school, to learn, to think they can think, to reflect and reason, to develop their voice, confidence.  I am thinking about you.  I hope that I can share and give back some of what you have given me in between fixing meals, sewing until your backs ached and you lost your vision through embroidered flowers, and whispered wisdoms to me when someone walked into the room.  My life has been enriched.  My heart is fuller and also more broken, but I think those things always go hand in hand. Thank you so much for this chance.  I hope I can do something useful with this, give back to others.  I always have lofty dreams of what that could look like but even if I can share something helpful or useful to another person, offer them some hope or a piece of respect on a hard day, that would make me feel good. I hope you know that I cared.  

I finally made it to Huajuapan to say goodbye to my Tias. Tia Meli made mole from scratch.  Tia Carmen made me a copy of abuelito’s little notebook, yay! His famous autobiography/phonebook that he carried in his front pocket all the days of his life.  Abuelito died last year at the age of 99.  I got to see him at 97, and he was still talking, watering plants, and going across the street to visit his church.  I will give you a small excerpt of what he has in his notebook: 

“Now, in the name of God, I will synthesize the biography of my life, everything that transpired, without absence the tragic moments that on 4 occasions I was at the point of losing my life, but that, thanks to the infinite mercy of God that has always protected me, I keep enjoying this precious gift that is Life...”

Yesterday was a DISASTER.  I was walking around like a chicken with my head cut off trying to figure out what to do as soon as I woke up.  I re-packed.  I checked out of my hostel but left my stuff there. Then I wandered around trying to decide if I should go to Huajuapan or go buy some more souvenirs. I bought some souvenirs, a bunch of things that I didn’t even need just because.  I knew I was wandering aimlessly because I didn’t feel ready to leave Oaxaca.  So I think that’s what set up the next turn of events...

I decided to call the Mitla fam (Dona Delfina with the sewing machine, and Mayra from the Guelaguetza tents, et al) and tell them I was leaving.  “What you’re leaving! But we have to say goodbye!  We’ll come to Oaxaca tomorrow morning.” I forget sometimes that in Mexico, you can’t just spring “I’m leaving” on people who can’t leave the country or who take the notion of family very seriously.  Any guest becomes insta-family.  It just takes 3 minutes, heat and serve! So I decided to go to Mitla to say goodbye, but stop first in Teotitlan to pickup Kitty’s tapete, the one thing she wanted me to bring back for her.  

I get there at 5:30pm, which was a good time, I thought, for me to head in and out, go to Mitla and then zip back to Oaxaca City, grab my stuff, and be ready to go to Huajuapan by 9am!  Except I left my cell phone in the cab in Teotitlan.  And they didn’t have Kitty’s tapete. Arghhhh...so then I waited around and spoke to 3 cab drivers who assured me the driver would circle back eventually. 2 hours later, I decided I needed to give up.  I got in a moto-taxi with two other guys who tried in vain to call their cousins, other taxi drivers, and help me locate the driver.  No luck.  I end up going to Tlacolula with the guy from the mototaxi.  He paid my way there because he’s from Sinaloa and well, he says, he knows what it’s like to travel alone.  It’s hard and it sux and you get lost he said. He saved me a buck.  I finally made it to Mitla around 8pm. Then my local celly died so I sat there quietly, even Dona Delfina was like you seem sad.  I told her I just felt a little lost.  She told me I couldn’t possibly leave that night, and anyways the last cabs to Oaxaca stopped leaving at 9pm. Now I had failed Kitty, my cell phone, my aunt, and had arrived to Mitla fam with no enthusiasm. I felt like a jerk.  But Dona Delfina made me two tortas of chile rellenos that were so good.  And then she sewed a blouse for my mom that she finished at 12am, through many yawns.  I know cuz I stayed up yawning with her too. Mayra came home around 10pm to tell me she had a bad day too, and broke 4 glasses in her cafe.  I went to bed.  I woke up this morning to breakfast and fun conversation.  We laughed about the bad luck of yesterday, and finally I had to say goodbye to Mitla fam.  Dona Delfina told me in Spanish in all her earnestness, “Beatriz, I really enjoyed having you here.  In the little time I knew you, you brought so much fun and joy to my home.  I care about you so much. Please take care.  And please, say hello to my daughter.”  That’s when she started crying.  I teared up as Mayra teared up behind her.  A couple of cheek kisses and gifted scarves later, I was on my way back to Oaxaca City.

Today I spent literally 5 hours trying to figure out the details of my flight back to SF.  I was trying to see if I could change my flight to go to NYC instead because my new primita was born!  And I didn’t even know I don’t have my phone! But instead, I found out that I didn’t even have a reservation because I had missed my outgoing flight so they had cancelled it.  WHEN (slaps hand) WILL (slaps hand) I (slaps hand) LEARN (slaps hand).  Anyways, they fixed my flight. I just have to go to SF.  Fine.  

Today was me packing things up and getting ready to head out to Huajuapan, then Puebla, then Mexico City to catch my flight back to CA on Friday.  I had some fun walking around the zocalo.   There was a special event for Indigenous People’s Day, with local rock bands and young people’s groups playing music. The local band, Ninos Heroes, were actually good and kind of funny.  Their songs were about Carlos Slim and poverty, exploitation, etc.  The lead singer talked about how the Mexican peso was losing value as we speak.  He said it was at 17 pesos to the dollar, and the drummer responded “it’s at the peak of adolescence.” Lol. Then he asked us if any of us had helped El Chapo escape, lol.  I was cracking up, the only one audibly laughing.  I bought a souvenir for my nephew and something for Isela.  I still need to get Jose’s alebrije and some mezcalitos for some friends, earrings for Aspen, and maybe a blouse for mami. Also, some mole.  A tapete for Kitty. I packed today to see how much room I had left in my suitcase.  None.  

Ever since I moved into the hostel i’ve gotten alot more attention from guys.  I have no idea why, maybe cuz my hostel was a bit further out from the Centro. Truly, I was ignored for 6 weeks (yay!) and now I’m being harassed at times, and other times being flirted with (also yay? Oh the contradictions of receiving unsolicited male attention).  I was psss’t to death for the first time last week and I finally screamed “WHAT?!” to the startled locals.  It was 8:30 in the goddamn morning, and I was in no mood.  I notice that when threatened or angry, I revert back to speaking English.  It’s some type of weird power play but it definitely throws people off.  Shortly thereafter, I received a creepy comment from a cab driver in the middle of a ride so I asked him to stop the car, jumped out and slammed the door shut with all my strength in a fit of backseat passenger road rage.  Not fear, just rage. He was also startled.  My loud aggressiveness throws people off here, cuz even when they harass you they do it very quietly. I definitely use my voice for protection.  It’s hard traveling alone.  

On a drunken night out a few days ago with some friends, a couple of young bucks from Puerto Escondido (beach town) came over and asked me to dance. They eventually asked me where my parents were from, and as much as I tried to avoid telling them my mom was Puerto Rican, it finally slipped out and I got the usual, “So can I see your butt?” I learned long ago to avoid telling Mexican men I was Puerto Rican.  I buried my face in my hands playfully while the guys tried to backpedal.  Then they both kissed me on the cheek and left.  I was flattered/offended.  Am I a bad feminista? I don’t know. I was drunk and well, if I had a fight with every chauvinist idiota in Mexico I wouldn’t have any fun. Contradictions.

I had a conversation with a guy that Adriana interviewed for her project.  At one point as we sipped on our hot chocolate, he told me that it wasn’t good for women to be so productive and take on roles outside the home, because who would take care of the children?  I told him that I agreed that women shouldn’t have twice as much work as men, so that’s why men should help with the household duties as well.  He looked at me as though that were a novel idea. I changed the subject for reasons of diplomacy.  (On a more positive note, he was good at doing Maya/Mexica birthday calendars so I told him my bday. My bday falls on miquiztli, or a death day.  He was like oh damn!  Do you dream crazy things or think about death often, the occult, ancestors, people who have passed?  I told him yes.  And that I loved Mitla, you know, the ENTRANCE TO THE UNDERWORLD.  He was like yuppers, you can feel dead energies. You’re not crazy, just connected to the spirits.  Thanks hippie/artist Mexican dude!)   

Went to the diner for lunch and got asked out by the waiter as soon as I sat down.  He thought he was so slick, “Weren’t you here the other day with a family?”  No I said, amused cuz I had someone to talk to, knowing all too well he knew I hadn’t be there before.  I ordered a sandwich and he proceeded, “Oh well, my name is _______, what’s ur name?”  He told me all about his adventures in the States and how he got arrested and put into prison for selling fake IDs to undocumented people so they could work. He was in federal prison for 2 years but he said it wasn’t scary. He was locked up with black people, Puerto Ricans, Dominicans, and other Mexican/Central Americans.  The black and Puerto Ricans were locked up for selling crack.  He said that he made friends with the black guys cuz they played basketball together, but that the Puerto Ricans banded together. I asked him if the Puerto Ricans were born in the States and he said yeah.  I could totally picture it, I’d grown up with them.  He told me to meet him the next day outside of the diner at 3pm and he would show me all around town with a wink and a nod. I said oh sure, right here? Absolutely, see you then.  I was totally lying to him but it was the only way to get him to not get aggressive with me while I ate my sandwich at the counter.  

The other day at the hostel some of the guys started talking about drunken men who beat their women on the streets of Oaxaca. They talked about how in moments when they’ve tried to help, the women always end up yelling at them or sicking their abusive partners on them. They thought it was funny and started laughing.  I told them that often, the women have to say those things because if the abuser were to be humiliated by another man on the street, they would surely take it out on the woman in the home later. I told them they should check with the women next time, and ask her if she needed/wanted help, and not just jump in.  They sat there quietly.  I went upstairs to my room.  Over it.  

Today, I interviewed a guy and it turned out to be pretty special.  Out of curiosity, I decided to interview a male artisan cuz I wondered how he came to be part of the almost all women’s coop in Jalieza.  He told me that as a child at 6 years old, he learned to weave from his mother since she saw that he wanted to learn.  His mother was really abusive and would whip him if he didn’t learn quickly.  His father on the other hand, was embarrassed to have a son who wove since it was considered women’s work. Later, he met other male weavers who were ashamed of doing this work so they would sew behind closed doors, and even hide it from their children. “You know, because of the machismo” he said.  I asked him if he was ever ashamed of weaving and he said no, because this was the way he learned to make a living from a very young age.  

He said working in an all female coop had taught him alot.  He had a bad temper and that he had to learn not to yell at the women when he was angry, because that would be disrespectful, since some of them were elders. He said he had to learn to calm down or just say things in a kinder way.  He had gone to neurotics anonymous and alcoholics anonymous to get help, even though he never had a drinking problem.  He told me over time, he had learned how to manage his anger, that he was a real loner before, but that now, fun time was family time.  They didn’t have much money he said, but they had fun together and in the end, that was better than money.  

Today I went to Jalieza for the last time.  I told everyone I was feeling “chipil,” meaning “sensitive.”  The mujeres were a little chipil too when I told them I didn’t know when I’d be back.  I had visited them a few times and had gotten connected to some of them through my interviews.   The elderly woman with the dolls in her hair I didn’t interview very well.  She was so tiny, and with the ribbons in her trenza, I couldn’t really focus cuz I thought she was so cute.  I ended the interview early cuz I wanted to see her weaving technique.  More cuteness ensued.  One time while I was there, the group was organizing a tequio, or a “group fix it.”  Tequio’s were used by municipalities in Oaxaca when the town needed to be cleaned.  In this case, the coop’s outside area needed to be landscaped.  It started raining but after the rain passed, the members picked up their shovels and rakes and got to it. They let me help! 

I’m having alotta fun at the new little hostel.  I made friends with the workers, or at least we chat in the mornings and evenings.  The one lady in the morning asked me what this song that she heard in a commercial was.  She was like, “Do you know this song?  ‘Da da da da da, da da da da da da’” I guessed “Maybe it’s ‘in the Summertime, when the weather was dry’ and she was like yeah that’s it!”  She kept humming it every time I saw her.  Today she asked me where I was born and I told her the US, or Estados Unidos. She said o de “Estar Dos Unidos?” lol yes.  It’s a cute joke that translates to “from two people being together?”   That kinda cutesy corny play on words reminds me of the kinds of things my mom says.  

I spoke to a really cool couple from Ireland and France.  They live on a boat that was currently stationed off the coast of the Sea of Cortez.  I asked them if they thought Americans were crazy and they looked at me kinda intensely and nodded very slowly.  They talked about all the mass shootings in the US and how incomprehensible they are to them.  The lady told me that in Australia, there was a mass shooting in the 80s and the gov’t decide that there would be no more guns so they proceeded to collect all guns from the country and there hasn’t been anything like that over there since. I don’t think that would even be possible in the States.  

The Guelaguetza has wrapped up and I’m ready to be home, I have to admit it. No more roaches, ants, bedbugs or whatever the hell is eating me alive here as I sleep.  Hot showers, food I can EAT WITHOUT GETTING A STOMACHACHE. Debit cards that are accepted! ATM machines that are less than 45 minutes away!  Buses with shock absorbers!  Streets with the same name for more than 5 blocks!  NO FLYING COCKROACHES (by the way, right now they got me at 8-0). Stairs that are the same size each step so u don’t trip.  The list goes on. As my dad would say, I’m “muy rookie” in Oaxaca.  It’s an expression he and his friends used to use at his job, when they made fun of new workers who didn’t know how to handle annoying tenants, fix basic air conditioner issues, or handle management. But next time I come, I will be better prepared.  I won’t be muy rookie forever Dad!  

Over the last couple of days, I met with two people who were very helpful with my project.  The Professor I spoke to told me the key to writing a good thesis was to understand Oaxacan culture.  She gave me alot of insider tips about Oaxacan people.  For funsies, in terms of stereotypes she told me that Oaxaqueños got divided into types: 

Mixteca (where my fam is from): Reserved                                                    Istmo (the Isthmus): Peleoneros, or fighters                                                 Coast: Fun loving 

She told me that the key to writing a good thesis about the artesanas was to understand Oaxacan culture.  She told me that Oaxacan people are some of the kindest people.  They are a people who value honor, trust and respect, but if you cross a Oaxaqueño, you’re basically blacklisted, since they take those values super seriously.  Once trust is broken, all is lost.  She told me to consider how that dynamic affected the coop model. She said Oaxacan people are not ones to fight verbally or get into shouting matches.  She said they tend to nod, ignore you or make passing comments like “no thanks” to shut down a subject or issue.  I thought about my own family, at least my Dad’s side, and how true this felt.  Tio and Paco come to mind...

I told her about how I had been originally looking for women who worked in groups or cooperatives, but that I couldn’t really find any.  She said that I should think about what I meant by “cooperative” and de-construct that. BRILLIANT!  She said that, in her opinion, people tended to work cooperatively in many ways within their towns.  Consider the concept of usos y costumbres, and how an entire town was run collectively to make it function.  She told me how in certain places like Teotitlan for instance, the town had self-organized to petition the President of the municipio to provide them a shared space where they could sell their crafts.  I thought about how the women of Teotitlan rotated out of their little spot at the market every 6 weeks so everyone would have a chance to sell.  She asked, is that not a type of cooperative?  I nodded.  I thought about how at the tents during the Guelaguetza, people never had change for the $200 or $500peso bills the tourists handed them, and how they would go to the person one stall over or across the way and ask them to lend them some $ so they could actually sell their craft. Nobody ever said no, unless they actually didn’t have any change, as far as I could tell.  No matter who I interviewed or when, there was always a woman coming by dropping by with change or picking some up.  Cute!

I can’t get this song out of my head, it’s the soundtrack to my trip here I guess.  Los Angeles Azules and Jimena Sariñana singing “Mis Sentimientos” but people keep saying they can’t see the video outside MX.  Is that true? 

Desiree was nice enough to share this photo to my fb asking me what it meant, and now I know!  The piña dance is one of the most famous dances of the Guelaguetza.  The teachers union was taken over by the Federales this year, or the Federal government, in an attempt to overhaul the corrupt and incoherent education system in Oaxaca.  The takeover took place during Guelaguetza season and as I’ve mentioned before, tourism and protests in Oaxaca are like oil and water, but they also seem to go hand in hand here...