Week 9

All the action of my 9th week here happened in the communities. Beginning with Tlalixtac, I had a short week because there was the Festival of the Guelagueza on Monday, never the less the week in Tlalix was still very full. We had a special activity every day: Tuesday there was a soccer tournament, Wednesday we went for a hike in the mountains that surround the town, Thursday the culminating dance class, and Friday the final farewell. With the arrival of the weekend the excitement continued: a wedding on Saturday, and a visit with one of the families of Monte Alban on Sunday.

The hike on Tuesday was absolutely splendid. It began at 8 AM, which meant I had to wake up at 6:50 to arrive on time. As always very conscientious of the hour, at 7:20 I left the house with Antonio to catch a colectivo to Tlalix. The city at this hour is still sleeping in peace, the cars safely locked in garages instead of chugging down the road emitting toxic fumes for me and the rest of the world to inhale as we stroll down the street. The Oaxaquen sky in the morning is absolutely breath taking (as in, you look up and say "WOW!"), full of puffy pink clouds outlined in gold by the rising sun. I am going to miss these beautiful mornings, I already do and I haven't even left the city.


We arrived at Tlalix 10 minutes before 8, and to my surprise there was not one niño awaiting us. We sat down on the stone wall that surrounds the basketball court in the plaza across from DIJO and waited. And waited. Wasn't there a cafe somewhere in the town, Antonio asked me. Nope, nothing. I sat anxiously, pondering the whereabouts of my kids, who yesterday were so excited for the hike. At 8:02 Mario, a wide eyed, hug-giving second grader who is famous for using bad language and fighting with the other kids, arrived with his mother. He so tired, and smiled at me with eyes of someone who is asleep standing up. He came up to me, gave me a big hug, and sat down at my side. His mother lightly scolded me for starting the hike at this early hour, the kids were on vacation after all and should be sleeping. I understood her perfectly, but knew that Flor had been wise starting the hike so early because as the day passed, the heat would begin to roll down the hills and into the town.

At 8:10 the rest of the niños began to arrive, but at 8:20 half of them were still missing, including a third grader named Elhiú, who had promised me he was going to come. Nevertheless, we had to start. We took to road to the northwest of the plaza and began to walk. For the first 2 blocks the street was paved, but it gradually gave way to a dirt road. We passed large weekend houses of politicians, and adobe houses of local families. After about 5 minutes I heard the thumping of heavy feet hitting the pavement behind us. It was Elhiú, who is very chubby, very sweet, and very serious, running towards us. Upon arrival he looked at me very severely: "Maestra, why didn’t you wait for me, I told you I was going to come!" "Elhiú, you must learn to arrive on time. But I didn't forget you, I was worried about you." Elhiú had arrived with his mother and younger sister Hannah, but he stuck by my side, explaining to me all about the flowers and plants that we encountered along the path. I felt very special that he chose to be with me. Why did this little boy want to be in my presence instead of with his friends or family? Elhiú continued to impress me throughout the hike because when I, the other teachers, and the mothers that were accompanying us began to tire, he pressed on, full of energy, without ever complaining although he is so chubby that it must have been difficult to climb as much as we did.

The missing half of the niños joined us little by little as began to walk. Some parents came racing up behind us in their trucks to drop of their child who had overslept, others were waiting for us along the trail, outside of their houses. I shouldn´t have worried as I should have known them better by now; they might have joined us a little late, but join us they did.

The two things that most impressed be about the hike are really one thing, expressed in two ways. Or rather, the joy of the children, and the joy that makes up the relationship between Jose Alfredo, one of the third graders, and his abuelita (his granny). The children, as they walked were so full of joy that I could almost see it, dancing from one smiling face to the next. We did not see one animal, surely because the children's laughter could be heard a mile off and scared away anything that could have been waiting for us. During the entire hike, I didn't hear one complaint, which to me seemed unreal; I mean, I complain sometimes when I have to walk down the driveway to get the mail. But from these niños, not one negative word. Their happiness was contagious, and I as well was very happy to be there with them, in the mountains of Oaxaca, Mexico on this sunny Wednesday morning. As we walked on, the niños began to give me flowers, and in turn I gave them flowers until, as we walked hand in hand back to the main plaza we all had flowers in our hair. I remember what Abby, one of the preschool teachers at Monte Albán said during our meeting with Piatti, the head of AVSI: "Here in DIJO I'm happy, I am loved. The kids need me and I in turn need them." I understood her words very well and realized that being here, with these kids, I was understanding better what I, as a human being, need. I too want to love like this children love, without any conditions or pretexts. I don’t really know why the niños have so much affection for me, but I do know that in being with them, I am learning what it really means to love.
Speaking of living others, during the hike I was able to observe the very beautiful relationship between Jose Alfredo and his granny. Although José generally was walking with his friends, he was always very conscience of his grandmother and how she was doing. For example, as we were racing down the last leg of the trail with the faster group of children, José realized that his grandmother wasn’t with us. He stopped and waited at the side of the trail to make sure she was ok. When he saw her, carrying a large bundle of vegetation on her back and conversing with Maestra Flor, he gave me a big smile and said that his grandmother was well accompanied, that we could continue ahead. I was very impressed that this grandmother had such a big desire to accompany her grandson that she would follow us into the hills, in her traditional dress, her legs exposed to all of the prickly bushes that lined the path. For me, both her and Jose Alfredo are examples of what it really means to love someone, as they love each other so much that on a day to day basis they are willing to sacrifice for each other. The next day in Tlalixtac we had our last dance class. After warming up with a little bit of regatón (which I must confess I did not set a very good example this time for the kids, as I almost had to excuse myself as I was laughing so much. The situation was just too funny: me, the dance teacher and 30 niños dancing to rap music in the main plaza of the town at 3 in the afternoon), we split into 4 groups and had to prepare a final routine to present to the other groups as a culminating activity. The group I was charged with was made up of 2 girls and 3 boys and so the kids wanted me to dance with them as well so that we could dance in pairs. At this point the girls were very excited, while the boys, to put it mildly, were less than enthusiastic. One of them, Mario (the first to arrive the morning of the hike) tried to use the age old excuse of having to go to the bathroom to escape from the dance. I realized that it was not so much that the boys didn’t want to dance, rather that they were extremely nervous to dance in front of their peers. I told them that I was nervous too, and speaking about being nervous united us as a dance squad, and by recognizing that we were sharing the same experience we worked much better together.

I want to also write about my last day in Tlalix, but I am going to save my impressions for my final report.


Sunday Rosalinda brought us to visit one of the familias of Monte Albán. Although we had been planning this visit for some time, we hadn’t ever finalized the details and so when by chance I ran into Antonio at 8 AM in trajectory bathroom-bed I was very surprised to hear that I had to be ready to go in a half hour. When he told me I would also have to contribute 50 pesos to the breakfast, I was even less pleased. I didn’t feel like going to visit the family, I didn’t know them after all, and all I wanted to do was stay in my nice cozy bed as I was exhausted from the wedding the day before. I realize now that I was saying a very decisive “no” to the reality that was presenting itself before me.

Trying to put my resentment apart I got ready and decided I must change my attitude: if this family was willing to welcome a stranger into their home, how could I arrive in a bad mood? We arrived and the breakfast turned into a day long affair, one of the most beautiful days I have had here in Oaxaca. I am so thankful to Rosalinda for insisting on this visit. The family was composed of 9 children (the oldest of which is 20), a mother, and a father. The mother was full of happiness, with eyes which, when she smiled at me reached down into my heart until my heart smiled at her too. She taught me how to make tortillas by hand, on top of a comal, a tortilla baking pan, covered in white calcium powder, resting upon a metal barrel full of burning wood. I already knew some of the kids because they came to the comedor where I washed plates, but had never realized that they were siblings. The affection they had for one another was very evident in the way they interacted with each other. I understood the extent of the openness and affection they had for each other very well in the behavior of the youngest toddler. He walked right up to me and crawled into my lap, completely unafraid or suspicious as many younglings are or a stranger in their midst.

One of their children, Francisco (Paco) also surprised me a lot. Paco is 17 years old, but in many ways he is much more of an adult than I am. He has a steady job, and saves the money he earns to build a little house beside his parent’s house. He very kindly took us on a hike from his house to the ruins of Monte Albán, together with his little brother Carlitos and little sister Lorena. Speaking with Paco I realized how much he was at once a kid and how much he was an adult, all at the same time. At his age I my biggest worry was my grade in chemistry class. Paco instead worries about his job, about his parents, about his brother who was severely injured in a motorcycle crash, and about his younger siblings. At his age while I went to school every day in a car my parents lent me, he goes to work every day in a rickety bus. His life seemed so far away from the life I have led up until now.

Our differences were so evident to be, it was so clear that I came from such a different world that it was hard to know how to relate to him. But talking to him I realized that we did have many things in common, that we both wanted the same things; a family that loves us and that we love, a stable job to provide for our families, and an evening every now and then to go and dance. It turns out that he is afraid of lions, and that I am afraid of rattle snakes, that he likes dogs and that I like dolphins. Although he never finished middle school, he had a wealth of knowledge about gardens and plants, archeology, and wild fruits that one can find in the hills around his house. For 3 hours I went walking with Antonio and Paco, his siblings hand in hand with me as we traipsed along behind the boys, understanding a little the reality they live in. I don’t really know how to judge my experience with this family. The stereotype of “poor but happy” seems so inadequate as it is so obvious that there is something so much bigger moving within this family.

And so my ninth week finished as I headed home from the visit to Monte Albán, a new sombrero on my head and a plant in hand, tokens of friendship from Paco. I was all together too conscious that I only had one week left. I do not want to live this week already full of nostalgia for what I will be leaving behind, as I know what I learned here and experienced here is forever, the people I met changed me and for better or worse I changed them. Nevertheless, the thought that at this time next week I will be on a bus on my way to Yucatan fills my eyes with tears. My first instinct is to not think about this, to compartmentalize and isolate my sadness so I do not have to live with it. But part of what I have learned here is that to grow and really make the most of my time here I have to understand why I am sad, why that which I lived here is so attractive to me that I am so sad to leave it, and how I can live in other places with the happiness I lived with here. This is what I want to understand this last week here in Oaxaca.

Semana 9 para mí se caracteriza por el tiempo que pasé en las comunidades. Empezando con Tlalixtac tuve una semana corta porque había fiesta el lunes, sin embargo era muy llena. Hicimos algo especial cada día en Tlalix: el martes teníamos el torneo esportivo con los niños, el miércoles hicimos una caminata hasta el cerro, el jueves la clase de baile, y el viernes pulseras y la clausura. Después el sábado fuimos a una boda, y el domingo a visitar una familia de Monte Albán.

La caminata el miércoles era absolutamente estupenda. Empezó a las 8 de la mañana que quiere decir que me tenía que levantar a las 6:50 para llegar en horario. Super cociente de la hora, como siempre, salimos de la casa a las 7:20 para coger un colectivo hasta Tlalix. La ciudad a estas horas está durmiendo en paz, los carros guardados en sus cocheras en vez de estar echando fumes tóxicos en el aire. El cielo estaba esplendido, claro con nubes rosados delineados de oro. Voy a extrañar mucho a estas mañanas, las extraño ya y no me he ido de la ciudad.
Llegamos a Tlalix 10 minutos antes de las 8 y no vi a ningún niño. Nos sentamos en la pared de piedras que rodea la cancha de basket a esperar. Los minutos pasaron y pasaron y los niños no llegaron. Como podría ser que no llegaron cuando el día anterior estaban tan emocionadas por la salida? A las 8:02 llegó Mario con su mamá. Estaba medio dormido con los ojos pesados de uno que duerme parado, sin embargo me vino a abrazar y a sentarse a mi lado. Su mamá me regañó ligeramente por empezar la caminata a estas horas, eran vacaciones y los niños deberían dormir. La entendí perfectamente, pero sabía que Flor era sabía en poner la caminata a estas horas porque más tarde el día se calienta mucho.

A las 8:10 empezaron a llegar los demás niños, pero a las 8:20 todavía no había llegado la mitad de los que deberían llegar. Sin embargo, teníamos que empezar. Entonces tomamos el camino al norte-oeste del zócalo y empezamos a caminar. Después de 5 minutos escuché el golpazo de pies corriendo fuerte hacía nosotros. Vi Elhiú, un niño gordito, dulce y serio de tercero que estaba corriendo a alcanzarnos. Al llegar, me miró severamente y me dijo: "Maestra, ¿porque no me esperabas? ¡Le dije ayer que iba a venir!". "¡Hay que llegar en horario Elhiú! Pero no te olvidé, estaba preocupada por ti." Elhiú vino con su mamá y su hermanita pero en vez de caminar con ellos o con sus amigos, se puso a mi lado a explicarme todas las flores y animalitos que íbamos encontrando. Me sentí muy predilecta en su presencia. Porque este niño quería estar en mi compañía? Elhiú continuó a hacerme impresión durante la caminata porque cuando yo, los otros maestros y las mamás que nos acompañaban empezaron a cansarnos, el todavía continuó con mucho energía, sin quejarse nunca, aunque si es muy gordito y seguramente le costó un montón subir tanto como subimos.

La otra mitad de los niños iba llegando mientras caminábamos. Algunos nos alcanzaron en camion con sus papas, otros ya sabían por cual camino ibamos a ir y nos estaban esperando afuera de sus casas. No hubiera debído preocuparme, los niños llegaron numerosamente.
Las dos cosas que me impresionaron más de la caminata eran la alegría de los niños y la relación entre uno de los niños, José Alfredo, y su abuelita. Primero voy a comentar la alegría que viví con estos niños. Los niños estaban caminando con una alegría viva y fuerte que casí bailaba de un niño a otro. No se vio ningún animal, seguramente porque la risa de los niños hizo tanto ruido. Durante todo la caminata nadie se quejó nunca que me parecía completamente irreal. En un grupo de 30, nadie se puso de mal humor, ni tampoco cuando perdimos el camino. Su alegría era contagioso, y yo también iba muy feliz, de estar allí con ellos, en el cerro de Tlalixtac, Oaxaca, México, muy temprano en la mañana de un martes. Me regalaron flores y yo las regalé a ellos, y fuimos todos floreados, mano en mano, bajando de la montaña hasta el zócalo. En la reunión con Piatti, Abby, una de las chicas que trabaja en Monte Albán dijo que le gusta el trabajo porque se sentía amada y querida. Yo también me sentí así con los niños de Tlalixtac y me di cuenta que me estaban enseñando a mi lo que yo necesito, haciendo más claro a mi mis necesidades como ser humano. Yo quiero estar amada así, sin condiciones o pretextos. No sé bien porque los niños me quieren así, pero si sé que me enseñan a quererlos también.

Hablando de amar a otro, durante la caminata la hermosa relación entre José Alfredo y su abuelita me definió más claro durante la caminata. Aunque José estaba allá con sus amigos, tenía siempre cociente su abuelita y sus necesidades, y la abuelita también a él. Por ejemplo estabamos bajando juntos con el grupo más rápido cuando el se dio cuenta que su abuelita no estaba. Se paró a esperarla y a asegurarse de que estaba bien. Cuando la vio, cargando un ramo enorme de vegitación en su espalda y hablando con la Maestra Flor, me dijo con una sonrisa que iba bien acompañada y que podíamos continuar. Me impresionó mucho que la abuelita tenía un deseo tan grande de seguir y apoyar a su hijo que nos acompañó, en su traje tradicional, piernas expuestas a todas los arbustos espinosos que mancharon el sendero. Ella también es un ejemplo lo que significa amar de verdad a otro, hasta que se sacrifica por el.


El día siguiente a Tlalix tuvimos la ultima clase de baile. Después de aprender un poquito de regatón (tengo que confesar que no era un ejemplo muy bueno para los niños porque casi morí de la vergüenza de moverme así!), nos separamos en 4 grupos y teníamos que preparar una rutina para presentar a los demás. En mi grupo había 3 chicos y 2 chicas así que los niños queríamos que yo bailé también para que podíamos bailar en parejas. Las chicas estaban muy entusiásticas, pero los chicos no tenían tantas ganas. De hecho, uno, Mario, usó el viejisimo pretexto de tener que ir al baño para no tener que bailar. Entendí que estaban muy nerviosos entonces les conté que yo también estaba nerviosa, que hacer una actuación enfrente de los demás casi me puso mal. Hablando de esto, mirando el uno al otro, y poniendo nombre a lo que estaba pasando nos unificó, y unificados no teníamos más nervios, o por lo menos no eran tan fuertes que los niños querían escapar al baño.

Quiero escribir también de la clausura el viernes, pero por ahora lo voy a poner aparte para mi resumen final en que juzgo toda mi experiencia aquí.

El domingo Rosalinda nos llevó a una visita de una familia de Monte Albán. Aunque habíamos hablado de esta visita hace semanas, nunca habíamos fijado las detalles de la visita, así que cuando por casualidad encontré Antonio a las 8 de la mañana, mientras yo salía del baño en trayecto a mi cama y me dijo que teníamos que estar listos en medio hora para ir a la visita estaba muy sorprendida. No tenía ganas de ir a visitar la familia, no les conocí y quería quedarme en mi cama porque estaba cansada. Cuando Antonio me dijo que además de bañarme y prepararme entre 20 minutos tendría que pagar 50 pesos para contribuir a su desayuno estaba aun más descontenta y con un poco de resentimiento. Estaba diciendo un fuerte "no" a las circunstancias que se me presentaron. No creía que en este momento hubiera algo más bonito que mi cama.

Sin embargo, me preparé y intenté a cambiar mi actitud: si esta familia estaba dispuesta a tener desconocidos en su casa, como podría llegar de mal humor?
La visita se largó y era uno de los días más bellos que he tenido aquí en Oaxaca. Doy muchíssimas gracias a Rosalinda por insistir en esto, y veo este día como un ejemplo de confiar en el plan de otro, cuando sé que el otro quiere lo mejor para mi. La señora de la casa tiene 9 niños, el más grande que tiene 20 años y el más chiquito de 2 años. Es una señora llena de alegría, con ojos que sonrían hasta que su alegría toca también el corazón de la persona mirada. Me enseño a hacer tortillas, encima de un comál cubierto de cal, apoyado sobre un barril metal llena de un fuego de leño. Conocía ya algunos de sus hijos de mi trabajo en el comedor pero no sabía que eran hermanos. Era una familia muy cariñoso. Se veía cuanto se querían en las acciones del bebe, que vino a abrazarme y a sentarse en mis rodillas aunque no me conocía.



También uno de los hijos, Francisco (Paco) me sorprendió mucho. Tiene 17 años, pero en muchas maneras ya es mucho más adulto que yo. Tiene un trabajo fijo, y ahorra su dinero para construir su casita al lado de la casa de sus padres. Nos llevó hasta las ruinas de Monte Albán caminando, junto con sus hermanitos Carlos y Lorena. Hablando con Francisco me dio cuenta de cuanto era niño y cuanto era adulto. A su edad yo estaba en una prepa privada a que llegué todos los días manejando el coche de mis padres, y mi preocupación más grave era que no me iba a ir bien un examen de química. El en vez iba a trabajar muy temprano todos los días en un lugar donde se matan los toros, y al volver del trabajo (ahora en camión porque su hermano, con quien iba a trabajo en su moto, tuvo un choque muy grave con un turista la resulta de lo cual era que su hermano estaba retirado a su cama por meses y el moto no estaba más), construía su casa.


Para mi era tan evidente como eramos diferentes, que el mundo en que viví era tan diferente del mundo de él. Sin embargo hablando con él me di cuenta de que teníamos muchas cosas en común, que queríamos algunas de las mismas cosas: una familia que nos quiere y a quien queremos, un trabajo con estabilidad, y una noche de vez en cuando para ir a bailar. De allá salió que el tiene miedo a los leones y yo a las culebras, a el le gustan los perros a mi los delfines. Aunque no terminó la escuela secundaria tenía una riqueza de conocimiento sobre jardines y plantas, la arquiologia y frutas salvajes que crecen en el cerro. Fui caminado, sus hermanitos mano y mano conmigo, conociendo un poquito de su realidad. No sé bien como juzgar a lo que encontré en esta familia; el estereotipo de "pobre y contento" me cae mal porque hay algo mucho más grande atrás de la alegría y afecto que encontré en ellos.

Así terminó semana 9. Yo sé demasiado bien que solo me queda una semana más. No quiero vivir esta semana con nostalgia porque sé lo que aprendí aqui es para siempre, la gente que conocí me conmovió y yo, por bien o mal, conmoví a ellos. Sin embargo, el pensamiento que a esta hora en una semana estaré en un camion direción Yucatán rellena mis ojos de lagrimas. Mi primer instincto es decir a mi mismo de no pensar en esto, pero parte de lo que aprendí aqui es que tengo que entender porque estoy tan triste, porque lo que viví aqui es tan atractivo y como lo que viví aqui puedo vivir en qualquier lugar en que estoy viviendo. Esto es lo que quiero entender esta ultima semana.

¬Sarah Holtz
3 Agosto 2009