Life goal #735: sleep beside a crackling fire. check.

Over the weekend of October 21-24, I participated in MCC Mexico´s tri-yearly country retreat.  I had been highly looking forward to this weekend for several reasons: (1) reconnecting with the six members of the MCC Mexico team not living in San Cristóbal, (2) learning more about the work of MCC Mexico (3) briefly escaping from life as usual here in Chiapas. It´s been an intense two months and though I feel quite content, I was excited to escape from my current reality by playing the Mennonite Game, eating desserts (which is not common here…much to my chagrin), and being surrounded be people who know that Mennonites are more diverse than the German immigrants who settled in Chihuahua, Mexico and dedicate themselves to the production of dairy products and wear conservative clothing.

Our weekend retreat (which took place here in San Cristóbal) was graced with the coldest weather yet this year.  I was quite unprepared. I must have misread the weather forecast terribly: I only packed a thin sweatshirt to keep me warm and temperatures dropped as low as 2° C during the weekend.  Adding to my teeth-chattering experience was the fact that we were staying in a beautiful home constructed several hundred years ago. It was jaw-droppingly picturesque. Stepping off the bustling street you passed a thick wooden door into a garden with plants growing wild in every direction. Nestled in this jungle-like garden were two houses. The big house was probably that of a wealthy land-owner and the size of the rooms, along with the height of the ceilings was quite impressive. Great for stepping-back in time…if only walls could talk! Not great for staying warm…if only Mexican houses had central heat! As the youngest team member (besides the children) and as the only single female, I didn´t get a room. My bed was in the living room! Why the exclamation point? Because we built a fire in the common room every evening to ward off the cold. I have always dreamed of sleeping beside a roaring fire and thanks to my journey with SALT, I checked that goal off of my bucket list. I thanked my lucky starts every nights as I dived into bed and watched the steam from my breath spill into the frigid night air. 

After a full day of business meetings on Saturday, we escaped the cold weather for a day trip to Lagos de Colón: two spring-fed lakes situated mere kilometers from the Guatemalan border. After returning, I boasted to my family and friends that I had never seen such clear water in my entire life. I was then told that these lakes are some of the least impressive in all of Chiapas. What luck! As I peered down through the crystal clear water with my goggles, (googles is spelled the same in Spanish and I laugh like crazy any time I hear the different pronunciation) I thought the water was only 4 feet deep. However, when I dived down, it was too deep for me to touch the bottom.

During this trip, we also heard from Myra, a local woman who works with immigrants from Central America passing through Mexico on their way to the U.S. The southern border of Mexico is often the first place they get stopped.  Laws allow unregulated passage between Central American countries. However, Mexico is not a part of the agreement, so crossing this border becomes much more difficult. Myra works with women who succeed in crossing the border but then get lured into prostitution in a town quite near Lagos de Colón. Visiting the southern border of Mexico and hearing some of these women´s stories through Myra added layers to my understanding of migration in North, Central and South America.  It is an exceedingly complex and difficult situation with no easy solution. However, as I learn more, my interest in working with Latin American immigrants in some capacity when I return to the States grows.

It was a good weekend, but by the end I was ready to get back to the life as usual that I was, at first, eager to escape. As I walked home, my excitement to see my host family mounted. No, I don´t get to sleep by a crackling fire any more, but as I stepped through the front door on Monday at about noon, I was overwhelmed by a sense of home. And that beats a roaring fire any day of the week.   

Hoplessness, helplessness and a sliver of light

My heart has been heavy this week. Even though I´ve been in Mexico for over two months, I feel like I´m just beginning to come to terms with the incredible violence, poverty and corruption present in this country. Since 2007, the Mexican government´s war on narcotrafficking and organized crime has left over 40,000 dead and 10,000 disappeared. Before coming to Mexico, I had a general sense of the situation here: U.S. news coverage of Mexican affairs often details the extreme violence, but watching Diane Sawyer on World News Tonight is not the same as listening to a woman recount the night when eight men in her family disappeared. It´s not the same as watching a woman who appeared to be about my age sob through the story of her horrific rape. 

Rick, a fellow MCCer and co-worker at INESIN, told me that Mexico´s government is the second most corrupt in the world. Presumed guilty is the norm and news sources are censored incredibly heavily by the government. Journalists who don´t present a government-approved version of life are persecuted. So is anyone else perceived as a “threat to the state.” And I don´t have to travel far to see this reality. Currently there are eleven indigenous men and women held in San Cristóbal´s prison whose right to due process has been denied since their time of incarceration (some over 10 years ago). Some have been tortured and denied access to qualified translators. All witnesses to their “crimes” deny that these prisoners are culpable. On September 29, these prisoners began a hunger strike and have stated that they will continue to refuse food indefinitely. The families of these prisoners are stationed outside of San Cristóbal´s main cathedral for the duration of the strike and I pass by their tent every time I walk downtown, a reminder of intense suffering and injustice in this nation.

The poor economic situation of this country contributes to the violence and human rights abuses. Finding work is next-to-impossible for many Mexicans. My host mom, Liliana, would love to start working, but she says that after age 35 there isn´t much hope. There are over 8,000 young people in Mexico who are ninis (ni trabajan, ni estudian).  These young Mexicans, who neither work nor study, are left with very few ways out. In this situation, entering the narcotrafficking trade, unfortunately, becomes increasingly appealing. Yesterday, I heard a story of a teacher who asked each of his elementary school students what they wanted to be when they grew up. Following a few students who said they wanted to be teachers or doctors, one boy piped up that he wanted to be a narcotrafficker. Though entering this world involves incredibly high risk, it also pays well and for many Mexicans, the risk is worth it. Others attempt to migrate. Some arrive in the U.S. and subsequently face a whole host of new challenges. Others don´t. Criminal networks take advantage of the vulnerable situation of immigrants through extortion and violence. Some die en route. Others run out of money on the way.       

This week, I´ve felt helpless and hopeless. Government structures are strong and controlling. The U.S. continues to fuel conflict here by providing weapons through the Mérida Initiative. The gap between the rich and poor in this nation is incredible. According to Forbes magazine the richest man in the world is a Mexican: Carlos Slim. At the same time, 60% of Mexicans live in poverty. How can one not feel helpless and hopeless when confronted with this information?

But I´m trying to believe that there is always a ray of light somewhere because without this belief it´s impossible to motivate yourself to do anything but wallow in misery. I´ve found hope in my coworkers who visit and pray with the incarcerated prisoners in San Cristóbal. I´ve found hope in the national Movimiento por la Paz con Justicia y Dignidad (Moviment for Peace with Justice and Dignity) which has organized two national caravans calling for an end to Mexico´s militarization, one of which I had the honor of participating in soon after my arrival in San Cristóbal. I´ve found hope in the life and poetry of El Salvadorian Archbishop Oscar Romero, a radical priest and human rights defender who was murdered in 1980. You can read his beautiful poem “Profetas de un futuro que no es nuestro” (A Future Not Our Own) in Spanish or in English. It´s message continues to inspire me when I feel helpless or hopeless in the face of great injustice.

Tortillas and tamales

Mexican food is world-renowned, and for the past two months I have had the great fortune of eating it every single day. I´ve complied the subsequent superlative list to give you a taste (get it?!) of my diet. And yes, you might be jealous and/or hungry after reading it.

Most-eaten: tortillas.A staple of every meal, I eat corn tortillas every day in a variety of ways: as a utensil to scoop up my frijoles at breakfast, rolled up as a compliment to lunch (and tortilla-rolling is certainly an art) or as the outer layer of my doblado de queso for dinner.My family buys a kilo or two of tortillas every few days at the local tortilleria for around 13 pesos.

Most unusual: grasshoppers. 

Favorite: Chalupas.A tostada (fried or baked tortilla) covered with refried beans, shredded carrots, beets, cheese and salsa. 

Spiciest: Chile.A term for the pepper itself or a sauce of varying-levels of spiciness, Mexicans love their chile and I´m finding an appreciation for this spicy condiment.Though, as my family loves to say “el chile pica y repica.”Any guesses as to what that means? ;) If anyone is curious, I´d be glad to share, but to protect those readers with sensitive stomachs, I´ll refrain from spelling it out here.

Sunday morning staple: tamales. Every Saturday evening after 6 pm, you can find red light bulbs shining outside of houses all over the city. These lights signify that you can purchase homemade tamales. Without fail my family travels to their favorite tamale house to pick up Sunday´s breakfast. After sampling all the varieties, I have settled on mole with pork as my favorite. Mole is a fabulous Mexican sauce comprised of an average of 20 ingredients ranging from ground nuts to chile to dried fruit.

The one food I couldn´t stand: hígado (liver). I am quite proud of the fact that I´ve tried every food that has been offered to me during my time here. However, I had a hard time stomaching the liver. Luckily, I only asked for a very small piece and didn´t gag, though it was a struggle.

Unexpected favorite: nopales (cactus paddles). These can be liquefied in a juice, steamed or fried and I´m readily becoming a fan.

My weakness: sweet bread. My house always has a ready supply of sweet bread from a local panadería. This is usually what Gabriel eats for dinner--usually dipped in the instant decaf coffee they buy. I have no trouble passing up this coffee for lemon or camomile tea, but I struggle to resist the bread…which really is more cookie-like than bread-like.

Favorite street food: elote. This corn on the cob comes slathered in mayo and then drenched in cheese and chile. So unhealthy. So delicious. 

Cutest: guineos (bananas). I especially like the purple ones grown here in Chiapas and the teeny-tiny ones that are about the length of my thumb and can be eaten in two bites.

Most dangerous: spiny chayote. This fruit (technically, but considered a vegetable by most Mexicans) comes in two varieties…smooth and spiny (my names, not technical). It is eaten in chunks (kind of like squash) or in cream soups. The spiny variety is considered a dessert and before it´s steamed it is reminiscent of a cactus. I almost drew blood when I inadvertently grabbed one out of the refrigerator.

Yes. I am quite happy with the food here. though I wouldn´t mind eating less meat. Gone are the days of my vegetarian diet, but I had been a vegetarian so long that I feel like this change is a good chance to push myself out of my comfort zone and contemplate the dietary choices I have made in the past and will make in the future. I don´t miss one specific food from the U.S., but occasionally I long for my Dad´s cheese soufflé and stir-fried broccoli or dahl from More with Less, but I know when I return home I´ll be pining for a good tamal de mole come most Sunday mornings.

San Cristóbal de las Casas: a city. or three?

My new home, San Cristóbal de las Casas (SCLC), is well known for several things:

• Natural beauty. Nestled at over 2,000 meters in the highland plains of southern Mexico, nearby outdoorsy attractions such as hiking, waterfalls, lakes, caves and a canyon with crocodiles abound. 

• Colonial charm. The city, founded in 1528, was one of the first locations in continental America to be inhabited by Spaniards. Many of the streets are still paved with cobblestones and grand colonial cathedrals are scattered throughout the city.

• Ethnic diversity. Though not the political capital of Chiapas, SCLC is the cultural capital thanks in part to indigenous populations which comprise an important part of the social fabric of this city.

According to the 2010 census, SCLC is home to 185,917, but the population is in no way homogenous. In fact, in a late-night chat with long-term MCC volunteers Rick and Jacquie, we analyzed SCLC´s three broad, and often quite segregated, subpopulations: colet@s, indigenous persons and foreigners. I have the great fortune of interacting with all three groups.

• Colet@s (mestiz@s originating from SCLC): My host family falls into this category, as do the majority of their friends. Often lighter-skinned, this population covers the entire socioeconomic spectrum, adheres to a range of religions and holds a variety of political views. Mothers often stay at home, as is the case in my house. Some hold strong prejudices against the indigenous population. This includes my host grandmother who just today told me (much to my horror) that I either picked up the flea that was my bedmate last night from a street dog or from an indigenous person. In a discussion about a week ago, my host dad told me that though intermarriage between mestiz@s and indigenous people is beginning to happen more, among upper class colets@s, it is still unacceptable. Many colet@s have a strong sense of tradition and culture and I am appreciating learning about both the beauty and ugliness of life in Mexico through our interactions.

• The indigenous population: As with the colet@s, I can only paint the indigenous population with large strokes, doing no real justice to the diversity of lived experience present in this group. Many of the indigenous people I see every day in SCLC live in nearby (or not so nearby) communities. Many retain traditional dress, their native languages (primarily Tzotzil and Tzeltal) and practice Indigenous Mayan spirituality. Some are street vendors and sell beautiful artesian work or maintain fruit and vegetable stands in the market located just a few blocks from my home. Some have integrated completely into what you could stereotype as “mainstream Mexican culture.” And of course, there are those somewhere in the middle, such as a number of my coworkers who have indigenous roots. I love hearing their stories of growing-up as well as the pride in their voices when they talk about their home communities.

• Upon my arrival in SCLC, I was expecting to encounter the former two groups, but the number of tourists and expats here suprised me. For the reasons I discussed at the beginning of this post, SCLC is a HUGE tourist destination. Additionally, if you walk down one of the two beautiful downtown andadores (pedestrian streets), you can imagine you are in any city of your choosing. There are restaurants from all around the world, a thriving nightlife, yoga classes, a plethora of hippies, alternative movie theaters and shops galore. Though I´m slowly making Mexican friends, I´ve found it easier to get to know other foreigners like me (mostly from Europe) because we´re newer and looking to build a community from square one, where as many people who have lived here their whole lives have their family, work and social circles nearby and well-developed. Relating to Europeans (in Spanish) has been a culture-shock that I certainly wasn´t expecting, but these friends are teaching me a lot about the world and are pushing me to think in new ways. Many foreigners here are quite politically and socially progressive, attracted by the Zapatista uprising in the mid-1990s. It´s not always easy running in these circles and being from the U.S. Almost everyone here (whether Mexican or not) is quite critical of the U.S. (and this coming from someone who does not shy away from critizing our government or capitalist economic system) and this perhaps helps me understand why I have only met three fellow estadounidenses during my time here. Mostly, though, I understand where these people are coming from. One thing that does annoy me, though, is a phrase I hear far too often from my foreign counterparts when we run into each other downtown: “this is such a small place.” To me, SCLC is not small.  However, the tourist population is fairly self-contained in historic downtown and can be somewhat disconnected from the rest of city life.

These three populations (which I have grossly overgeneralized) are all an integral part of SCLC and without any one (or any other part of the population I have failed to describe), SCLC would not be the city I´m beginning to love in all its beauty, with all its challenges and with its multitude of varied life-realities and experiences.   

The significance of a ringing bell

Though the SALT program has many objectives, the heart of the program lies in voluntary service. My fellow SALTers (who are now far-flung across the world) are engaging in a wide variety of interesting projects ranging from teaching English to elementary students in Amman, Jordan to advising Ten Thousand Villages ceramicists in Siem Reap, Cambodia to working with an agricultural project in Lesoto. 

I am working at a not-for-profit called INESIN (Instituto de Estudios e Investigación Intercultural).  INESIN was founded almost 15 years ago (we´ll be celebrating our 15 year anniversary in May with three full days of festivities!) in response to incredible tension between Catholics and Protestants, a significant influx of Guatemalan refugees, the Zapatista uprising, NAFTA’s passage and a horrific massacre in Acteal, Chiapas.  A group of Chiapans founded INESIN in response to this complex mix of difficult situations, and building ecumenical relationships was (and has been ever since) the guiding principle of this organization. 

Today the work of INESIN has spread to three different areas.  The first (and arguably most central work) is in theology and spirituality.  INESIN does much capacity-building and it seems like every week there is a different workshop taking place on topics ranging from pastoral accompaniment in situations of family violence, to indigenous theology and positive conflict transformation.  INESIN also has a strengthening communities project.  Three workers (including a three-year MCCer) accompany almost 150 families in seven rural communities as they cultivate organic vegetable gardens.   Our facility consists of three offices, a library, conference room, kitchen, two dorm-style bedrooms to host delegations, a dining hall and experimental garden all ringing a central courtyard.

I am working most closely with the institutional advancement team, though I have the great luck of plugging in with all three lines of work. Since I have been working here less than three weeks, I´ve yet to get a very clear sense of all I´ll be doing, but from all appearances it will be a wide variety of tasks such as translating newsletter, updating a quite outdated website, depositing checks in the bank downtown, assisting with basic accounting, serving as the contact person for INESIN´s English-speaking counterparts In the U.S., working in the library, attending workshops, teaching English and answering the phone.  This last task is perhaps my least favorite. I really dislike talking to strangers on the phone and doing it in Spanish is even worse.  Adding to my discomfort is the fact that our phone seems to function at ¼ the normal volume (and that´s being generous).  Every time the phone rings I take a deep breath, trudge across the office and pray that the person on the other end has a loud voice, talks slowly and enunciates clearly.

Though I´m enjoying the substance and variety of my work, I feel so lucky to be working with the staff. To describe a few of my coworkers: there´s Martín who is our director, but is also the first person anyone goes to with a question about the photocopier.  I´ve yet to see him with anything but a big smile on his mustachioed face. Natán, the administrator (and my direct supervisor), dresses as sharp as a tack and calls me “princess.”   Abi gives amazing hugs and is a really stellar listener.  Mariana, a volunteer from Switzerland, lives in intentional community and loves to play Settlers of Catan. Sandra started smoking a cigar to chase howling cats of the office roof one night at 2 am as we awaited the arrival of a peace caravan.  Unfortunately, I don´t have the space to present a description of all of my coworkers, but I´m really impressed with them all.  Whereas my host family seems quite traditional, my coworkers seem quite alternative.  They are the first people I´ve encountered in Mexico to use gender-inclusive language, they are quite in-tune with the social reality of this country and they are truly dedicated to the creation of peace and justice. I’m lucky to know them

We work from 9-2 every day, though I quickly learned that if I arrive at 9 am, I am likely to be the first person here.  My favorite part of the work day is the coffee break we take every morning. When the bell across the courtyard rings, we all gather in the kitchen, squeeze around the table and partake of coffee, fruit and sweet bread as we chat about topics ranging from Michael Jackson´s death to indigenous funeral rites to story-telling and analysis of Chiapas´ governor.  And we laugh. A lot. One day last week as the coffee bell rang, Natán started chuckling from across the office.  I asked him why and still laughing he told me that in Mexico, a ringing bell typically announces trash pick-up.  I joined him in his laughter and we promptly answered the bell´s call.

When in Chiapas: advice from a six-year old boy

Several disclaimers before I begin yet another enthralling blog post:

• On the lack of photos in recent blog posts— I have the misfortune of owning a camera with a unique memory card that is compatible with very few computers, making uploading photos ever-so-difficult. In Cuernavaca, I bought a card reader and it promptly broke after a week. So, until I bite the bullet and shell out the requisite pesos to purchase another, you´ll have to do your best to imagine my surroundings.

• On the format of yet-to-come blogs—You may have been wondering about my oh-so-clever blog title. I have been in Mexico for over a month and have been blogging for even longer. However, I´ve yet to mention Chiapas.  Why? Because (as I´m sure you´ve deduced, intelligent reader) I wasn´t in Chiapas. But now I am! I arrived in San Cristóbal de las Casas (located in the Mexican state of Chiapas) on Thursday 8 September and am ready to start sharing the heart of my adventure. My plan is to write one topic or story every week in the hopes that you´ll eventually start to form a picture of my life here.

I´ll begin with my family. For the next 10 months, I´ll be living in the neighborhood 14 de septiembre with Liliana, Gabriel, Eduardo and Betty. Liliana is 36, a big talker, and a stay-at-home mom who studied accounting.  She does 98% of our food preparation and occasionally works as an in-home seamstress.  Liliana loves playing all types of games, but especially tetris on the TV. She is impressively good. Gabriel is also 36 and teaches law at a local university. He has taught Spanish classes to foreign students for 16 years and is not afraid to correct me. I love it! He jokes around with me a lot and has dubbed me Kelciana. He is a self-proclaimed soccer addict and claims that it´s his only vice. Betty is technically Liliana´s grandmother, but raised her like a daughter after the death of Liliana´s mother when she was less than two. Eduardo (aka Lalo) is my adorable 6-year old brother who´s in first grade. As we´re both only children, we´ve adopted each other as siblings despite the 16-year age gap. Lalo loves playing soccer and after kicking the ball around the park across the street from our house last weekend, we both returned sufficiently muddy and sweaty. When I arrived about a week and a half ago, an unnamed white poodle was also a part of the family. However (much to Lalo´s chagrin), the dog was given to a family friend after Liliana decided she couldn´t handle a pet.  Liliana and Gabriel placated Lalo with the promise of one hour of Xbox time at a local internet café. Upon returning from his glorious hour of Xbox, Lalo proceeded to educate me on the ways of the world.  Our conversation proceeded as follows:

Lalo: Do you have a boyfriend?

Kelly: Yep

Lalo: You should break up with him.

Kelly: Why?

Lalo: So Santa will bring you an Xbox.

Kelly: Why do I need to break up with my boyfriend to receive an Xbox from Santa?

Lalo: Because Santa won´t bring you presents if you have a boyfriend.  My mom told me so.

Kelly: oooooooooooooooooooh. I´ll have to think about that for a little bit before I make me decision. (At this point I was struggling to keep a straight face. Several hours later, Lalo approached me in all seriousness with the solution to my Xbox dilemma:

Lalo: OR you could break up with your boyfriend for the month of December and then start dating him again!

This exchange has become a running joke in our family and Lalo continues to impart his 6-year old wisdom upon me daily, expounding on subjects ranging from infectious diseases to the relative volume of each member of the family´s snoring.

Our house is small (by U.S. standard) but comfortable.  There are three bedrooms, one bathroom, a small kitchen, a dining/living room and a courtyard to dry laundry.  I´m occupying Lalo´s bedroom, and he´s now sharing a room with abuelita Betty. My bedroom décor consists of two Winnie the Pooh stuffed animals and an ABC poster on the back of the door.  I´ve been searching tirelessly for sticky tack to attach my photos and decorations to the wall, but to no avail.

All-in-all, I couldn´t have asked for a better living situation.  The family is warm and welcoming, without being overbearing. They love playing cards and have a standing date with friends every Saturday which I highly enjoy.  My biggest complaint is that they won´t let me go around in socks or bare feet.  To pacify them, I begrudgingly bought a pair of knock-off Crocs to wear around the house. And though I hate to admit it, they´re growing on me…

Mexico City: the good, the bad and the ugly

Good: On Friday 2 September, I returned to Mexico City for a second round of orientation.  In some ways, it felt like coming home.  I could get myself to and from a select number of locations within the city including the office where I was staying, the homes of the two MCC families in the city, the local lavandería (laundry service), a tianguis (mobile market), the nearest fruit and veggie store and the city´s plant nursery which had lots of beautiful walking trails.  I had learned when it was safe to go out by myself and how to unlock the door to Marion and Ricardo´s apartment (only after locking them inside and subsequently fetching the locksmith who luckily worked right down the street).

This sense of competence, the chance to reconnect with MCCers and the fact that returning to D.F. brought me one step closer to my final destination all made me quite excited to enter this megalopolis once again.  I was in Mexico City until Thursday 8 September and filled my time with more sight-seeing, a highlight of which was viewing the massive and impressive Diego Rivera murals in the Palacio Nacional and visiting Frida Kahlo´s home and studio in Coyoacán.  Additionally, I learned how to fill out my monthly expense report (sounds tedious, but I actually enjoy the technicality of working with spreadsheets and money) and spent time playing with Marion and Ricardo´s daughters.  I spy, tag and hide and go seek were favorites. 

Bad: However, by my second trip to Mexico City, I became increasingly disillusioned with life in a city this huge.  Though public transportation is quite good here, the average chilango (Mexico City resident) commutes more than 4 hours every day.  For this reason, very few cook their own meals.  The city is also incredibly polluted; so much so that there are restrictions on which days of the week a vehicle can operate. 

Ugly: Perhaps the biggest shadow over my time in the city was a severe (though fairly short-lived) bout of something.  Whether I picked up a virus on the metro or was just suffering Montezuma’s revenge, I may never know.  I became quite ill in the wee hours of Wednesday morning and spent all day sprawled on the office´s couch drinking Gatorade, eating Saltines and listening to James Taylor on my Ipod.  Luckily, I recovered in time to fly to Chiapas on Thursday morning and am now happily residing in my home for the next ten months. 

Though I´m already over a month into my SALT term, in some ways, I feel like the real adventure is just beginning. But more on that later...