I’m in Houston, Bush Int’l Airport. I thought BUSH stood for something, but no, they actually mean George. They actually have a statue of him standing here, a coat over his shoulder, a constipated look on his face.
The trip is almost over. Yesterday, my connecting flight missed the plane by 2 minutes. As a line of passengers screamed and complained after we were unable to board the next flight (3 hours later), a kind lady took me aside. I guess she sensed that I was on the verge of tears, full of exhaustion and concern for safety. “Are you traveling alone?” she asked. ”You look very young. “I remember what its like to be young. And I wouldn’t feel safe if you were to spend the night here’.” (Another Continental worker had booked me for a 10:30 am flight the next morning.) The woman rebooked me for a 755 departure to JFK, and hooked me up with hotel, and dinner and breakfast vouchers. I had prayed feverishly, so I guess she was my angel.
I missed the airport shuttle in the morning, too, but thank the Lord, another one came 15 minutes later.
A man a couple of seats away, a big, red, blonde man, paired with an obese woman in a flower shirt, is giving a couple of college students (freshmen, I think) advice on going to New York.
“You going to New York? Wear a hat, sunglasses. Never look anybody in the eye. You ever been to New York?”
“No,” they murmur.
“Well, you just go down to Penn Station and you look around. There’s a lot of people with sunglasses doing shady things. Oh,” he continues, “and never ever look up.”
I can’t take it anymore.
“It’s not that bad, sir” I interrupt.
He looks at me. “Well, you gotta understand, when I went down there before Giuliani was mayor, the crime rate was over 70%.”
“That was a long time ago,” I say.
“Well,” he drawls, and looks away.
The college couple keeps on about something about NYU. The man is quiet. I think I am sorry to curb his enthusiasm, but there’s no reason to go scaring people. Even if he has a point.
Ah, New York, New York. Here I come!
9.08.2008
Wrapping Up
I spent the next couple of days finishing up work on the nutrition project. Of the 200 printed surveys, roughly 160 were completed, and I had time to type up the data on half of them. The four communities analyzed were Ojo de Agua, Corral de Piedras (Los Reyes), Jamaica and San Isidro de la Estacada. I coded for age; literacy level; access to a scale; most frequent consumption of which protein, carbohydrate, fruit, or vegetable; use of which type of cooking fat; favorite food; soda as a favorite drink; frequency of lack of money to buy food; and commonness of disorders or diseases such as diabetes, malnutrition, obesity, heart burn and high blood pressure.
My findings were pretty intuitive, and consistent with other nutrition studies, according to Mary Murrell. Soda was a favorite for many of the families, no one ate fish or seafood, even chicken consumption was infrequent due to lack of money, and communities with lesser protein consumption also tended to use lard in place of vegetable oil. Almost everyone lacked money to buy food “at times”, and not uncommon was a family with an overweight parent and malnutritioned children.
I presented these findings to ECOSS, the group who administered most of the questionnaires. Most interesting, to them, was the “What would you like to learn about nutrition” portion of the questionnaire. Women wanted to learn new cooking techniques, to know how to feed their kids well and economically, and to know what kind of food products contained protein and vitamins. I really believe this information can be very useful to the workshops ECOSS presents. It can also help TEATRO. I sat down with Conchita, the TEATRO coordinator, to advise her on the new nutrition-themed play the group was working on.
In addition to presenting ECOSS with the findings, I bought them cake. Praise the Lord, I ran into Jose, Ana Pena’s husband, on the way to the pasteleria, and he gave me a lift back to CASA. Mexican cakes are huge and heavy. Just as I was cutting up the cake, Tim and Mallory walked in with a big cake – and a pineapple – for me! Lourdes joined us also, and the chicos de TEATRO came in, too. It was a bittersweet end, as we all exchanged email addresses and agreed to meet up in the evening for dinner.
My findings were pretty intuitive, and consistent with other nutrition studies, according to Mary Murrell. Soda was a favorite for many of the families, no one ate fish or seafood, even chicken consumption was infrequent due to lack of money, and communities with lesser protein consumption also tended to use lard in place of vegetable oil. Almost everyone lacked money to buy food “at times”, and not uncommon was a family with an overweight parent and malnutritioned children.
I presented these findings to ECOSS, the group who administered most of the questionnaires. Most interesting, to them, was the “What would you like to learn about nutrition” portion of the questionnaire. Women wanted to learn new cooking techniques, to know how to feed their kids well and economically, and to know what kind of food products contained protein and vitamins. I really believe this information can be very useful to the workshops ECOSS presents. It can also help TEATRO. I sat down with Conchita, the TEATRO coordinator, to advise her on the new nutrition-themed play the group was working on.
In addition to presenting ECOSS with the findings, I bought them cake. Praise the Lord, I ran into Jose, Ana Pena’s husband, on the way to the pasteleria, and he gave me a lift back to CASA. Mexican cakes are huge and heavy. Just as I was cutting up the cake, Tim and Mallory walked in with a big cake – and a pineapple – for me! Lourdes joined us also, and the chicos de TEATRO came in, too. It was a bittersweet end, as we all exchanged email addresses and agreed to meet up in the evening for dinner.
Tamal Comes and Goes
Sunday, August 10. I wake up early. I straighten up what’s left to be straightened up. Thank God for Dona Lou’s cleaning yesterday. The kitchen is sparkling. I thrown on some sweatpants. I run to the polleria. He still hasn’t called (of course he hasn’t called, that would be responsible). I come back, check in with the airport shuttle cab. They picked him up an hour ago. I knew that, I say to myself, as I finish up my makeup. I say a prayer as I step into my wedge heels, the first time I have worn them all summer. Good that they are useful now. I go outside, greeting Christina on the way. I sit outside the gate, waiting. I come back after 5 minutes. As soon as I am ready to boil some cinnamon and grapefruit peels (the chicken stinks), I hear it. Beep. Beeep. “Estacey!” Christina calls. “They’re here.” Yes, yes I know that. I titter-totter faster than I thought I could. The van pulls up. The driver gets out. He is up front. Why is he still sitting? Hurry up, hurry up, get out. Finally, he does, a giant smile on his face. We embrace for a long time, to t. Jamal comes home.
After what my mom predicted as a “passionate reunion,” we dined at Taco’s Don Felix, a few blocks from my house. Jamal was amazed by the roads, which he described as horrible. I told him I like the cobble stone foot massage. The next day, we explored the center, the Jardin, the park, and the churches. I finally took him to Milagros, a very good restaurant, which I visited with Kelsey, Noe, Salus and Andres. We had chalked up the walls in the smoking room, with colorful “Noe + Kelsey” and “Salus y Stacey: te amo” messages. Naturally, one of mine was “I heart Jamal” – and I finally got to show it off. We walked back smiling, he with a corn mask in his hand, I with new earrings.
For the next 8 days, Jamal visited CASA, videotaping the youth center and the hospital, and interviewing the staff. I translated. I actually learned a lot from Maricruz, the director, as well as Isabella, one of the midwives. On Thursday, he accompanied me, Bibianna and Karina to Corral de Piedras, where we listened to a radio novella about midwifery and violence prevention, promoted the midwifery school and made a cake! The week after, we spent time at the hospital, where we ran into the very pregnant owner of Garrison and Garrison, the gringo bookstore, and her Mexican pareja. They invited us to a private pregnancy class later that afternoon. Isabella ran the class, which 6 or 7 women attended. She explained the entire birthing process, listened to the babies’ heart rates, and showed a video of her sister’s water birth. I really admired her gentle, feminine aura – something I will try to emulate.
In addition to exploring CASA and San Miguel, Jamal and I spent much time just enjoying each other’s company. Friday night, we attended Kelsey’s goodbye party. We had a blast, despite the sadness of her leaving. Many people from CASA showed up, including Baby and Choche, as well as Noe’s friends, all the interns, and Mallory’s boyfriend, Daniel. Choche, who has cooked at our houses half a dozen times, prepared chicken rice tacos, and especially for me, calabaza (no oil, no bread, he beamed). I cannot wait until he comes to New York. Even the language barrier was not a problem, as Daniel spoke English with Jamal, so the guys bonded on the balcony. After much toasts of “Salud!” we danced the night away.
On Saturday, we walked around the Charco del Ingenio, the botanical garden. The location includes wetlands, a canyon, and the largest cactus exhibit I have ever been. We spent hours walking around, relishing in the natural beauty and the sheer variety of plant and animal life. Iguanas ran, ducks swam, bees buzzed, and ants did their thing as we strolled through the ecosystem. Naturally, I managed to get a cactus barb in my toe, but Jamal, armed with borrowed tweezers, pulled it out. My hero.
Sunday was filled with sadness, as the interns and the boyfriends gathered at Kelsey’s for a more intimate goodbye. We made enmoladas and watched YouTube videos, and danced a bit. No one, especially not Noe, was in a partying mood. Dear Kelsey left the next day.
On Tuesday, Jamal’s last night, I prepared a big dinner of spicy chicken, butter-roasted potatoes, and seasoned string beans. We spent the rest of the night working on his book, and he left early on Wednesday morning, forgetting his flip flops and the rest of the chicken, but vowing to come back.
After what my mom predicted as a “passionate reunion,” we dined at Taco’s Don Felix, a few blocks from my house. Jamal was amazed by the roads, which he described as horrible. I told him I like the cobble stone foot massage. The next day, we explored the center, the Jardin, the park, and the churches. I finally took him to Milagros, a very good restaurant, which I visited with Kelsey, Noe, Salus and Andres. We had chalked up the walls in the smoking room, with colorful “Noe + Kelsey” and “Salus y Stacey: te amo” messages. Naturally, one of mine was “I heart Jamal” – and I finally got to show it off. We walked back smiling, he with a corn mask in his hand, I with new earrings.
For the next 8 days, Jamal visited CASA, videotaping the youth center and the hospital, and interviewing the staff. I translated. I actually learned a lot from Maricruz, the director, as well as Isabella, one of the midwives. On Thursday, he accompanied me, Bibianna and Karina to Corral de Piedras, where we listened to a radio novella about midwifery and violence prevention, promoted the midwifery school and made a cake! The week after, we spent time at the hospital, where we ran into the very pregnant owner of Garrison and Garrison, the gringo bookstore, and her Mexican pareja. They invited us to a private pregnancy class later that afternoon. Isabella ran the class, which 6 or 7 women attended. She explained the entire birthing process, listened to the babies’ heart rates, and showed a video of her sister’s water birth. I really admired her gentle, feminine aura – something I will try to emulate.
In addition to exploring CASA and San Miguel, Jamal and I spent much time just enjoying each other’s company. Friday night, we attended Kelsey’s goodbye party. We had a blast, despite the sadness of her leaving. Many people from CASA showed up, including Baby and Choche, as well as Noe’s friends, all the interns, and Mallory’s boyfriend, Daniel. Choche, who has cooked at our houses half a dozen times, prepared chicken rice tacos, and especially for me, calabaza (no oil, no bread, he beamed). I cannot wait until he comes to New York. Even the language barrier was not a problem, as Daniel spoke English with Jamal, so the guys bonded on the balcony. After much toasts of “Salud!” we danced the night away.
On Saturday, we walked around the Charco del Ingenio, the botanical garden. The location includes wetlands, a canyon, and the largest cactus exhibit I have ever been. We spent hours walking around, relishing in the natural beauty and the sheer variety of plant and animal life. Iguanas ran, ducks swam, bees buzzed, and ants did their thing as we strolled through the ecosystem. Naturally, I managed to get a cactus barb in my toe, but Jamal, armed with borrowed tweezers, pulled it out. My hero.
Sunday was filled with sadness, as the interns and the boyfriends gathered at Kelsey’s for a more intimate goodbye. We made enmoladas and watched YouTube videos, and danced a bit. No one, especially not Noe, was in a partying mood. Dear Kelsey left the next day.
On Tuesday, Jamal’s last night, I prepared a big dinner of spicy chicken, butter-roasted potatoes, and seasoned string beans. We spent the rest of the night working on his book, and he left early on Wednesday morning, forgetting his flip flops and the rest of the chicken, but vowing to come back.
8.01.2008
A Much Needed Getaway
If I have learned one thing, its that Mexico is definitely not Spain. Sure, there are several similarities between my study abroad in Salamanca last year and working in San Miguel de Allende - language, food shopping, and making new friends being the top 3. But Salamanca was a carefree world of its own, filled with fun and discoveries. I am having much fun and making many discoveries in San Miguel. But this summer is also filled with challenges, with stark realities staring me in the face. Poverty, theft, frustration, denial.
Thus, I was ripe and ready for a break from San Miguel. Early Saturday morning, Kelsey and I headed out to Guanajuato, the university town I have heard so much about, the capital city of Guanajuato State. I arrived at the bus station huffing and puffing, the last person to board at 8:42 am, after leaving late and managing to lose my way on the way there (this is not hard - I constantly discover new streets and alleyways, especially when all I want to do is get from point A to point B hasslefree).
Not 90 minutes later, Guanajuato waved, Hola! The colorful houses literally sit on top of each other in this Toledo-like city, which is more mountainous and larger than SMA. Tourists and townsfolk alike wonder the callejons, as well as the underground tunnels, carved straight out of the rocky base. Lincoln Tunnel ain't got nothing on these drivers.
We booked a 3-hour-long tourist tour, and I was initially disappointed, because I had no desire to sit in another bus. But it turned out to be worth it. Our first stop was the Pipila, a gigantic monument from which you can see the entire city as a valley, surrounded by mountains. What a view. We then stopped off at a giftshop (I should have known, darn commercialism) and a sweets store (free samples galore), before heading to a basilica. The gilded carvings, we found out, were all done by Native American labor. Our next stop was a bit of an unwanted surprise - we entered a sunny garden, with beautiful purple orchids and quaint coffee tables. Our guide, a pretty girl with almond eyes, wore an unbecoming black robe, with her sneakers and jeans sneaking out from under. Wtf? I thought - and then it dawned on me: we were in for a your of an inquisition age torture chamber, complete with 4 mummified bodies and all the torture equipment you want. If this was not creepy enough, the crowd was full of children and toddlers. As we progressed deeper underground, the guide became more and more, um, passionate. I think she took great pleasure in showing how the torture machines worked, violently clanging the clasps on to the dummies. I nearly forgot about her sneakers. I was relieved when our bus drove away, babies crying, old ladies stuffing themselves with sweets. How anyone could eat after that, I still don't know. But they saved the best for last. Guanajuato, prior to becoming a tourist attraction, was a mining town in the 1800s. So, we descended into a mine. Ever since I read Tom Sawyer, I have had a fear of underground caves and tunnels, but fears are to be overcome, no? In any case, the quartz formations, the stallelites (right spelling?) and even the dripping water all testified to the beauty and creation of nature. And we got to climb into one of the rail carts. I still shudder, though, thinking of all the people who died just for some rich lady to have a fancy engagement ring. I have been set on no diamonds for a while, but now I think I may say goodbye to gold and silver as well.
After lunch, we visited the childhood home of Diego Rivera, and then met up with Sandra, TEATRO's acting teacher. She and her husband guided us to the Callejon de Los Besos, a street that gets so narrow that balconies touch. The legend goes that two star-crossed lovers who lived across the street from each other were forbidden to marry by their families, but they would meet on their balconies to kiss and talk. Ahhh... the Mexican Romeo and Juliet. We then went to the Teatro Juarez, a beautiful structure with Arabic-influenced interior, rumored to be one of the three best theaters in all of Mexico.
That ended the tour of the Centro for the day, as Sandra and her husband drove us over to a beautiful dam with a waterfall and a spectacular mountain view. (Tragically, one of the walls broke in 1905, flooding the entire city - there are still signs marking the waterlevel in the streets). Another creepy and true story - they used to let the prisoners out once a year during the holidays and drop them down the waterfall, giving them freedom if they survived. Ouch.
Kelsey headed back to San Miguel, but the rest of us went to another panaroma viewing site, this time from the other side of the city. Free of tourists, full of cactus, and with nothing but sky and mountains all around, a profound peace enveloped us. Even the increased chilliness of the air seemed irrelevant. I felt good. The site also had a rock theater carved out, and housed a still functioning mine. It reminded me of childhood summers in Sevastopol.
We ate delicious Michoacan fare at the couple's favorite restaurant, and retreated to their house for the night. Their beagle, Fido, jumped on his masters as soon as we entered. Sandra is really wonderful - she lent me two books on immigration, and gave me a long tour of her warm, tastefully decorated home, explaining every piece about which I was curious. I especially loved their selection of teas, their sun-themed furniture, and the fact that the dog house was smack in the middle of the backyard. After a good night's rest, I descended for breakfast, and we chatted about New York, Guanajuato, theater and my Ukraine-ness over eggs and mango and papaya.
They dropped me off back at the centro, and I took my time exploring the area on my own. I first stopped at the Alhondiga, an important war site now converted into a museum, housing Aztec art, colonial / revolutionary historical objects, and numerous murals and gigantic head sculptures of the revolutionary heroes. I wondered around for two hours, before heading off for a quiet lunch at a cafe, and continuing to the Iconographic Museum - 20 rooms full of nothing but Don Quijote paintings and scuptures! What a place - so many brush strokes, colors, and all different, all unique to the artist's point of view. I got to room 17 before being kicked out, as the museum closed early on Sundays. My last location, not including aimless wandering, was the screening of the winners of the Expression in Corte film festival. The movie featured the life of a young Mexican gang member, the HIV+ girl he falls in love with and their struggles to get lifted. The only person in the whole movie who had her stuff together was a transsexual named Lulu. I cried.
Emerging outside from the literal darkness of the theater, I walked around for about half an hour before haling a cab to the bus station. This time, I got there half an hour early - and fell into an exhausted, satisfied sleep as the wheels rolled on, carrying me back to San Miguel.
Thus, I was ripe and ready for a break from San Miguel. Early Saturday morning, Kelsey and I headed out to Guanajuato, the university town I have heard so much about, the capital city of Guanajuato State. I arrived at the bus station huffing and puffing, the last person to board at 8:42 am, after leaving late and managing to lose my way on the way there (this is not hard - I constantly discover new streets and alleyways, especially when all I want to do is get from point A to point B hasslefree).
Not 90 minutes later, Guanajuato waved, Hola! The colorful houses literally sit on top of each other in this Toledo-like city, which is more mountainous and larger than SMA. Tourists and townsfolk alike wonder the callejons, as well as the underground tunnels, carved straight out of the rocky base. Lincoln Tunnel ain't got nothing on these drivers.
We booked a 3-hour-long tourist tour, and I was initially disappointed, because I had no desire to sit in another bus. But it turned out to be worth it. Our first stop was the Pipila, a gigantic monument from which you can see the entire city as a valley, surrounded by mountains. What a view. We then stopped off at a giftshop (I should have known, darn commercialism) and a sweets store (free samples galore), before heading to a basilica. The gilded carvings, we found out, were all done by Native American labor. Our next stop was a bit of an unwanted surprise - we entered a sunny garden, with beautiful purple orchids and quaint coffee tables. Our guide, a pretty girl with almond eyes, wore an unbecoming black robe, with her sneakers and jeans sneaking out from under. Wtf? I thought - and then it dawned on me: we were in for a your of an inquisition age torture chamber, complete with 4 mummified bodies and all the torture equipment you want. If this was not creepy enough, the crowd was full of children and toddlers. As we progressed deeper underground, the guide became more and more, um, passionate. I think she took great pleasure in showing how the torture machines worked, violently clanging the clasps on to the dummies. I nearly forgot about her sneakers. I was relieved when our bus drove away, babies crying, old ladies stuffing themselves with sweets. How anyone could eat after that, I still don't know. But they saved the best for last. Guanajuato, prior to becoming a tourist attraction, was a mining town in the 1800s. So, we descended into a mine. Ever since I read Tom Sawyer, I have had a fear of underground caves and tunnels, but fears are to be overcome, no? In any case, the quartz formations, the stallelites (right spelling?) and even the dripping water all testified to the beauty and creation of nature. And we got to climb into one of the rail carts. I still shudder, though, thinking of all the people who died just for some rich lady to have a fancy engagement ring. I have been set on no diamonds for a while, but now I think I may say goodbye to gold and silver as well.
After lunch, we visited the childhood home of Diego Rivera, and then met up with Sandra, TEATRO's acting teacher. She and her husband guided us to the Callejon de Los Besos, a street that gets so narrow that balconies touch. The legend goes that two star-crossed lovers who lived across the street from each other were forbidden to marry by their families, but they would meet on their balconies to kiss and talk. Ahhh... the Mexican Romeo and Juliet. We then went to the Teatro Juarez, a beautiful structure with Arabic-influenced interior, rumored to be one of the three best theaters in all of Mexico.
That ended the tour of the Centro for the day, as Sandra and her husband drove us over to a beautiful dam with a waterfall and a spectacular mountain view. (Tragically, one of the walls broke in 1905, flooding the entire city - there are still signs marking the waterlevel in the streets). Another creepy and true story - they used to let the prisoners out once a year during the holidays and drop them down the waterfall, giving them freedom if they survived. Ouch.
Kelsey headed back to San Miguel, but the rest of us went to another panaroma viewing site, this time from the other side of the city. Free of tourists, full of cactus, and with nothing but sky and mountains all around, a profound peace enveloped us. Even the increased chilliness of the air seemed irrelevant. I felt good. The site also had a rock theater carved out, and housed a still functioning mine. It reminded me of childhood summers in Sevastopol.
We ate delicious Michoacan fare at the couple's favorite restaurant, and retreated to their house for the night. Their beagle, Fido, jumped on his masters as soon as we entered. Sandra is really wonderful - she lent me two books on immigration, and gave me a long tour of her warm, tastefully decorated home, explaining every piece about which I was curious. I especially loved their selection of teas, their sun-themed furniture, and the fact that the dog house was smack in the middle of the backyard. After a good night's rest, I descended for breakfast, and we chatted about New York, Guanajuato, theater and my Ukraine-ness over eggs and mango and papaya.
They dropped me off back at the centro, and I took my time exploring the area on my own. I first stopped at the Alhondiga, an important war site now converted into a museum, housing Aztec art, colonial / revolutionary historical objects, and numerous murals and gigantic head sculptures of the revolutionary heroes. I wondered around for two hours, before heading off for a quiet lunch at a cafe, and continuing to the Iconographic Museum - 20 rooms full of nothing but Don Quijote paintings and scuptures! What a place - so many brush strokes, colors, and all different, all unique to the artist's point of view. I got to room 17 before being kicked out, as the museum closed early on Sundays. My last location, not including aimless wandering, was the screening of the winners of the Expression in Corte film festival. The movie featured the life of a young Mexican gang member, the HIV+ girl he falls in love with and their struggles to get lifted. The only person in the whole movie who had her stuff together was a transsexual named Lulu. I cried.
Emerging outside from the literal darkness of the theater, I walked around for about half an hour before haling a cab to the bus station. This time, I got there half an hour early - and fell into an exhausted, satisfied sleep as the wheels rolled on, carrying me back to San Miguel.
7.28.2008
Clinical Discoveries
In addition to the nutrition project progressing, this week was filled with visitors and discoverie at CASA.
The breath-taking CASA rooftop
On Monday, I gave a tour of CASA and of the CASA clinic to one of Nadines friends, who was here for the week to become acquainted with the youth center. The intent was good, but I am really seeing why so many of the Mexicans dont like American tourists. The woman took pictures of people without asking, as if she were at an exhibit or a zoo, and got really close to people in order to speak to them, all in their faces. Sometimes she even spoke to them in English. I know she does not speak Spanish herself, which always complicates matters, but still. This aggravated my already existing annoyance with Americans, which blossomed fully when a podologist vistited and changed many of the patients names into English, which caused great confusion when we gave out the athletes foot medicine.
On Wednesday, I spent the day at the clinic, but this time at the lab, with Yolanda. I observed urine test analyses from pregnant women, and learned how a centrifuge functions. It was fascinating to see the slides under the microscope! Many of the urine samples had cystals, and Yolanda explained that these form into kidney stones - simply because the women do not drink enough water! Other women suffered from UTIs. In addition, we ran tests for parasites on a man who enlisted for work at a restaurant - and he had salmonella! A lightbulb went on in my head: many of the people working in restaurants in the US are undocumented, hence they do not undergo such testing. Perhaps, if nothing else, the threat of salmonella, which the FDA is so paranoid about, can urge the US government to ease the legalization procedures for immigrants? In any case, it was fascinating to see how the antibodies reacted with the cell proteins... perhaps I will take chemistry in the Spring semester, after all. Yolanda's son was there also - a first year chemistry student at the University of Guanajuato, he told me much about the city, so I became even more excited to visit it.
I came back to CASA after 1, and met a group of high school students from New York City! They visited CASA for 3 days as participants in Global Kids - a program which happens to be right across the street from Baruch. I love my Mexican friends, but what a breath of fresh air, to see Black, Asian and Eastern European faces. Two of them accompanied me on Thursday to Corral de Piedras, and we all ate dinner and played games with the chavos from the summer course on Friday. The summer course kids are wonderful too - so curious, and smart, and uninhibited. I will definitely continue working with young people all my life.
Later on, on Friday, we were supposed to meet with Shelley, who is leaving her post as intern coordinator, and Nadine, but none of us had keys to the office, so we sat on the roof. In the evening, we went to MM Cinemas to see Batman. It was as if someone carved out a piece of Anywhere, USA Mall and dumped it in the middle of Mexico. The shops, the cement, all so neat and corporate... But the movie theater was amazing! And they even give out tomato, onion and chiles as condiments. And the movie - what a performance by Heath Ledger! I just wished I was there with Jamal next to me. I hope we'll go back when he comes to visit.
The breath-taking CASA rooftop
On Monday, I gave a tour of CASA and of the CASA clinic to one of Nadines friends, who was here for the week to become acquainted with the youth center. The intent was good, but I am really seeing why so many of the Mexicans dont like American tourists. The woman took pictures of people without asking, as if she were at an exhibit or a zoo, and got really close to people in order to speak to them, all in their faces. Sometimes she even spoke to them in English. I know she does not speak Spanish herself, which always complicates matters, but still. This aggravated my already existing annoyance with Americans, which blossomed fully when a podologist vistited and changed many of the patients names into English, which caused great confusion when we gave out the athletes foot medicine.
On Wednesday, I spent the day at the clinic, but this time at the lab, with Yolanda. I observed urine test analyses from pregnant women, and learned how a centrifuge functions. It was fascinating to see the slides under the microscope! Many of the urine samples had cystals, and Yolanda explained that these form into kidney stones - simply because the women do not drink enough water! Other women suffered from UTIs. In addition, we ran tests for parasites on a man who enlisted for work at a restaurant - and he had salmonella! A lightbulb went on in my head: many of the people working in restaurants in the US are undocumented, hence they do not undergo such testing. Perhaps, if nothing else, the threat of salmonella, which the FDA is so paranoid about, can urge the US government to ease the legalization procedures for immigrants? In any case, it was fascinating to see how the antibodies reacted with the cell proteins... perhaps I will take chemistry in the Spring semester, after all. Yolanda's son was there also - a first year chemistry student at the University of Guanajuato, he told me much about the city, so I became even more excited to visit it.
I came back to CASA after 1, and met a group of high school students from New York City! They visited CASA for 3 days as participants in Global Kids - a program which happens to be right across the street from Baruch. I love my Mexican friends, but what a breath of fresh air, to see Black, Asian and Eastern European faces. Two of them accompanied me on Thursday to Corral de Piedras, and we all ate dinner and played games with the chavos from the summer course on Friday. The summer course kids are wonderful too - so curious, and smart, and uninhibited. I will definitely continue working with young people all my life.
Later on, on Friday, we were supposed to meet with Shelley, who is leaving her post as intern coordinator, and Nadine, but none of us had keys to the office, so we sat on the roof. In the evening, we went to MM Cinemas to see Batman. It was as if someone carved out a piece of Anywhere, USA Mall and dumped it in the middle of Mexico. The shops, the cement, all so neat and corporate... But the movie theater was amazing! And they even give out tomato, onion and chiles as condiments. And the movie - what a performance by Heath Ledger! I just wished I was there with Jamal next to me. I hope we'll go back when he comes to visit.
Going Nuts, Nutritionally
Lou, who will coordinate the nutrition project
After much research, drafting, revising with everyone from the ECOSS coordinators Delia and Violeta to Mary Murell, and community trials, its full steam ahead for the nutrition questionnaire. These intended to gather nutritional statistics on the communities around San Miguel (there are no such statistics) for the 50,000$ grant request to fund an educational play and radionovella. Apart from screening for a/s/l/h/w/number of kids and their a/s/h/w, the 30 questions focus on nutritional knowledge, attitudes, practices and economic challenges. Inquiries include frequency of consumption for fruits, vegetables, protein, carbs, fats, and beverages; favorite foods; frequency and reasons for lack of money for buying food; and definitions of "eating well." We are distributing 20 questionnaires in 10 of the 21 communities with which ECOSS works. All promotores were briefed last Friday, and instructed to conduct the questionnaires on a one-on-one basis with the women in the communities, as many of them do not read or write.
On Tuesday, I joined Salus and Bibiana in Ojo de Agua. It takes nearly 2.5 hours to drive there from CASA - the last destination on the convi's route. Therefore, also, we only stayed for one hour, to have time to pick everyone else up. Salus, Bibi and I split up into 3 groups to administer the questionnaires. I got comfortable next to a group of women, sitting on a rock, with the sun grilling my backs. My first participant was a woman in her 60s, who still has some of her younger children (aged 18 ) living at home. The second mother was 54 - with 9 kids, 3 of them teenagers. The third was in her late 20s, her 3 children in her lap. Two of the toddlers played tagged, daring each other to touch me. I poked them back, and they squealed in pleasure. Another little girl played with my straight hair, comparing it to the ringlets of one of her playmates. I gazed at the children with deep eyes and pouty lips, I listened to their mothers tell of how malnutritioned they are, and I learned, for the first time, whan terms like "income gap" and "impoverishment" really look like.
On Thursday, we continued the questionnaires in Corral de Piedras, with Bibi and Choche. Nasim, from Global Kids, joined us, with Toshana, one of his students. Corral de Piedras is one of the largest communities in San Miguel. (We walked around afterwards, enjoying the shade of the trees, the ruins, and even coming upon a circus!) There is also a health center on site, and we walked in on the nurse explaining contraceptive mehtods (many of which were unavailable, due to their high cost). The questionnaire answers here were different - few women talked about malnutrition, many reported Coke to be their drink of choice, and although serveral were overweight, they claimed to be satisfied with their weight. I may be wrong, but it appears to me that those from Ojo de Agua represent a very deep level of poverty, where nearly everything is lacking, while those from Corral have just a little more - but so little, that it is only enough to spend on cheap, filling foods (hence the chips and Coke). Aside from nutrition questionnaires, we also planted trees and distributed pamphlets on exercises. It is good that they were illustrated, since many of the women are illeterate (and therefore, cannot read the ingredients or nutritiona facts on he products they purchase).
However, I am confident that in order for this project to work, we have to start with the CASA promotores themselves. One girl, after rejecting a banana I offered her, smiled and said "The truth is, many Mexicans dont like fruit." Well, I know this can change- in high school, my breakfast included packaged 25 cent brownies all the time, and I have barely touched those for 3 years. To change the situtation in CASA, I am also distributing questionnaires to the promotores, and hope Lou will integrate an institution-wide educational component into this nutrition project.
More Lou______
I received more news on Thursday - after interviewing Lou, Bere, Andres and Yolanda, as well as familiarizing myself with the particulars of the nutrition proposal, I finally submitted my article to Correo, the Guanajuato state-wide publication. Lou and Bere checked it over, and I sent it to America Ortiz, the San Miguel coordinator for Correo, on Tuesday. Surprised that I had not heard anything from her since, I phoned the office - to learn that, indeed, the article was in the day's newspaper. I rummaged through the pages, and found a picture of Lou and of CASA, under the headline "Tiened sobrepeso 30% de ninos and 45% de adoloscentes." Yes, there was my article - under her name!!! I called the office, and the lady sweetly explained to me that she could not change the facts, but since she edite the article, it was hers. No, I said, thats called plagiarism. She asked me to call back, she would check if it would be possible to print it in full form. Enraged, I hung up - but I will be going over there today to straighten it out. Heres the link: http://www.correo-gto.com.mx/notas.asp?id=78268. I guess I got a first hand look at corruption here.
On Friday, I checked back with Delia. We have 2 communities comletely covered, and the rest will be completed this week. After that, time to conduct analysis. I also sent an English language nutrition article to Mary, to publish in Atencion. I think I will also work with Daniel to design a well-illustrated nutrition brochure. Ah, work, work, work.
Update: Good news!
I went to visit Ms. America Ortiz on Monday, who explained to me that she thought what I sent her with a press release. Never mind that I have never seen a press release full of quotes, I still don't understand how that explains her even crediting the photos to herself. But alas! The article was published in complete form, under the heading "Otros Voces" - Other Voices, on Tuesday. Please see link: http://www.correo-gto.com.mx/notas.asp?id=78922
My first Spanish language publication! Praising the Lord and patting myself on the back - like Nadine said, patience and persistence.
7.21.2008
Dolores
Friday night, after running from the rain covered in plastic bags (courtesy of Yolanda's post-pilates kindness) and drying off at my house, Kelsey and I walked over to the CASA hospital. Lock in hand, pocket full of almonds, and Bible in the bag, I prepared for a 12 hour night shift in the maternity ward.
We entered from around the back, as the hospital is only open for emergency for the night. The empty halls, the quiet voices... everything appeared strangely peaceful, blanketed in the night. Nieves, the partera student on duty, directed us upstairs to lock up our things, and we passed the first few hours watching Bad Boys II, with Spanish subtitles. Best movie scene of all time: Will Smith and Martin Lawrence interrogating the 15 year old boyfriend. Pobrecito, Reggie.
The only patient present was a 40 year old woman, with a nino obito - a stillbirth waiting to happen. A resident of the campos, she received virtually no prenatal care. This was her first visit to the hospital. Moreover, the mother of 3 had diabetes. All these factors, expained Dr. Ismael, contributed to the fact that the child had already been dead for 3 days. I did not want to believe it. Are you sure? I asked, hoping for a chance. He just looked at me. The baby's heart had long ceased to beat. They would perform a Cesarian in the morning, if contractions did not start.
Apparently, my plans to see life begin were thwarted by death.
Around 1 am, my mood lifted - someone else came in to give birth! Mauru, the partera on duty (who, in a cool twist of things, is related to Luchi, the woman who runs our favorite lunch place), led us into the room. "Estan aqui para apoyarte," she told the mother-to-be. "They're here to support you." I introduced myself to the girl in the bed, who smiled weakly, fighting off a contaction. Her name is Dolores, and she could not have been more than 15. As I found out while Maura and Nieves filled out her chart, Dolores was actually 17, married, and her husband (also a youngling) was waiting in the hall. Dolores' mother sat in the chair by the bed. Suddenly, another contaction gripped the girl's insides, and she convulsed in the bed. I looked at her mother, who continued sitting, staring off somewhere. I guessed she's been through it many times herself, but I was frantic. Why wasn't anyone doing anything? Instinctively, I walked over to the girl's side, and reached out my hand, which she gripped, tighter and tighter, until the contraction passed. I smiled at her. "Eres muy furte," I told her, "You are very strong." I am still in awe of her strength, a little girl with a little life inside her.
Throughout the next hour, Dolores' contactions became stronger and stronger. I would hold her hand, and when she gripped the metal bed in pain, tears pouring down her face, I massaged her legs. I have never felt so strong a desire to take away someone's pain, to make it mine if need be, but just to make it stop. I prayed to Jesus for help.
Soon, the medical experts decided that the contractions were too strong for barely 3 cm of dilation. They attempted to hook Dolores up to an IV, giving her medicine to ease the pain. They could hardly find the vein, and blood spilled into the IV . Dolores screwed up her face. More pain. When would it stop? Her entire arm burned, she whispered, and Mauru, concerned, asked if she was allergic to any of the medications. The usual response to an IV insertion was a prickling pain, near the entrance of the needle - not an entire arm burning. Thankfully, Dolores' face soon relaxed - the drugs began to work.
Afterwards, we helped the girl remove her sweat suit, and take a shower. (I have never seen such perfect baby-feeding breasts before - they looked so full of nutrition, as if their only function in all of time was to provide sustenance for a new life. Nieves had to teach the Canadian woman how to "milk" herself - she actually compared it to cow milking - but I was sure this girl would not need a lesson). Dolores was already bleeding some, so Mauru put absorbent pads on the bed. I stepped out after Dolores showered, glad to leave the room, which smelled strongly of blood, and made my head woozy. I cannot imagine a battlefield after battle, and the poor souls who collected their dead, or looked for survivors.
Mauru instructed us to rest, as Dolores would probably not give birth until morning. I tried to fall asleep, but my chair did nothing for welcoming dreams. More than that, the woman next door, the one with the stillbirth, chased away any shut-eye prospects. Dr. Ismael thought she would need a Cesarian, but her contractions began, as her body pushed out the dead baby. After walking around the ward, I passed out around 4 am, to the gut-wrenching screams of "No! No puedo!"
Kelsey and I rose around 7, and again at 9, and waited for Dolores - who was 8 cm dilated - to give birth. For fear of missing it, we breakfasted on whatever was available in the closest open stores (a bland cornmeal soup, a banana). But nothing happened, so we passed the time chatting with the girl in the cafeteria, while waiting for tea, at 1030. Around 1 oclock, with everything still perfectly tranquilo, we ventured out - Kelsey to feed Babi and Noe at CASA, and I to make copies at the papeleria. We checked back at 3, after calling, but still nothing. Leaving our numbers with Maura, we finally went home.
In the evening, I met up with Mallory and her crew, as well as Tim (poor Kelsey was sick). We watched Om Shanti Om, which was being screened in the Jardin. I love open air events. Ironically, in the Festival de los Cortes- the shortfilm festival - this Bollywood selection lasted 3 hours. If you ever argued with friends or lovers over which movie genre to watch, I recommed Om Shanti Om - it has all of them. See it, you'll believe me.
After the movie, we stopped by Momma Mia - the regular spot for extranjeros. I was very excited to see diversity - various Spanish speakers, two Indian woman, a black man. A live music band, Pila Seca, played an alternative rock set. It was a very relaxing way to pass the evening, especially compared to the night before.
I called Mauru on Sunday morning. She informed me that they had performed a Cesarian for Dolores - and, therefore, did not call the interns to observe. Eager to see the baby, I walked over to the hospital, first stopping by an artisan's candle shop and picking out three bright, colorful candles with heart and star designs for the mother and child (as well as a gift for Kathy, who loves candles). This took me a whle - I wanted the perfect gift, cheerful and strong, to welcome the new life. I rang at the side-door entrance, and Mauru admitted me in. I then stepped into Dolores' room.
The furniture had been moved - or maybe it was a different room? I looked to the left, where the bed was previously, and encountered a young man in a chair, Dolores' husband, instead. An older female relative was also present, and, to the right, the bed - where Dolores was breastfeeding her chilid. I handed the present over to the husband, and asked if I could see the newborn. Dolores nodded - she looked exhausted! I came closer, and saw the little screwed newborn face, sucking away. The baby girl was wrapped in a bright yellow blanket, the same color as one of the candles! I thanked them all, wished them blessings, and stepped out of the room.
The next stop of my journey was Kelsey's house. We walked over to the Escuela de Bellas Artes, where we watched 5 or 6 shorts (also part of the Expresion en Cortes). One really stands out in my mind - Sweat, an Asian black and white piece, 10 minutes or so, with perfect transitions and a great angle at life. An hour later, we dined on amazing fish and grilled vegetables at a restaurant on Umaran, where we made certain to inquire about the preparation of the dishes. Who knew grilled red cabbage tasted good? At 5, Kelsey accompanied me back to CASA, to conduct the immigration questionnaire. Good fun - the kids were rather fascinated by us, and shared comments along the lines of, "You know, in America, there are whole groups of people with all blonde hair and blue eyes" and "Yeah, but there are even people who are black, completely black." One very outspoken 13 year old did my hair, and Jessie, one of the PESANE members, shared the alphabet soup pasta and frijoles she prepared for the kids' dinner. Exhausted but happy, we finally went home.
We entered from around the back, as the hospital is only open for emergency for the night. The empty halls, the quiet voices... everything appeared strangely peaceful, blanketed in the night. Nieves, the partera student on duty, directed us upstairs to lock up our things, and we passed the first few hours watching Bad Boys II, with Spanish subtitles. Best movie scene of all time: Will Smith and Martin Lawrence interrogating the 15 year old boyfriend. Pobrecito, Reggie.
The only patient present was a 40 year old woman, with a nino obito - a stillbirth waiting to happen. A resident of the campos, she received virtually no prenatal care. This was her first visit to the hospital. Moreover, the mother of 3 had diabetes. All these factors, expained Dr. Ismael, contributed to the fact that the child had already been dead for 3 days. I did not want to believe it. Are you sure? I asked, hoping for a chance. He just looked at me. The baby's heart had long ceased to beat. They would perform a Cesarian in the morning, if contractions did not start.
Apparently, my plans to see life begin were thwarted by death.
Around 1 am, my mood lifted - someone else came in to give birth! Mauru, the partera on duty (who, in a cool twist of things, is related to Luchi, the woman who runs our favorite lunch place), led us into the room. "Estan aqui para apoyarte," she told the mother-to-be. "They're here to support you." I introduced myself to the girl in the bed, who smiled weakly, fighting off a contaction. Her name is Dolores, and she could not have been more than 15. As I found out while Maura and Nieves filled out her chart, Dolores was actually 17, married, and her husband (also a youngling) was waiting in the hall. Dolores' mother sat in the chair by the bed. Suddenly, another contaction gripped the girl's insides, and she convulsed in the bed. I looked at her mother, who continued sitting, staring off somewhere. I guessed she's been through it many times herself, but I was frantic. Why wasn't anyone doing anything? Instinctively, I walked over to the girl's side, and reached out my hand, which she gripped, tighter and tighter, until the contraction passed. I smiled at her. "Eres muy furte," I told her, "You are very strong." I am still in awe of her strength, a little girl with a little life inside her.
Throughout the next hour, Dolores' contactions became stronger and stronger. I would hold her hand, and when she gripped the metal bed in pain, tears pouring down her face, I massaged her legs. I have never felt so strong a desire to take away someone's pain, to make it mine if need be, but just to make it stop. I prayed to Jesus for help.
Soon, the medical experts decided that the contractions were too strong for barely 3 cm of dilation. They attempted to hook Dolores up to an IV, giving her medicine to ease the pain. They could hardly find the vein, and blood spilled into the IV . Dolores screwed up her face. More pain. When would it stop? Her entire arm burned, she whispered, and Mauru, concerned, asked if she was allergic to any of the medications. The usual response to an IV insertion was a prickling pain, near the entrance of the needle - not an entire arm burning. Thankfully, Dolores' face soon relaxed - the drugs began to work.
Afterwards, we helped the girl remove her sweat suit, and take a shower. (I have never seen such perfect baby-feeding breasts before - they looked so full of nutrition, as if their only function in all of time was to provide sustenance for a new life. Nieves had to teach the Canadian woman how to "milk" herself - she actually compared it to cow milking - but I was sure this girl would not need a lesson). Dolores was already bleeding some, so Mauru put absorbent pads on the bed. I stepped out after Dolores showered, glad to leave the room, which smelled strongly of blood, and made my head woozy. I cannot imagine a battlefield after battle, and the poor souls who collected their dead, or looked for survivors.
Mauru instructed us to rest, as Dolores would probably not give birth until morning. I tried to fall asleep, but my chair did nothing for welcoming dreams. More than that, the woman next door, the one with the stillbirth, chased away any shut-eye prospects. Dr. Ismael thought she would need a Cesarian, but her contractions began, as her body pushed out the dead baby. After walking around the ward, I passed out around 4 am, to the gut-wrenching screams of "No! No puedo!"
Kelsey and I rose around 7, and again at 9, and waited for Dolores - who was 8 cm dilated - to give birth. For fear of missing it, we breakfasted on whatever was available in the closest open stores (a bland cornmeal soup, a banana). But nothing happened, so we passed the time chatting with the girl in the cafeteria, while waiting for tea, at 1030. Around 1 oclock, with everything still perfectly tranquilo, we ventured out - Kelsey to feed Babi and Noe at CASA, and I to make copies at the papeleria. We checked back at 3, after calling, but still nothing. Leaving our numbers with Maura, we finally went home.
In the evening, I met up with Mallory and her crew, as well as Tim (poor Kelsey was sick). We watched Om Shanti Om, which was being screened in the Jardin. I love open air events. Ironically, in the Festival de los Cortes- the shortfilm festival - this Bollywood selection lasted 3 hours. If you ever argued with friends or lovers over which movie genre to watch, I recommed Om Shanti Om - it has all of them. See it, you'll believe me.
After the movie, we stopped by Momma Mia - the regular spot for extranjeros. I was very excited to see diversity - various Spanish speakers, two Indian woman, a black man. A live music band, Pila Seca, played an alternative rock set. It was a very relaxing way to pass the evening, especially compared to the night before.
I called Mauru on Sunday morning. She informed me that they had performed a Cesarian for Dolores - and, therefore, did not call the interns to observe. Eager to see the baby, I walked over to the hospital, first stopping by an artisan's candle shop and picking out three bright, colorful candles with heart and star designs for the mother and child (as well as a gift for Kathy, who loves candles). This took me a whle - I wanted the perfect gift, cheerful and strong, to welcome the new life. I rang at the side-door entrance, and Mauru admitted me in. I then stepped into Dolores' room.
The furniture had been moved - or maybe it was a different room? I looked to the left, where the bed was previously, and encountered a young man in a chair, Dolores' husband, instead. An older female relative was also present, and, to the right, the bed - where Dolores was breastfeeding her chilid. I handed the present over to the husband, and asked if I could see the newborn. Dolores nodded - she looked exhausted! I came closer, and saw the little screwed newborn face, sucking away. The baby girl was wrapped in a bright yellow blanket, the same color as one of the candles! I thanked them all, wished them blessings, and stepped out of the room.
The next stop of my journey was Kelsey's house. We walked over to the Escuela de Bellas Artes, where we watched 5 or 6 shorts (also part of the Expresion en Cortes). One really stands out in my mind - Sweat, an Asian black and white piece, 10 minutes or so, with perfect transitions and a great angle at life. An hour later, we dined on amazing fish and grilled vegetables at a restaurant on Umaran, where we made certain to inquire about the preparation of the dishes. Who knew grilled red cabbage tasted good? At 5, Kelsey accompanied me back to CASA, to conduct the immigration questionnaire. Good fun - the kids were rather fascinated by us, and shared comments along the lines of, "You know, in America, there are whole groups of people with all blonde hair and blue eyes" and "Yeah, but there are even people who are black, completely black." One very outspoken 13 year old did my hair, and Jessie, one of the PESANE members, shared the alphabet soup pasta and frijoles she prepared for the kids' dinner. Exhausted but happy, we finally went home.
7.18.2008
Cinco Dias
Muy rapido-
Ingreth and Conchita performing No Te Quedas Golpeada, a play about family violence
Friday: The morning sped by in storytelling with TEATRO (mine was the Ugly Duckling). In the afternoon, after a quick lunch at Luchi's, we planned a mini-surprise party for Ana Pena, who has been working at CASA for over 20 years. I carried the cake, on my head, up the hill. Thank God it did not fall. Shelley came by, and Sandra stayed, but as soon as the cake was cut, whoop, everyone disappeared! In the afternoon, the interns met with Mary Murrielle, former director of Feed the Hungry in San Miguel, who is on board as advisor for the nutrition project. And Friday night, pilates at Yolandas. We worked with medicine balls this time. Talk about a balanching challenge.
Saturday morning: Radio Reyna, see previous post.
Saturday night: hosted a get together at my house.. I cooked rice and beans, and Kelsey made guacamole and salsa. Tim bought chicken from a local polleria - to accomodate the non-vegetarians. We arranged everything in the garden. Woohoo - no rain! Our first guests were Cristina, my neighbor, and her sister, who shared much useful advice about DF, where we want to go. About 3 hours later, Miguel, Noe and Andres showed up, and their friend Toni came thru later. And Miguel brought a little surprise - I now have a Beta fish, a pes, courtesy of PESANE! The gang then went to see Miguels friend compete in La Reina Gay de San Miguel. As Nadine puts it, the gay movement is very sophisticated in San Miguel. Meanwhile, I washed dishes :)
Sunday: Kelsey and I braved the heat and brough all the left over food from my dinner to CASA, where the PESANE promotores were getting ready to jumpoff their summer program. The looks on the faces of Monica and Andres - you would think they hadnot eaten in days. We then hunted for fish food for the pes, and for actual fish to feed me, afterwards spending some time in the jardin. Que padre.
Monday: Paperworrkk... I helped Daniel, CASA's graphic designer, with InDesign.. en espanol... Nice to have some familiar ground, even in a different language. Later, I interviewed Roberto and Diego for the immigration thesis. I have a date with the summer program to interview all the youth participants. Must make copies of questionnaires! (Thats done in special papelarias here, no copy machine on site, thank you). I spent the evening spinning my butt off to to the sounds of Yolanda's master music mix. Hello, strong gluteals. Hello, shower. Hello, BED.
Tuesday: Salustia, Bibiana and I went to Ojo de Aguas to teach the women about the use of soya. They prepared it using tomatos, chile jabanero, and onion - all that was missing was pineapple, Salus advised. (Salus also advised using the banana peel we discarded for compost). The cooking occured at the house of one of the senoras, who happened to lack a bathroom, like most of the women in the community. What juxtaposition, to piss in fresh air with the cow grazing two feet away, but using brand name toilet paper, and industry-strength soap. My memory floated back to my childhood in Ukraine, at "Aunt" Lida's... same set up, plus raspberry bushes, minus TP. Sadly, the soya cooking lesson only lasted one hour, because Don Cruz had to drive back to pick up everyone else, and Ojo de Aguas is very far from CASA. Its very far from most places, I realize, and this greatly contributes to the poverty of the small community, up in the mountains, barely reachable. In fact, every time we are ready to drive away, at least one woman asks Don Cruz for a ride to the next town or to see their husbands, who are working in the fields. And I dare complain about the length of the drive once a week!
Wednesday: I stepped into the CASA clinic, to find out that two girls began life that morning! One, born to Canadian Maria Margarita at 4 am, weighed barely 6 pounds and had the longest eyelashes in the world. "She's my birthday present!" smiled the first-time mother, who will turn 40 in August. The birth was quick: the mother came in at 3:15 am! "I can't believe its all over," she gushed, signing the birth certificate, while I held the newborn.
The other girl was also born to a Maria Margarita, this one Mexican, and 23 years of age. The baby, who already had a 5 year old sister, was born at 9 am, and weighed in at almost 10 pounds. I watched the nurse bathe her (advising her to wash her hands first!) and fill out her file. The mother had much pain, so the nurse, Nieves, hooked her up to an IV, and advised her to eat almonds and alfalfa with orange juice. Luckily, I usually carry almonds for a snack, so I shared them with her. (Make sure you don't give them to the husband! Nieves instructed me, for the husband had complained of hunger).
Kelsey and I will pass Friday night at the hospital, so hopefully we'll witness the actual birth process!
In the evening, I had an appointment with Correo, the daily newspaper that's distributed all over the state of Guanajuato. After meeting with Mary Murrell last Friday, I decided that my nutrition article targetted Mexicansmore than Americans. I think I'll write another article for Atencion, the general gringo newspaper, since, as Mary advises, the gringos here have mucho dinero to donate.
Afterwards, Roberto drove Salus, Omar, Noe, and Jess to present a healthy dating workshop in a nearby community. Kelsey, Tim and I accompanied them. The workshop was held at a Catholic church - obviously, a pretty liberal minded one. I wanted to take pictures, but discovered that I did not have my camera :(.
We drove back to CASA, after dropping a few off at the Mega to go to the movies. I came in to drop off copies of the nutrition questionnaire, but everything was closed - except the house of the parteras, now housing the participants of the summer program. Miguel invited me in for watermelon, and then the girls tried to teach me how to dance the cumba! Muy padre. I had to leave, but promised to spend Saturday night with the kids at the lunada.
Ingreth and Conchita performing No Te Quedas Golpeada, a play about family violence
Friday: The morning sped by in storytelling with TEATRO (mine was the Ugly Duckling). In the afternoon, after a quick lunch at Luchi's, we planned a mini-surprise party for Ana Pena, who has been working at CASA for over 20 years. I carried the cake, on my head, up the hill. Thank God it did not fall. Shelley came by, and Sandra stayed, but as soon as the cake was cut, whoop, everyone disappeared! In the afternoon, the interns met with Mary Murrielle, former director of Feed the Hungry in San Miguel, who is on board as advisor for the nutrition project. And Friday night, pilates at Yolandas. We worked with medicine balls this time. Talk about a balanching challenge.
Saturday morning: Radio Reyna, see previous post.
Saturday night: hosted a get together at my house.. I cooked rice and beans, and Kelsey made guacamole and salsa. Tim bought chicken from a local polleria - to accomodate the non-vegetarians. We arranged everything in the garden. Woohoo - no rain! Our first guests were Cristina, my neighbor, and her sister, who shared much useful advice about DF, where we want to go. About 3 hours later, Miguel, Noe and Andres showed up, and their friend Toni came thru later. And Miguel brought a little surprise - I now have a Beta fish, a pes, courtesy of PESANE! The gang then went to see Miguels friend compete in La Reina Gay de San Miguel. As Nadine puts it, the gay movement is very sophisticated in San Miguel. Meanwhile, I washed dishes :)
Sunday: Kelsey and I braved the heat and brough all the left over food from my dinner to CASA, where the PESANE promotores were getting ready to jumpoff their summer program. The looks on the faces of Monica and Andres - you would think they hadnot eaten in days. We then hunted for fish food for the pes, and for actual fish to feed me, afterwards spending some time in the jardin. Que padre.
Monday: Paperworrkk... I helped Daniel, CASA's graphic designer, with InDesign.. en espanol... Nice to have some familiar ground, even in a different language. Later, I interviewed Roberto and Diego for the immigration thesis. I have a date with the summer program to interview all the youth participants. Must make copies of questionnaires! (Thats done in special papelarias here, no copy machine on site, thank you). I spent the evening spinning my butt off to to the sounds of Yolanda's master music mix. Hello, strong gluteals. Hello, shower. Hello, BED.
Tuesday: Salustia, Bibiana and I went to Ojo de Aguas to teach the women about the use of soya. They prepared it using tomatos, chile jabanero, and onion - all that was missing was pineapple, Salus advised. (Salus also advised using the banana peel we discarded for compost). The cooking occured at the house of one of the senoras, who happened to lack a bathroom, like most of the women in the community. What juxtaposition, to piss in fresh air with the cow grazing two feet away, but using brand name toilet paper, and industry-strength soap. My memory floated back to my childhood in Ukraine, at "Aunt" Lida's... same set up, plus raspberry bushes, minus TP. Sadly, the soya cooking lesson only lasted one hour, because Don Cruz had to drive back to pick up everyone else, and Ojo de Aguas is very far from CASA. Its very far from most places, I realize, and this greatly contributes to the poverty of the small community, up in the mountains, barely reachable. In fact, every time we are ready to drive away, at least one woman asks Don Cruz for a ride to the next town or to see their husbands, who are working in the fields. And I dare complain about the length of the drive once a week!
Wednesday: I stepped into the CASA clinic, to find out that two girls began life that morning! One, born to Canadian Maria Margarita at 4 am, weighed barely 6 pounds and had the longest eyelashes in the world. "She's my birthday present!" smiled the first-time mother, who will turn 40 in August. The birth was quick: the mother came in at 3:15 am! "I can't believe its all over," she gushed, signing the birth certificate, while I held the newborn.
The other girl was also born to a Maria Margarita, this one Mexican, and 23 years of age. The baby, who already had a 5 year old sister, was born at 9 am, and weighed in at almost 10 pounds. I watched the nurse bathe her (advising her to wash her hands first!) and fill out her file. The mother had much pain, so the nurse, Nieves, hooked her up to an IV, and advised her to eat almonds and alfalfa with orange juice. Luckily, I usually carry almonds for a snack, so I shared them with her. (Make sure you don't give them to the husband! Nieves instructed me, for the husband had complained of hunger).
Kelsey and I will pass Friday night at the hospital, so hopefully we'll witness the actual birth process!
In the evening, I had an appointment with Correo, the daily newspaper that's distributed all over the state of Guanajuato. After meeting with Mary Murrell last Friday, I decided that my nutrition article targetted Mexicansmore than Americans. I think I'll write another article for Atencion, the general gringo newspaper, since, as Mary advises, the gringos here have mucho dinero to donate.
Afterwards, Roberto drove Salus, Omar, Noe, and Jess to present a healthy dating workshop in a nearby community. Kelsey, Tim and I accompanied them. The workshop was held at a Catholic church - obviously, a pretty liberal minded one. I wanted to take pictures, but discovered that I did not have my camera :(.
We drove back to CASA, after dropping a few off at the Mega to go to the movies. I came in to drop off copies of the nutrition questionnaire, but everything was closed - except the house of the parteras, now housing the participants of the summer program. Miguel invited me in for watermelon, and then the girls tried to teach me how to dance the cumba! Muy padre. I had to leave, but promised to spend Saturday night with the kids at the lunada.
7.17.2008
De Pies a Cabeza @ Radio Reyna
Argh! I am not too great at this personal record-keeping business. So much occurs daily!
Gustavo of Radio REDeSS
Last Saturday, Kelsey and I went with REDeSS to observe Diego and Roberto's radio program, De Pies a Cabeza (From Head to Toe). I believe this was the only observation lacking in our experience observing CASA programs. I felt especially excited because the topic of the day was supposed to be obesity, so I figured I'd get more info for my article.
We arrived at CASA at 8 am, and drove over to Radio Reyna in Dolores Hidalgo, about an hour away. The guys explained that their ultimate goal is to establish a radio station at CASA, but its very difficult, given the politics involved. Moreover, the radio station in San Miguel charges 2500 pesos per half hour - as opposed to Radio Reyna, 1500 per half hour. So, we drove over.
As it turned out, we spoke little of obesity. The PESANE summer course was starting on Sunday, so Roberto and Diego dedicated much time to promoting it. They received 7 new members. While Diego spoke, Roberto took calls, or vice versa, and the relaxed, conversation rhythm flowed exceptionally well. The program also included a pre-taped radio novella about abusive relationships, featuring the voices of promotores from TEATRO. And the callers who were able to correctly identify the 3 stages of the abuse cycle - tension building, outbreak, and honeymonn - got cake! Apparently, Diego persuaded a local bakery to sponsor the show, and they agreed to provide pasteles for 3 listeners per show.
After the program ended - they really deserve at least an hour - we drove over to Dona Muera's, a tortilla stand on the side of the road with the most amazing delicious blue-corn, nopales and frijoles filled tortillas. At 50 cents each. Needless to say, it was a bright, sun shining morning.
Gustavo of Radio REDeSS
Last Saturday, Kelsey and I went with REDeSS to observe Diego and Roberto's radio program, De Pies a Cabeza (From Head to Toe). I believe this was the only observation lacking in our experience observing CASA programs. I felt especially excited because the topic of the day was supposed to be obesity, so I figured I'd get more info for my article.
We arrived at CASA at 8 am, and drove over to Radio Reyna in Dolores Hidalgo, about an hour away. The guys explained that their ultimate goal is to establish a radio station at CASA, but its very difficult, given the politics involved. Moreover, the radio station in San Miguel charges 2500 pesos per half hour - as opposed to Radio Reyna, 1500 per half hour. So, we drove over.
As it turned out, we spoke little of obesity. The PESANE summer course was starting on Sunday, so Roberto and Diego dedicated much time to promoting it. They received 7 new members. While Diego spoke, Roberto took calls, or vice versa, and the relaxed, conversation rhythm flowed exceptionally well. The program also included a pre-taped radio novella about abusive relationships, featuring the voices of promotores from TEATRO. And the callers who were able to correctly identify the 3 stages of the abuse cycle - tension building, outbreak, and honeymonn - got cake! Apparently, Diego persuaded a local bakery to sponsor the show, and they agreed to provide pasteles for 3 listeners per show.
After the program ended - they really deserve at least an hour - we drove over to Dona Muera's, a tortilla stand on the side of the road with the most amazing delicious blue-corn, nopales and frijoles filled tortillas. At 50 cents each. Needless to say, it was a bright, sun shining morning.
7.12.2008
Wednesday at the Clinic
The birth control methods available at the CASA clinic
Wednesdays are for viewing wellness - and illness. I've arranged with Adriana and Lourdes to spend Wednesdays at the CASA clinic, about 10 minutes away from the youth center. The clinic looks like a regular building from out front, but is unlike any other hospital I have ever visited, at least architecturally. There are many arches, and large open garden spaces right outside of the waiting room and in the maternity ward, complete with flowing fountains. The walls are decorated with an eclectic mix of "patient" photographs, Kandinsky posters, original artist work and advocacy / human rights displays. Best of all, it doesn't smell like a hospital.
Adriana introduced me to a young woman studying to be midwife. There were few clients in the morning, so the partera-in-training and I passed the time chatting; the more we talked, the more I came to respects her. She is 18, with a 2 year old son whom she supports by working an additional job at an organic restaurant in the Centro (note: check it out) - all this in addition to her studies. I left my phone number with her, and she promised to call in case of a birth on Thursday night. Nadine later recommended that we actually pass at least one night a week at the clinic, since no one would be concerned with calling the interns if a woman's water suddenly broke.
The morning crawled on without any visits, so I checked with Adriana to see if it would be better to come in on Mondays, which tend to be busier. I should not have been so impatient. As soon as I left her office, the partera on duty invited me in to observe a prenatal exam. A very pregnant young woman of 23 had come in for a check up. Her 5-year-old was with her. I introduced myself and asked if my company was ok. The woman nodded. Another partera-in-training, this one in her late 40s, was also in the room. She took the young woman's blood pressure and body weight.
The partera was very friendly and professional. She recommended rest when the young woman complained of frequent headaches, and then asked her to lie down on the examination table. While her mommy was getting comforable, the adorable little girl gave the partera a lolipop. Then, she smiled at me.
The partera taught her student how to feel for the baby's head, and to listen to the heartbeat. I wanted to listen, also, but did not have enough nerve to ask. After the exam was over, the partera provided her patient with her cellphone number, in case of emergency, and was rewarded with trinkets from the baby shower - from which I got my own souvenier lolipop.
We were alerted of a second clinical exam, and this time I gathered my courage to ask if I really could listen to the fetus' heart. Of course, smiled the partera. But the confident young woman who entered had other plans. The patient explained that she had a 9-month-old baby at home, and had consistently been using birth control after the birth. However, apparently she had been switching between the pill and other methods - and wound up pregnant again. She feared that the baby would be born with birth defects. Moreover, she and her husband could not support another addition to the family - they already had two first-graders at home, in addition to the baby girl. And she really was so afraid of the birth defects. But an abortion in this 90% Catholic country... and it being illegal and all... She finished her story wiping away tears.
The partera listened patiently, then filled out a form. She asked the young woman to remove her bulky coat (it was a freezing day) to take her blood pressure, and I was surprised at how small the woman was without it. I wish I knew what happened next. but the partera needed to have a confidential conversation with her patient, so I exited the room.
My heart heavy with what I had heard, I entered the waiting room - for more difficult news. A group of three women gathered in the waiting room, streams of tears running down their faces. Two of them looked to be my age. Then, I realized that the third - the matriarch - was holding another young woman close to her bosom, her face hidden, her shoulders shaking. I shot a quizzical look at my friend, the partera-in-training. The girl lost her baby, she explained. Then, Dr. Ismael entered. "You speak Spanish?" he inquired. I replied in the affirmative, and he explained that after 19 weeks of pregnancy, the baby was no longer moving or breathing. "Will you induce artifical labor?" I asked. Yes, they were going to start contractions. Then, he flew down the hall, giving hasty instructions to the assistant. I left soon afterwards, telling Adriana of an upcoming meeting with Nadine. I was actually glad to go - I felt I would join the ranks of the water-shedding women at any moment.
7.09.2008
Rain, Rain, Go Away
They weren't kidding when they called it "Rainy Season." It has been raining everyday this week, with no signs of stopping before my departure date. Everything from drizzle to downpour has fallen on my head.
On Saturday, the rain greeted me as I stepped out the door to meet Kelsey for a night of comidas. I hailed a cab to her house, but managed to get soaked as a I was jumping out of the taxi and onto her doorstep. We waited a while, but the rain showed no signs of stopping, so we made our way to Mallary's for a promised cook-out. The steep streets turned into waterfalls. My shoes in one hand, an umbrella in another, I splish-splashed over to Calle Pila Seca for... a surprise. Mallary picked us up outside, and we climbed up a wide, white staircase into a modern fourth-floor apartment, where a gringo crowd had gathered. We walked in on a lively game of charades, a game so American, that a large blonde man named Fox was offended at the suggestion of playing it in Spanish. A Santa-Claus-like man brought me a towel to dry off my feer and offered us beer. I felt bad for refusing hospitality, but I don't like beer. We left as soon as Noe arrived, with stomachs in want of food, and ears in want of music.
We took a cab to our next destination: Conchita's house. Her daughter had just graduated junior high, so the family was celebrating- and we were too. The taxi dropped us off outside of the Mega, on the outskirts of SMA, in front of a darkred, barn-like structure. "Estas seguro que esta aqui?" I asked Noe, who led the expedition. "Are you sure we're at the right place?" Noe led us around the building, through the mud, in the rain. I raised my feet up... and slid back down. Thankfully, Conchita emerged, happily waving us over from atop the mini-hill. A few girls passed us on the way up, so I became determined, climbing up and praying that I would not bust my butt. Soon, a wooden table with a huge two-level tres leches cake came into view. Conchita explained that they did not have keys to the red house, so the dinner was outside - rain and all. If we needed to, we could use the outhouse.
She fed us salad, rice, and tortillas (had to refuse the chicken), as well as a chicken corn soup with oregano. Neighbors and friends stopped in and out, and Conchita kept bringing out limitless styrofoam trays with the afore-described meal. Ana Maria, who also works for CASA, also came. She spoke with sadness about having worked for CASA for 20 years (anniversary: April 26), in nearly every program, and the lack of recognition she received for her work. So, I decided we will buy her a cake in behalf of the CASA interns, and throw a mini-surprise party on Friday. (Kelsey and I went to three pastelerias today, and we chose the one that let us sample the cake :) ).
Then, Ana's husband, Jose, came, and the tequila bottles opened up. You would think this means people got crazy, but not at all - I guess tequila to Mexicans is what wine is to Italians. People have a bit with dinner, and life goes on as usual. (The teenagers are a different story, but isn't that always the case?)
Jose, a taxi driver, was glad for the opportunity to practice English, as he had with some of his clients. Not that we let him - Kelsey and I were set on mejorar-ing our Spanish skills. He was very gentle with Ana, and also very funny. He shared his favorite music artists - Guns and Roses, Poison and Nirvana, and we all agreed that the Beatles rock.
Jose and Ana spoke about the two years they spent apart while he was in America. She was at home with a sick baby, and he said his heart got crushed anytime he passed a park or a playground. True, he had cousins and uncles in the US, but they had their own families there - the American dream was not worth the reality he was missing out on at home. He then agreed to let me interview him for my immigration thesis. I currently have a rough questionnaire with which I have been bothering the promotores (many of whom have also been to the US and all of whom have family there), but I think this will be much more indepth. I am very excited.
We left around 11, just as the rain started - and continued through the night.
I woke up to find that I no longer had electricity. Nor did I have my phone. Apparently, I had left it the night before with Kelsey and Noe. In need of Dona Lourdes, I took a walk over to Kelsey's, where she treated me to breakfast. On my way back, the sun finally came out, and I decided that this was a sign - I was to be outside. I got home and spoke with Dona Lourdes, who first suggested that we shouldnt worry, someone was sure to call the electricity office. But you misunderstand, I explained, that someone was me. Dona Lou knew better - emergency calls are ignored on Sundays in a Catholic country. No one picked up the phone. She then attempted to bring over an extension cord, but nothing worked. Apparently, the rain knocked out the street post. We had nothing to do but wait.
So, I decided to make the best of it. I shaved, put on a bathing suit and a sundress, grabbed a towel and a notebook, and climbed to the roof... to meet the clouds. Almost as soon as I settled down, the rain began again. No! I retreated to my dark appartment, lightless and SKYPE-less. And I had planned to have Shelley, the intern coordinator, over for dinner!
Thankfully, Shelley did not mind having dinner elsewhere. She picked me up with Grace, her daughter, and another friend, with whom she had gone hiking. We drove by Kelsey's to get her, and then headed over to Tacos Felix, a few blocks from my house. Only open on the weekends, the place was amazing. The best wait staff, the garden-like atmosphere, the taco appetizers and shrimp salad and two teas, all for $7... Mexico, I tell you, Meh, hee, co.
After dinner, we went to Kelsey's, where we destroyed the flan that Jose Luis and Salustia helped prepare on Friday. We had tea back on my roof - the lights were back on, bless Dona Lou! - watching the amazing skyline. The rain started again, so we headed to the kitchen, where we talked about God and religion and what it really means to be Christian, to love your God and your brother. "I feel closest to God when I am not wasteful, when I use just what I need," Kelsey said, and I shared that I had been reading the lifestyles of Jesus' disciples in the book of Acts, who shared everything among each other, and are even described as having one soul. Not very capitalistic of us, eh?
Kelsey said good-night, and I spent the rest of the evening talking to Jamal, thirsty to hear his voice. God bless SKYPE. And electricity. But most of all, God bless plumbing. I have never felt so spoiled and privileged in my life.
On Saturday, the rain greeted me as I stepped out the door to meet Kelsey for a night of comidas. I hailed a cab to her house, but managed to get soaked as a I was jumping out of the taxi and onto her doorstep. We waited a while, but the rain showed no signs of stopping, so we made our way to Mallary's for a promised cook-out. The steep streets turned into waterfalls. My shoes in one hand, an umbrella in another, I splish-splashed over to Calle Pila Seca for... a surprise. Mallary picked us up outside, and we climbed up a wide, white staircase into a modern fourth-floor apartment, where a gringo crowd had gathered. We walked in on a lively game of charades, a game so American, that a large blonde man named Fox was offended at the suggestion of playing it in Spanish. A Santa-Claus-like man brought me a towel to dry off my feer and offered us beer. I felt bad for refusing hospitality, but I don't like beer. We left as soon as Noe arrived, with stomachs in want of food, and ears in want of music.
We took a cab to our next destination: Conchita's house. Her daughter had just graduated junior high, so the family was celebrating- and we were too. The taxi dropped us off outside of the Mega, on the outskirts of SMA, in front of a darkred, barn-like structure. "Estas seguro que esta aqui?" I asked Noe, who led the expedition. "Are you sure we're at the right place?" Noe led us around the building, through the mud, in the rain. I raised my feet up... and slid back down. Thankfully, Conchita emerged, happily waving us over from atop the mini-hill. A few girls passed us on the way up, so I became determined, climbing up and praying that I would not bust my butt. Soon, a wooden table with a huge two-level tres leches cake came into view. Conchita explained that they did not have keys to the red house, so the dinner was outside - rain and all. If we needed to, we could use the outhouse.
She fed us salad, rice, and tortillas (had to refuse the chicken), as well as a chicken corn soup with oregano. Neighbors and friends stopped in and out, and Conchita kept bringing out limitless styrofoam trays with the afore-described meal. Ana Maria, who also works for CASA, also came. She spoke with sadness about having worked for CASA for 20 years (anniversary: April 26), in nearly every program, and the lack of recognition she received for her work. So, I decided we will buy her a cake in behalf of the CASA interns, and throw a mini-surprise party on Friday. (Kelsey and I went to three pastelerias today, and we chose the one that let us sample the cake :) ).
Then, Ana's husband, Jose, came, and the tequila bottles opened up. You would think this means people got crazy, but not at all - I guess tequila to Mexicans is what wine is to Italians. People have a bit with dinner, and life goes on as usual. (The teenagers are a different story, but isn't that always the case?)
Jose, a taxi driver, was glad for the opportunity to practice English, as he had with some of his clients. Not that we let him - Kelsey and I were set on mejorar-ing our Spanish skills. He was very gentle with Ana, and also very funny. He shared his favorite music artists - Guns and Roses, Poison and Nirvana, and we all agreed that the Beatles rock.
Jose and Ana spoke about the two years they spent apart while he was in America. She was at home with a sick baby, and he said his heart got crushed anytime he passed a park or a playground. True, he had cousins and uncles in the US, but they had their own families there - the American dream was not worth the reality he was missing out on at home. He then agreed to let me interview him for my immigration thesis. I currently have a rough questionnaire with which I have been bothering the promotores (many of whom have also been to the US and all of whom have family there), but I think this will be much more indepth. I am very excited.
We left around 11, just as the rain started - and continued through the night.
I woke up to find that I no longer had electricity. Nor did I have my phone. Apparently, I had left it the night before with Kelsey and Noe. In need of Dona Lourdes, I took a walk over to Kelsey's, where she treated me to breakfast. On my way back, the sun finally came out, and I decided that this was a sign - I was to be outside. I got home and spoke with Dona Lourdes, who first suggested that we shouldnt worry, someone was sure to call the electricity office. But you misunderstand, I explained, that someone was me. Dona Lou knew better - emergency calls are ignored on Sundays in a Catholic country. No one picked up the phone. She then attempted to bring over an extension cord, but nothing worked. Apparently, the rain knocked out the street post. We had nothing to do but wait.
So, I decided to make the best of it. I shaved, put on a bathing suit and a sundress, grabbed a towel and a notebook, and climbed to the roof... to meet the clouds. Almost as soon as I settled down, the rain began again. No! I retreated to my dark appartment, lightless and SKYPE-less. And I had planned to have Shelley, the intern coordinator, over for dinner!
Thankfully, Shelley did not mind having dinner elsewhere. She picked me up with Grace, her daughter, and another friend, with whom she had gone hiking. We drove by Kelsey's to get her, and then headed over to Tacos Felix, a few blocks from my house. Only open on the weekends, the place was amazing. The best wait staff, the garden-like atmosphere, the taco appetizers and shrimp salad and two teas, all for $7... Mexico, I tell you, Meh, hee, co.
After dinner, we went to Kelsey's, where we destroyed the flan that Jose Luis and Salustia helped prepare on Friday. We had tea back on my roof - the lights were back on, bless Dona Lou! - watching the amazing skyline. The rain started again, so we headed to the kitchen, where we talked about God and religion and what it really means to be Christian, to love your God and your brother. "I feel closest to God when I am not wasteful, when I use just what I need," Kelsey said, and I shared that I had been reading the lifestyles of Jesus' disciples in the book of Acts, who shared everything among each other, and are even described as having one soul. Not very capitalistic of us, eh?
Kelsey said good-night, and I spent the rest of the evening talking to Jamal, thirsty to hear his voice. God bless SKYPE. And electricity. But most of all, God bless plumbing. I have never felt so spoiled and privileged in my life.
7.04.2008
TEATRO
I have been spending two days a week with TEATRO. These pictures are from the play about family violence and from an improv Romeo / Juliet workshop.
Nadine Arrives
"You can be useful by being sincere and polite and leraning about each other's cultures. How many opportunites will you have to do something like this? And, at the end of the day, who gives a shit if you took 10 blood pressures?"
All week, we had been hearing rumors of Nadine's imminent arrival, and after many delays, we finally met with her on Thursday. The Asesora General de CASA founded the center in 1981, and her husband designed the building. Now, she spends a large chunk of time obtaining funds for CASA. "Ella es muy buena honda, sino grita mucho," I was warned. She is an excellent lady - but she screams alot. She must have a heart of gold, though, to head social service work.
"Don't worry, she is relaxed", Lourdes informed Kelsey, me, Tim and Maribelle, right before our 2:00 appointment. Still a bit nervous, we climbed the stairs to her office, which is located in the cupola of CASA. Nadine was on the phone, but she waved us in. We spent the time getting to know Maribelle, who will start in a few weeks.
Then, Nadine got down to business, even passing around a sign in sheet. She quizzed us on our orientation, our impressions of San Miguel, our mastery of Spanish. When my turn came, I began, "Well, I have two projects in mind, nutrition and migration." I passed over my outline, thesis, and draft nutrition questionnaire, aimed at the mothers of the communities around San Miguel. "The nutrition project has 3 parts..." She laughed, "You're just like Pat (my mentor)". I was elated.
The objective of the questionnaire is to gather data about the behaviors, attitudes and knowledge revolving around nutrition, as well as to attain funding for the blossoming program. We agreed that it should be limited to 20 residents per 10 communities (instead of 20, as I originally planned). "Who is going to enter all that data?" she asked.
The second part, the interview for Atención, the bilingual paper of San Miguel, was underway. I scheduled interviews with Lourdes, who has a degree in Sports Administration and with Yolanda, my pilates / spinning / aerobics instructor. (Spinning is the shyzznyt, btw). I also plan to get quotations from various young people.
The play would be harder, she observed, since the script must be well-planned out in order to actually make an impact. She provided me with the contact information of a certain Mary Murielle, a public relations specialist and an NGO volunteer. She then instructed me to book appointments with Conchita and Violeta, the coordinators of TEATRO and ECOSS. We all also set up weekly meetings on Fridays at 5. Nadine did not play.
The meeting with Nadine, however, provided more than focus. Nadine, who has handled hundreds of volunteers, put us on to the big picture. "Tiene que quitar el idea que va a ayudar," she said. "You have to get rid of the idea that you're going to help." Truth: The programs function brilliantly without us. This is largely because all the promotores' training is strictly structured, there is a large emphasis on letting people find their own way. "We all want to feel confident and competent, to feel the adrenaline rush / orgasm of wow, look what I did." So, there is much learning by doing, which provides a sense of ownership. "Yeah, we can buy fancy laminated posters of the reproductive system, which will last longer - but if I create the poster, then its mine, its my work."
"You can be useful by being sincere and polite and leraning about each other's cultures. How many opportunites will you have to do something like this? And, at the end of the day, who gives a shit if you took 10 blood pressures?" At the same time, she instructed us to put in our opinion, with tact and class (i.e., my horror at the midwife not washing her hands before administering a GYN exam.)
She concluded, "The more we mix the races, the better off we'll be." I wanted to hug her.
7.03.2008
Weekend 2 B: You Are Ready to Get Married
We headed home after a day of climbing and nature-loving, ready for a nice, long shower and an even nicer, longer nap. Instead, we received another surprise: Conchita's sister was getting married in the evening, explained Noe. Would we like to see a Mexican wedding?
"¡Sí, claro que sí!" Mexican or otherwise, the closest I have ever been to a wedding was flipping through Modern Bride. Scenes from Wedding Crashers, Runaway Bride and My Big Fat Greek Wedding flashed through my mind. What would the dress be like? The music? The CAKE? How many times have I passed by store windows, gazing at the elaborate wedding cakes, with all their layers, and roses, and braids of cream. My favorite part of Rich Bride, Poor Bride is the cake selection. And I would get to try it that night!
We agreed to meet up at Kelsey's house at 7:30 (translation from Mexican: 9:00), and then hailed a cab to the wedding hall, an imposing structure titled The ALAMO. Little girls in elaborate white dresses, women in tight blue jeans and men suited all out in ranchero gear (cowboy hats and boots) mingled outside. We entered. And my jaw almost dropped.
We walked into the biggest room I have ever been in. The ceilings alone seemed at least 3 stories high. What seemed like a 1000 people sat in metal chairs, at metal tables with white table cloths, drinking soda and eating arroz con pollo. A bride and a groom danced in the center. The DJ - also in complete cowboy gear - stood on stage and read out a long list of names. Every time he read a new pair of names, another couple would dance with the newlyweds. This went on for many many minutes. Just when I thought it was over, another bride and groom took their place. It turned out that we were guests not at one, but at two simultaneous wedding receptions.
Just as I got comfortable with my plate of arroz con pollo (no other selections), Conchita waved Kelsey and me over, and we were informed that the wedding games were starting. This game, we were told, was for the women. Both brides were hoisted up on chairs, while the grooms held their trains. Ah! I thought. They are going to throw the bouquet! I've seen this in movies. Confident, I took my place next to the other girls.
The next thing I knew, the 10-year-old in front of me grabbed my hand, and pulled me forward. We were not catching anything but our breath! We ran under the trains, across the hall, around the guests, and back in. I am pretty sure we were supposed to be following the rhythm of the song playing, but all I could concentrate on was my balance. I hope I did not hurt the wrists of my fellow runees.
The tradition, called the Vibora de La Mar, was then repeated with the men. This time, a participant did fall - but, as I found out later, this was expected. The goal of the male game is to knock the groom off the chair.
Afterwards, the brides did throw bouquets, and then the dancing started. I watched as couples stepped to the rhythms of salsa, bachata, and musica durangesa. Meanwhile, little boys ran around the grandiose space, playing soccer with empty Coke bottles. The brides walked around back and forth, their skirts in their hands, checking on this and that. Apparently, Mexican weddings are for the guests' enjoyment.
After I don't know how many dances, I noticed a crowd of children forming behind the table with the cakes. I had been sneeking surreptitious glances at the cake all night, pleased to see that unlike everything else, the cake was exactly how I imagined it. Well, the cakes. There were at least four. Delight filled me as we took our place on line, and then sank our teeth into the spongy sweet goodness. I could go home happy now.
I spent Sunday cleaning the apartment and cooking. Kelsey and Noe came over for dinner. I prepared salad as an appetizer, and we had tortillas, frijoles and guacamole for the main course, finishing off the meal with a fruit and nut platter. (Why is it that I can't stop talking about food?)"Estas lista para casarte," Noe informed me, an expression to complement one's cooking which directly translates into, You're ready to get married. Kelsey and I looked at each other. Probably, but probably not in Mexico.
6.30.2008
Weekend 2 A: El Chorro de Ingenio
I still cannot believe I am here. It is as if I've developed new blood vessels to aid in the spike in circulation, my brain is so overloaded with new experiences. Attention every college student - especially Kathy: leave your house. Live abroad.
On Friday night, Miguel, the coordinator of PESANE, invited us for a day at the ecological park. So, Saturday morning, I met up with Kelsey, and Noe, Lisette, Monica, Andres, Hugo, and Miguel, to go to the Chorro del Ingenio. We took a bus to the outskirts of town. Naturally, our first stop was Pollo Feliz, where we purchased the only food they sell: fried chicken and enchiladas. Then, our trek began. We wandered through what seemed like a community backyard, down a long, long winding road, with the heat on our backs and water bottles in our hands. I liked it. This is going to be very blonde, but I really felt "in nature".
After about half an hour, we finally reached the Chorro. Miguel, arguing that he would soon bring a large youth group from CASA, got us in for free. After he convinced the manager, we lunched, and entered the park, walking through fields of cactus. I had no clue that there are so many varieties - large, small, yellow, green, pointy or reminiscent of flowers, many in bloom. There were cactus nurseries, cactus fields, and a garden of rescued cactuses. I even bought cactus soap and cactus snacks. I have lost all respect for the cactus vendors at elementary schools Mothers Day sales. Amateurs.
After a while, we descended to the wetlands, walking across a large cement bridge through the stream. The stream only fills up during rainy season, so there was a minimal amount of water on the bottom. Huge rocks and green plant growths littered the fertile black soil. We continued down a dirt path, and before I knew it, stumbled upon the bank, the same rocky bottom we gazed at earlier. We walked on the rocks, and I was surprised to find myself on a mini-cliff, gazing even further down from my standpoint. A burning desire to get all the way down surged through me, one that I believe also infected everyone else, because that is exactly what we did. Carefully but rapidly, feeling out rock by rock, using our hands and our feet, we descended. Some of these guys really knew what they were doing. I, personally, felt not so much like a mountain cat but like a mountain monkey - and I loved every minute. Risk is an integral component of fun.
We finally reached the bottom, the only part where any water remained. We spread out on the rocks, absorbing the sun, with trees and sky miles above us, as we tossed rocks into the still water. Bloop! Splash! Someone blasted MP3s from his music phone. Kelsey sat still, taking pictures. Hugo stood off to the side, gazing at the water. I was a lizard.
Walking back, I could not believe we had climbed so low and gotten so high.
On Friday night, Miguel, the coordinator of PESANE, invited us for a day at the ecological park. So, Saturday morning, I met up with Kelsey, and Noe, Lisette, Monica, Andres, Hugo, and Miguel, to go to the Chorro del Ingenio. We took a bus to the outskirts of town. Naturally, our first stop was Pollo Feliz, where we purchased the only food they sell: fried chicken and enchiladas. Then, our trek began. We wandered through what seemed like a community backyard, down a long, long winding road, with the heat on our backs and water bottles in our hands. I liked it. This is going to be very blonde, but I really felt "in nature".
After about half an hour, we finally reached the Chorro. Miguel, arguing that he would soon bring a large youth group from CASA, got us in for free. After he convinced the manager, we lunched, and entered the park, walking through fields of cactus. I had no clue that there are so many varieties - large, small, yellow, green, pointy or reminiscent of flowers, many in bloom. There were cactus nurseries, cactus fields, and a garden of rescued cactuses. I even bought cactus soap and cactus snacks. I have lost all respect for the cactus vendors at elementary schools Mothers Day sales. Amateurs.
After a while, we descended to the wetlands, walking across a large cement bridge through the stream. The stream only fills up during rainy season, so there was a minimal amount of water on the bottom. Huge rocks and green plant growths littered the fertile black soil. We continued down a dirt path, and before I knew it, stumbled upon the bank, the same rocky bottom we gazed at earlier. We walked on the rocks, and I was surprised to find myself on a mini-cliff, gazing even further down from my standpoint. A burning desire to get all the way down surged through me, one that I believe also infected everyone else, because that is exactly what we did. Carefully but rapidly, feeling out rock by rock, using our hands and our feet, we descended. Some of these guys really knew what they were doing. I, personally, felt not so much like a mountain cat but like a mountain monkey - and I loved every minute. Risk is an integral component of fun.
We finally reached the bottom, the only part where any water remained. We spread out on the rocks, absorbing the sun, with trees and sky miles above us, as we tossed rocks into the still water. Bloop! Splash! Someone blasted MP3s from his music phone. Kelsey sat still, taking pictures. Hugo stood off to the side, gazing at the water. I was a lizard.
Walking back, I could not believe we had climbed so low and gotten so high.
Weekend 1: Guadalajara
I had not spent 4 days in San Miguel when it was time to be on the move again. Kelsey received a phone call from her mothers friend Maria, who lives in Guadalajara, asking if we would want to spend the weekend (she was flying back to South Carolina next Thursday.) ¿Did she have to ask? We copped bus tickets the next day.
I rose before the sun on Saturday to catch the 7:15 bus. The journey lasted 5.5 hours, with stops in Leon and Guanajuato. My emergency supply of almonds quickly dissipated, and I soon grew hungry. Apparently, the bus company provides snacks, but you can only obtain them at your boarding point. Who knew? As we rode on, a strange mix of bus advertisements, music videos and movies flickered on the bus screen. If you ever want to add spice to Nicholas Cage, watch Ghost Rider in Spanish.
Kelsey and I arrived in the early afternoon, and took a cab to Marias house. Even before we walked in, the bright blue exterior of the house cheerfully greeted us. Maria grew up there with her 10 brothers and sisters - she was born in the living room! Even as she came out to greet us, she waved to someone across the street. Apparently, the entire block belonged to her cousines, aunts, and acquaintances. We were with family.
Kelsey and I barely had time to drop our bags, and she carried us off to the Mercado San Juan de Dios for shopping. Imagine Canal Street in Spanish. Now imagine someone packing Spanish Canal Street into a 4 story building that takes up an avenue. This was no Bloomingdales, honey. We passed an entire floor of tourist knicknacks, then jeans and sneakers, then fruit stands bordering fried chicken counters. I nearly had to hold hands just to keep up, but Maria was home: her mother used to be a vendor at the Mercado.
Natalie, Marias daughter, was flying back to South Carolina on Sunday, so we drove over to her uncles house in the evening, for a fiesta. The table creaked under vats of pico de gallo, tortillas, beans, nopales, peppers and salsa. I think the family was pleasantly surprised that the white girls nurtured a deep appreciation for spicy food. They also offered us grilled pork, and laughed at our vegetarian-ness. The hours of eating were followed by hours of dancing for the adults, and conversation about school and shopping for the young people. We were invited back to try the meat.
An odd mix of sadness and scurrying penetrated the house the next day, as Natalie prepared for her departure. More family came over, and we were treated to the smoothest tequila I have ever tasted, brought by another uncle. The conversation rollercoasted between Mexican politics, US-Russia relations, New York after 9/11, and Cancun. Apparently, someones acquaintance also had a Russian wife, so my presence in the circle was not completely alien.
Afterwards, Kelsey and I met up with SiSuk Carlos Morena, a kung fu brother of my SiFu. We went for dinner to a beautiful Mexican restaurant. More amazing food. (I will really have to find a gym when I get back, or none of my clothes will fit anymore). Then, SiSuk drove us to the Ving Tsun school, where I touched hands with some of his students. SiSuk spoke very highly of SiFu, and also showed us rather old photographs of kung fu family. Alex-in-green old. He treated us very well. I am grateful for the visit, especially since I feel like I just got my red shirt in the Spanish language.
In the evening, we visited Zapopan, walking under a beautiful arch and down a wide, cobble-stone paved avenue. Vendors and artists displayed their offerings, everything from pretty knick-knacks to original paintings to succulent elote. We walked over to the basilica, where mass was starting. In the courtyard below, dancers in red, green, blue, gold and black costumes, with bracelets clanging around their ankles and elaborate feather masks on their heads, performed an indigeneous dance. Among them danced a skeleton in black, a typical image of death popular here. The event embodied the cultural heritage of Mexico, demonstrating the blend of Catholicism and Native American traditions.
We rose early the next morning, and took a bus tour of Guadalajara. (I promise not to think poorly of all those tourists on NYC open-roof buses anymore.) Over 4 million people inhibit Guadalajara, and, unlike NY, its very horizontal. We drove past the cathedral, the university, the US consulate, numerous historical buildings and former convents. My favorite place that we passed, though, is the Shalom Nail Salon.
After the tour ended, we entered (this time with more confidence) San Juan de Dios, to buy souveniers and fresh fruit refreshments, and took the bus back to Marias house. The experienced differed greatly from the tour ride: the most prominent sights on the routes of Guadalajara public transportation are Subway and KFC. Before we knew it, though, it was 2 pm - and the last bus to San Miguel de Allende left at 3:15. Like madwomen, we dashed upstairs for our stuff, bid hasty goodbyes to our hosts, and hailed a cab to the bus station, back to San Miguel.
6.29.2008
The First 2 Work Weeks
The CASA building, in all its glory
I spent my second night in a hostel, and was fortunate to find an apartment by the third night. Its a 10 minute walk from CASA, up and down a hill on Avenida de Los Ninos Heroes. The street names - when the streets actually have names - are rooted in history or religion: "28 de abril", "Avenida Independencia", "Calle San Rafael". I know this because I have embraced my status as extranjera, and rely on my trusty map. I feel like Dora the Explorer con su mapa. People who actually live here just direct me "Luego, luego" and recognize landmarks, instead. They also look at me as if I were from another world, and, I guess, I am.
The work at CASA is very interesting. The organization divided into several groups of promotores: PESANE, who provide workshops about sexual health to teenagers; ECOSS, who work with mothers; TEATRO, who put on works about ecology and family violence in primary schools; and REDESS, a radio program who broadcast throughout northern Guanajuato. The programs are run by young people in their late teen and early 20s, and coordinated very well by former promotores in their early-mid 20s. They take their jobs very seriously - there is none of the childish attitude you find in a lot of their peers in the US. There is also a day care, a library, a computer lab. Sliding scale fees are charged for all the services. I am sure this is out of necessity, to pay staff salaries, but I expected the "free and confidential" I am accustomed to, working at The Door AHC.
I have been going out with promotores to observe their work, in order to decide which group I will stick with for the summer. The program is very much self-starter, so if you're bored or unsatisfied, its basically your fault. Nadine, the founder, was soliciting a grant in order to create a new play with TEATRO and broadcast an on-air segment with REDESS, dealing with nutrition. The local people here eat so poorly! Chips, Coke, and fast food are ubiquitous. Mexico, apparently, is the world's biggest consumer of soft drinks, and the second fattest country in the world (after the US, naturally). The most popular chain in the city is Pollo Feliz, and the only advertisements more prominent than those of Coca Cola are those of Pepsi. Even the bottled water are Coke and Pepsi products. This is a direct clash with the healthy, traditional Mexican diet of fruits, vegetables, and legumes. It is also very ironic, because there is also much malnutrition, so having fat children is not considered unhealthy by many mothers. So, I decided to work on the up and coming nutrition program, which Lourdes, the administrator and a licensed gym teacher, will head. I decided to conduct a census, in order to gather data about the nutritional practices and beliefs of the residents of San Miguel and the surrounding communities. No such statistics exist. I will work on the census with ECOSS. Also, I will help write the play about nutrition, targetted at the children.
In addition, on Friday, Kelsey and Tim (the other interns) and I observed the work of CASA's hospital. It is a private hospital, and patients pay on a sliding scale. CASA developed a UN-recognized model of midwifery, so we were there primarily to observe their work. (The 3 year program, followed by a year of residency, is so popular, that women from other states travel to study with CASA. There is even a Guatelmateca.) However, the midwives cannot work in San Miguel's public hospital, due to political reasons. The government does not accept the midwife training curriculum. Rather, the parteras are contracted by CASA and paid by birth.
Our guide, a young midwife of 25, allowed us into the room of a woman who had given birth the night before. The 27-year old mother was attended by female members of the family, as well as her 3 other children. Afterwards, Kelsey, Tim and I took turns observing visits: Kelsey and Tim sat in on pregnancy check-ups, while I observed a GYN exam. This was especially cool for Kelsey, who was actually considering parteria as a career. It seems so womanly, and such a proper existence - to bring life into the world, and be so close to death at the sametime; it reminds me of the Red Tent. I was just about to sit in on a pregnancy check-up when my landlady called, alarming me of a strong smell of gas coming from my home. I ran home, remembering with bitterness that I left the oven on after an attempt to heat up breakfast tortillas. Thankfully, all the house needed to prevent me from Sylvia Plath's fate was a day of airing out.
The GYN exam I observed prior to my emergency was an experience. The patient entered, a woman of 37 who needed an HPV exam. She claimed to have her last exam 2 years ago, to use condoms for birth contol, and to obstain from drinking and smoking. Condoms, pills, and IUDs are provided free of charge by the state. She then went to the bathroom to change and then took her place on the same sheets used by the previous patient. (The sheets are changed twice a day. Luxuries such as disposable sheets are not available in a country of limited resources). I was baffled that the midwife did not ask the woman's permission to allow my presence, and that the woman did not inquire about it. The last thing I would want when my cervix is in someone's face is to have another stranger gaping at me. Embarassed, I asked if it would be okay for me to stay. She shrugged, as if she had no choice. I am extremely spoiled by The Door, where everything is not only free but extremely private.
Then, the exam began. The midwife snapped on the rubber gloves. She took out one of those horrible metal speculums (again, no disposable luxuries here), and talked the patient through the discomfort. After inserting it, she waved me over - to look at the woman's cervix! My curiosity overcame my modesty. Here it was! How many GYN exams have I had, and now I had the opportunity to actually see what the provider sees. Beneath the bushiness of her mons pubis, the canal was wide open, and there, at the end, was the pink entrance to her uterus. My eyes lit up. It looked so ... right. Better than the drawings. (Though this particular one seemed a bit inflamed). The midwife drew samples of discharge, using the same tools I have presented and explained to scores of AHC patients in the waiting room. Then, it was over. I thanked the woman as she walked out. Then, the midwife took down our phone numbers to alert us if there would be a birth and we wanted to observe it. I can't wait.
Getting to San Miguel
In a victorious battle against stubbornness and laziness, I have decided to listen to all those who mean well (especially Pat, Kelsey, Zoe and Christina), and begin to keep an online record of my summer in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico. I guess uploading photos just isn't enough. Entonces...
On June 16, Aljame drove me to JFK at 2 am, and Jamal was good to stay with me until my flight was almost ready to take off at 5:30 am. (The man is a treasure.) The plane sailed into BUSH Int'l in Houston, TX with a slight delay, so I took off running to my transfer gate with barely 25 minutes to spare. My heart pumping, I collapsed at the check-in desk, and - grateful to have made it - presented my ticket, green card, and travel passport to the attendant. Surprised at the aquamarine cover, she murmured a cheerful, "What a pretty color" - but then handed it to the man behind her. My mind raced faster than my feet a few minutes ago. Something was wrong. The man deliberated with another woman behind him, and they made a series of unsuccessfuul phone call to I don't know who. Finally, it became clear that they were unertain I could enter Mexico without a visa. BS. I had called the consulate in NY. There was no visa requirement. But the words of resident aliens are mere whispers in the wind to the ears of Continental Airlines officials on a power trip. With only 10 minutes to spare before take-off, the second woman announced, "Pull her bags!" My plane went to Mexico City. I remained in Texas.
Lord, no, I prayed. I know this is happening for a reason. The man, name-tagged Rodriguez, instructed me to go to the Mexican consulate in downtown Houston to obtain a visa. Meanwhile, they would rebook a 5:30 flight to Mexico. It was 9:30 in the morning. He scribbled the name of the street in pink highlighter on my boarding pass, and turned his back. What? I could barely navigate through this airport - how was I to navigate through Texas?
But nothing motivates action like lack of choice. Following signs and asking strangers, I finally got into a cab. After a ride of about 25 minutes, we swerved off the highway, leaving behind the rising towers of downtown ahead of us. Circling around the blocks of one story houses, the driver finally spotted the Mexican flag ahead of us. This was the consulate? A shabby building a block from a gas station, with no entrance in sight, half a wooden fence, and a line of disgruntled people out front. Vincente Fox and Ban Ki-Moon would cry. This was definetely not New York.
We stopped in front of a laundromat-looking place, but with signs announcing COPIES PASSPORT COPIES in the window. A group of rugged looking men eyed us from the front, while another explained that the consulate entrance was in the back, and that the process could take an hour, or two, or a day - who knew with these visa proceedings? Thank God, the driver offered to wait. Needless to say, I tipped him well.
Going around the photo-copy building, up a rickety wooden ramp, and further on to the second floor, I entered the consulate. My eyes widened at the line of people snaking to get up to the "Passport" windows. There was well over a hundred. Every single one looked Mexican. The memory of hours of waiting in the greencard line flashed in my head. So, that's why I'm here, I realized. God allowed me to see first handed the US-Mexican relations at the border state, excellent background information for my thesis on immigration.
Ironically, only 4 people waited at the "Visa" counter. The administrator sighed in annoyance when he heard my story. "They are confused over there" he said of the BUSH Continental workers. Apparently, I was not the only person in this situation. He stamped a 90 day permit into my travel passport and waved goodbye. No visa required.
Triumphant, I returned to the airport, and changed to a flight to Leon (another blessing, as Leon is 2 hours closer to San Miguel than DF). Sitting in the front seat at the tiny air jet, I gazed out the window, loving flying. Fear and excitement gripped my heart every time the airplane shook with turbulence as we entered another cloud. I was inside clouds! And the mountains, so majestic even from above. Exhausted but exhilirated, I drifted off to sleep.
The voice of the flight attendant asking about sandwich choices woke me. I asked for a vegetarian option. "Oh," she wrinkled her forehead. "We don't do that anymore." Can I say no more Continental? So much for my sincere appreciation of their marketing campaign...
We landed in Silao, which is to BUSH Int'l what David must have appeared to Goliath. Ah, but more aventuras. As expected, while I flew to Leon, my suitcase safely arrived miles away in Mexico City. I explained the situation to the Continental agent, and arranged to have a delivery to CASA. I was just grateful that he understood my Spanish. After many assurances from airport staff, I got into a taxi to San Miguel, to the house of Shelley, the CASA intern coordinator. An hour and a half later,she took me in, fed me salad (another vegetarian) and let me use her shower and a spare bedroom downstairs. I fell asleep across the hall from her four year old, grateful to finally be in San Miguel.
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