Since the beginning of Lent is upon us, I`ll begin with a confession--before coming to Mexico I went to lots of happy hours and good-bye celebrations where I did plenty of imbibing. I did so with the reasoning that it would be my last chance for such activities before embarking on a spiritual conversion. It thought it would be impossible for me to spend my time drinking and partying here when my days would be occupied with good works and (in my spare time) church and prayer.
It turns out that I have spent a lot of time on parish grounds when I am not at work, though in the kitchen socializing rather than at church. What I have found is not something that has surprised me since it`s the way of life in Pittsburgh and what I witnessed when I started drinking at dive bars as an exchange student in Australia --when working-class, middle-aged men spend time together, they do so with drinks in hand. No matter if they are clergy members or parish groundsmen. Thus there`s sort of a boys` club atmosphere here at the parish--tequila or beer are served at most meals and it`s not frowned upon to have a glass of cerveza with your huevos in the morning.
I often feel at of place at the parish since I have trouble communicating and I don`t eat the food with meat or dairy products that everyone else shares. While everyone else is chatting and eating, I`ve made up for my lack of participation by bonding over tequila with the guys. I`ve also justified drinking because it helps me cope with the sadness I feel over certain situations at work or and to cope with boredom when I am at social events and I don`t know what is going on.
A few weeks ago, I reevaluated why I came here, and I realized that it wasn`t to spend my evenings in a haze and I have drastically cut back on my consumption of alcohol. I feel healther in both body and spirit -- alcohol is a depressant and ultimately isn`t helping me overcome unhappiness. Additionally, I was relying on it instead of myself and God to feel comfortably socially.
Instead of drinking I have been spending more time at work and praying in the evenings with Jessica. I do have trouble saying no to drinks at times. It`s hard for others to accept this change in me and I`ve had glasses pushed up to my lips or served to me after I repeatedly turn them down.
In trying to cut back, I have to be less concerned with the feelings of others. I tell myself that I don`t always have to be a drinking buddy and that if I find a social situation painfully uncomfortable without the aid of alcohol, I can leave it at risk of offending someone. As for it helping me to forget about the sorrows of others, nobody`s problems are going to be solved based on how much I drink.
With all this in mind I`m giving up alcohol for Lent. Interestingly, Ash Wednesday coincides with the six-month mark of our arrival in Mexico, which is a time to reflect on why I came here originally and how I can make the experience better. I`m hoping that this period of abstinence will help me to better to do better service as a missonary and build my relationship with God.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
My other confession--I`ve never understood hard-core environmentalists and animal-rights activists in that I thought that if one is going to make a lot of effort for change, it should be for something that benefits people. Rather than protesting environmental policies, it would be better to lobby for human rights and instead of picking up litter, one should visit patients in hospitals.
However, what I`m coming to understand is that everything is connected in the way we treat the Earth, animals, fellow human beings and ourselves. A lot of practices that also hurt the environment are also harmful to humanity. For example, in the United States my closet is full of clothes that I don`t really need. Not only are they a waste of money, but I paid no attention to the workplace conditions of the people who made them, and a lot of energy was spent in their creation and distribution. If I were to only buy used clothing, or buy (less of it) only from ethical companies, I would be taking a stance against unfair labor practices and I would be helping to conserve resources.
Other thoughts:
There is a crisis in obesity going on throughout the United States and in the world. It is partially due to the amount of cheap, nutritionally-void fattening convenience foods that are consumed. If people were to eat more produce instead of junk food, particularly from farmers` markets, they would not only be doing their bodies a favor but cut back on the amount of packaging and transport that goes into making processed foods. (Along those lines, I strive to follow a vegan lifestyle, not just for animal-rights and health reasons but because it takes lot of food is produced to feed the animals that produce meat and dairy.)
In terms of media that is consumed, magazines, television, video games often pull people apart from the families and fill their heads with violent, damaging images--created in order to sell products like corn chips, lipstick and beer. If people were to consider more closely what they read, watch, and play, they might feel healthier and be more inclined to give their attention to people. Additionally, their desire for material items would decrease, which would ultimately help the environment.
And speaking of lipstick, women (and men) spend an enormous amount of money buying such products to cover up and change the way they look. These products are often tested on animals and take a lot of effort to produce. By cutting back on beauty products, women would be more accepting of themselves, help the environment and prevent animal cruelty.
With all this in mind, my other intention for Lent is far less concrete than giving up alcohol, but still involves consumption. I am going to give up overly processed foods so that I can help both my health and the Earth. I also plan to consider everything I take in, buy and consume as to whether it`s really good for me and the Earth and who benefits from it.
Part of me would like to run around in hand-made clothing, free of make-up and distributing trail mix. A bigger part of me can`t give up piling on eyeliner or resisting Starbucks. However, even some changes in my lifestyle will have a ripple effect and I hope to continue being more conscious even after Lent is over.
Now if you`ll excuse me, I`m off to gather wildflowers to weave into my hair.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Sunny Days
While locked in on parish grounds today, I decided that one of the cool things about being a missionary is that it is perfectly valid to be very late for work for reasons such as you are literally stuck at church.
Though being trapped caused me to be tardy in getting back to the Sisters` house after a mid-afternoon break, I considered the situation was all part of doing missionary work. I had gone to the office in the parish in order to use the computer to prepare English lessons, as Jessica and I have taken on a large number of new language students. This week I am teaching them solo as Jessica went with Padre to a conference in Veracruz.
As I worked, one of the church´s handymen, Arturo, came in to talk with me. He has somewhat limited social skills and generally sits grumpily in a corner smoking and mumbling to himself while everyone else eats and chats. He has taken an interest in Jessica and I though and is always very concerned with where we have been, what we are doing, where we will go, what we will do afterward and what are plans are for the following day. The two of us have longer conversations whereby he asks me questions like ``Who wrote the formula E=MC(2)?, What do you think of communism? Why don`t you have a boyfriend? Is it better to be fat or thin?`` I don`t understand most of what he says, but he is persistent despite the fact that our talks tend to frustrate both of us.
I did my best to fill Arturo in on the events of my day. Once I finished using the computer, he said he would let me out of the church, as the gates are locked between two and four in the afternoon. We went outside and he knocked on Guillito`s door for the keys and Guillito yelled at him to wait. Arturo muttered a curse (there are some parts of the Spanish language I am adept in) and told me to sit and wait. I showed him the English lesson I had made up and tried to answer his questions on how to clarify if someone has light or dark blue eyes.
He mentioned that he had keys to a side gate used as an entrance for cars. I agreed to go out that way, but for whatever reason we continued to sit, and so I thought I had misunderstood him. Alejandro, the church`s flower man, came outside and headed toward the parish entrance. We watched to see if he was trying to leave the parish and if he had keys. Thinking he could open the door, I ran toward him, but I realized he was stuck as well. Then Arturo decided to let both of us out of the side gate.
You might be wondering why Arturo just didn`t let me out of the other gate in the first place. I tried not to concern myself with that as I am taking things as they come. However, in the States, being late for work would have been a source for stress for me. Here, the nuns take little notice of my comings and goings , but if they did question me on my arrival time, I am sure that being held up at church would have been a situation that they could relate to.
However, I don`t have any scheduled tasks with the nuns and they only find need for me when I happen to be around while they are engaged in some task. This is why I have been randomly called over to climb up a pile of rocks and clean a shrine to the Virgin Mary, take down and hang up eight sets of curtains, and put out clothes to dry on the roof while watching the children of workers.
Though the people being cared for at the house are happy to see me come and seem sad when I leave, what time I get there doesn`t mean much to them. So had I been worried about the situation, I would have been the only one.
There are so many things that bother me here that I can`t control, such as the handicaps of the people I work with, how long it takes for things to get done and how schedules mean little to people. Today I realized that when something you can`t change allows you to relax and enjoy the sunshine, it`s best to just soak it in.
Though being trapped caused me to be tardy in getting back to the Sisters` house after a mid-afternoon break, I considered the situation was all part of doing missionary work. I had gone to the office in the parish in order to use the computer to prepare English lessons, as Jessica and I have taken on a large number of new language students. This week I am teaching them solo as Jessica went with Padre to a conference in Veracruz.
As I worked, one of the church´s handymen, Arturo, came in to talk with me. He has somewhat limited social skills and generally sits grumpily in a corner smoking and mumbling to himself while everyone else eats and chats. He has taken an interest in Jessica and I though and is always very concerned with where we have been, what we are doing, where we will go, what we will do afterward and what are plans are for the following day. The two of us have longer conversations whereby he asks me questions like ``Who wrote the formula E=MC(2)?, What do you think of communism? Why don`t you have a boyfriend? Is it better to be fat or thin?`` I don`t understand most of what he says, but he is persistent despite the fact that our talks tend to frustrate both of us.
I did my best to fill Arturo in on the events of my day. Once I finished using the computer, he said he would let me out of the church, as the gates are locked between two and four in the afternoon. We went outside and he knocked on Guillito`s door for the keys and Guillito yelled at him to wait. Arturo muttered a curse (there are some parts of the Spanish language I am adept in) and told me to sit and wait. I showed him the English lesson I had made up and tried to answer his questions on how to clarify if someone has light or dark blue eyes.
He mentioned that he had keys to a side gate used as an entrance for cars. I agreed to go out that way, but for whatever reason we continued to sit, and so I thought I had misunderstood him. Alejandro, the church`s flower man, came outside and headed toward the parish entrance. We watched to see if he was trying to leave the parish and if he had keys. Thinking he could open the door, I ran toward him, but I realized he was stuck as well. Then Arturo decided to let both of us out of the side gate.
You might be wondering why Arturo just didn`t let me out of the other gate in the first place. I tried not to concern myself with that as I am taking things as they come. However, in the States, being late for work would have been a source for stress for me. Here, the nuns take little notice of my comings and goings , but if they did question me on my arrival time, I am sure that being held up at church would have been a situation that they could relate to.
However, I don`t have any scheduled tasks with the nuns and they only find need for me when I happen to be around while they are engaged in some task. This is why I have been randomly called over to climb up a pile of rocks and clean a shrine to the Virgin Mary, take down and hang up eight sets of curtains, and put out clothes to dry on the roof while watching the children of workers.
Though the people being cared for at the house are happy to see me come and seem sad when I leave, what time I get there doesn`t mean much to them. So had I been worried about the situation, I would have been the only one.
There are so many things that bother me here that I can`t control, such as the handicaps of the people I work with, how long it takes for things to get done and how schedules mean little to people. Today I realized that when something you can`t change allows you to relax and enjoy the sunshine, it`s best to just soak it in.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Road Trip
I arrive at the parish punctually at 7 a.m. for a pilgrimage to a chapel built by a parishioner in honor of his deceased wife, even though I knew that all the rushing I did to get there in time will be in vain. The parishioner, Stephan, is waiting patiently at the gates of the parish. He is a quiet, tall, slim man in his 70`s with pale skin and white hair.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The night before, Soledad (one of the church ladies) had come to our house at 10:00 in order to tell us that Padre was inviting us to the chapel benediction in a small town in the state of Michoacán. The proposal came when we were already exhausted from that day`s events as we had taken a group of young people from the parish to a diocesan youth festival. Different activities had taken place in tune with the lives of Jesus, Mary and Joseph and were categorized by play, prayer and values. We spent the day humiliating ourselves in volleyball, waiting to go to confession, going to Mass, and waiting in line for karaoke. We got lost on the way there and on the busride home, I read a political magazine while the kids and younger chaperons sang and roughhoused. ( I felt old until I realized the scene was similar to bus trips when I was an anti-social teen who ran high school track.) We finally returned to a crowded parish, where the grounds were overflowing with people who had brought their baby dolls to be blessed in honor of the feast of the Presentation of Jesus. We watched the chaos for a while before returning home and Soldedad`s invitation followed.
A few days ago, I decided to give into the fact that life in Mexico--particularly among the poor--is unstructured and random. I realized that if I could be more accepting and go-with-the-flow, I would be happier, instead of grumpy and irritable as I was last week when a jackhammer kept me up until 3 a.m. as workers built street lights at night.
So even though Jessica couldn`t come and I wasn`t sure what the trip would entail, I agreed to go along for the ride. I actually thought it would be good for me to be without Jessica since I rely on her for translation and to explain appropriate cultural behavior.
``Be there at seven on the dot,`` Soledad told me several times, through Jessica, and I got up a little after six to shower and prepare.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A little after seven, Father lets me and Stephan inside the parish, puts on coffee, and wanders off. Stephan cares for a hermitage behind the church that was the home of Santa Fe`s founder. Father thinks the hermitage should be open to the public and he often leads marches to grounds during which parishioners sing, pray and plant crosses. At the gate, Stephan will appear and explain simply and solemnly that you need special government permission to go in. Sometimes, he lets a few stragglers enter.
Face-to-face, Stephan seems sad and I doubt he cares all that much about the hermitage. He tells me that his wife died eight years ago, and today is the anniversary of her death. I think that he is just waiting to join her.
We sit around awkwardly in the kitchen with him wondering, I suppose, what to say to the foreign English-speaking girl who is tagging along on his sacred trip. He tries small talk and says we shouldn`t be gone for long, since it only takes two and half hours to get to his village on public transportation. Soledad breaks the tension by arriving at 7:20 with her chronically late, unemployed and exuberantly cheerful daughter Lupita in tow. I learn Lupita is coming along, which is good since we are the same age and she is friendly. The two of them heat up rice-milk and chatter about the contents of Lupita`s purse. Father returns and Antonio comes in with eyes blurry from sleep. We all sit around drinking hot beverages and eating cookies. Since I`m being accepting, I stop myself from complaining inwardly about arriving at seven and enjoy my second breakfast.
Guillermo and Louisa, two parishioners who I have seen occasionally visiting Father, arrive at 7:50 to take us to the chapel. They are a quiet, sweet married couple who look alike as they both have round, smiling faces, small eyes and jet-black hair. We set off in their van and the scenery changes from the slums of pueblo Santa Fe, to the skyscrapers of new Santa Fe, and then to the country. We drive on windy roads for about two hours and we stop at a barbacoa stand. Everyone but me has tacos and Lupita insists on taking me to a tamale lady for food. Even though I have already had breakfasts and the tamale has cheese in it, I eat one to be sociable.
We make it to Stephan`s hometown where the buildings look like those in pueblo Santa Fe, only spread out and surrounded by grass and fields. We stop at Stephan`s sister`s convenience store and the women end up outside while the men are in the shop. Father calls me in so that I can try some homemade liquor.
Now, I`ve been trying to ease up on drinking and in general I don`t believe in alcohol consumption before noon. But when your priest and a grieving widow want you to join them in a shot, it`s hard to refuse. I sample sweet, sticky blackberry and sassafras mixtures.
We head to the chapel, which is quite pretty, gleaming white, and decorated with flowers, statues and photographs. Father jokes with a small crowd and then leads them in prayer. It is a short benediction and we go on to look around the grounds of Stephan`s house, bless a home under construction and pray at his wife`s grave. It is different from routine and I realize how much I have been missing fresh air and the ability to walk around.
We wrap things up around 12:30 and Father suggests going to the nearby Monarch Butterfly Reserve, which causes Lupita to squeal and clap her hands excitedly. I imagine that we will take a half-hour diversion in order to go to a roadside park full of butterflies. What no one anticipates is that we won`t actually end up getting home until 3:30 in the morning.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A toll both operator gives us directions to the reserve, saying it will be about twenty minutes until we get there. Twenty minutes turns into two hours, during which we repeatably ask for directions and I sleep intermittently. Everyone keeps saying to keep going straight and that we will get there soon. Finally, we see buildings on the highway that look promising--The Butterfly Hotel and restaurants with signs in English that signify tourists go there. A schoolboy tells us to go straight ahead and that we will get to the butterfly reserve in an hour.
We enter another village where we are told to go straight and where we have to pay an entrance fee for a car. Boys plead for pesos and one hangs on to the back of our vehicle. The car treks up a steep mountain full of a multitude of shacks, small houses and donkeys and burros on the streets. This is the lifestyle I expected when I signed up for mission work, but seeing it for the first time is jarring.
After a slow drive, we make it to the parking lot of the butterfly reserve where we learn that it will be a 40-minute walk to actually see the butterflies. Guillermo asks if we all want to go ahead despite this, and at this point, no one can turn back.
During the uphill walk, Lupita and I clutch arms and count steps, alternately in English and Spanish. We lead the way (except for Father who meanders nearby on his own), to Lupita`s credit as her boots have three-inch heels.
The ending point is a restful spot, where, as you would expect, many butterflies fly overhead. However, not as many as I expected because their migration period begins soon. We can closely observe dead insects and those with broken wings, which Lupita and Father are fascinated by. I enjoy the stillness and quietness of the woods, along with my exercise high.
The trip downward is much easier, but we are again confronted by children begging for us to eat at their family restaurants or to give them pesos. They run alongside the car pleading with us. No one acts that desperate in Santa Fe and I wonder if the people in the country are worse off or if they just know they are more likely to get money from tourists. I contemplate whether I should be doing mission work in an area poorer than Santa Fe, than think of how the people I work with have their corporal needs met but are missing family and companionship. Then I think of Washington, DC where there are many social programs to help the poor, but homeless people freeze due to the harsh climate. It`s overwhelming trying to create a formula in which you calculate who is neediest by assessing their lack of money, food, love, company and good weather. I decide you have to help those close to you, accept that it`s something but not enough, and enjoy life where you can.
We drive to a nearby town for dinner and eat at a small restaurant where there are three meal options. The waitresses/cooks/owners take their times serving tables and I have rice and beans and sip cinnamon coffee while everyone else enjoys chicken and mole. Father checks in at the parish to tell the deacon to say evening Mass and to let Jessica know that we will be arriving around 10:00.
Stephan opens up a bit more and says that his work at the hermitage is a distraction for him. He explains that he lives with other retired people.
``Like a monastery,`` Father jokes, as he translates to me.
I think of my house where Jessica and I don`t have television, a computer, boyfriends or heat and where lately, we have been praying every night.
``Mi casa tambien,```I say.
Incidentally, the parish would probably be a VFW hall, similar to those I have been to in Pittsburgh. While I don`t think many of the older handymen who work there have been to war, they are licking the wounds that life has given them, as are the woman without families who spend time there. It felt most like the VFW on Sunday, when I watched the Superbowl in Guillito`s tiny shed in front of the parish, on his black and white TV. Though I am from Western, PA where football reigns, I don`t take much interest in the game unless the Steelers are playing or it`s the Superbowl. So, I had to see the game, which I didn`t really understand because it was translated in Spanish. The guys around me were lost as well, but enjoyed drinking cheap beer, smoking cigarettes and slapping my hand after plays. It was quite similar to bars and clubs I`ve been to with my Dad in Pittsburgh, so I felt nostalgic.
-----------------------------------------------------------
We leave the restaurant around 7:30 and the drive makes me nervous due to the the lack of street lights. I cope by sleeping and am awoken around 10:00 to the sound of the car skidding. Father gets out and deduces that we have a flat tire.
Lupita takes the breakdown in stride and recounts past breakdowns, thanks God we weren`t in an accident, and suggests calling her brothers. They don`t pick up and more calls are made, to tow-truck companies who don`t want to travel out far to get us. One finally agrees to come, within 20 minutes. It still hasn`t come after 30 minutes and Jessica, who has gotten nervous waiting for me, calls and translates what is going on and tries to find a number for a tow-truck company. Guillermo calls the towing service and learns that they won`t be coming, so he and Father decide to walk to the far-off toll booth for help.
I can`t help but think that in the States, you might not have a spare tire but you`d probably have a three A`s card. And if you don`t have that, after about a half-hour on the highway, a patrol car would happen by and give you aid. Or there`s 9-1-1.
But, I am not in the States and instead of thinking of ways out of the situation, I think of ways we are in danger. (A target for robbers, potential victims of bad drivers.) At the youth festival yesterday, I had gone to confession as required by a novena that Jessica and I have been saying. I wonder if God wanted me to make peace with him before dying and I think that at least my family has each other and I won`t be leaving behind a despondent spouse like Stephan behind.
Thinks look better when a highway repair service called the Green Angels appear. We tell them to pick up Father and Guillermo and then to return. Jessica calls with numbers for more tow-truck services but Lupita says they won`t come out that far and that everything is under control . A few minutes later, Father and Guillermo return on their own, meaning the Green Angels are looking for them in vain. My cell phone runs out of battery power. The Green Angels fail to resurface and Father tries to flag down cars and I don`t know whether to be more afraid that someone will stop or someone won`t. Lupita and I huddle together and say prayers. Stephan seems adrift and I wish I could comfort him because I bet he`s still only thinking of his late wife. He finds a number for a nephew who lives an hour away and talks to him. Finally the Green Angels appear and begin the process of changing the tire. They set up cones and a light and leave us again for a spare tire. Around 2:30, the car is fixed and we return to the city.
Jessica, my own angel, is awake when we arrive and she has fixed up a bed for Lupita to stay in and made up mine . In the morning, we sleep well past the time she has left the house, and eat homemade muffins she has made for us.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Before all of the mechanical problems, I was thinking of how even though the car full of people had been thrown together, we were operating as a family. Father would be the patriarch, the couple who drove us obedient children, Lupita and I wayward sisters, and Stephan a solitary uncle. At the parish, as when I watched the game, I often feel like I am around family members as everyone participates in food, hugs, and disagreements.
In Mexico, people use the names of family members as terms of endearment, referring to non-blood acquaintances as daughter, son, uncle and aunt. Additionally, Mexicans are much more physically affectionate than Americans and I link arms with, am embraced by and have my back rubbed by people of all ages and sexes. I wonder if the ability to formulate makeshift families and quick bonds with those around them is Mexican a response to the unreliability of the government, social programs and a general sense of time. It seems in Mexico, you can only cling to those are are directly beside you. As I`m learning to tranquilly accept life around me, I`m sure I`m in for many early mornings and and late nights during which to ponder this.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The night before, Soledad (one of the church ladies) had come to our house at 10:00 in order to tell us that Padre was inviting us to the chapel benediction in a small town in the state of Michoacán. The proposal came when we were already exhausted from that day`s events as we had taken a group of young people from the parish to a diocesan youth festival. Different activities had taken place in tune with the lives of Jesus, Mary and Joseph and were categorized by play, prayer and values. We spent the day humiliating ourselves in volleyball, waiting to go to confession, going to Mass, and waiting in line for karaoke. We got lost on the way there and on the busride home, I read a political magazine while the kids and younger chaperons sang and roughhoused. ( I felt old until I realized the scene was similar to bus trips when I was an anti-social teen who ran high school track.) We finally returned to a crowded parish, where the grounds were overflowing with people who had brought their baby dolls to be blessed in honor of the feast of the Presentation of Jesus. We watched the chaos for a while before returning home and Soldedad`s invitation followed.
A few days ago, I decided to give into the fact that life in Mexico--particularly among the poor--is unstructured and random. I realized that if I could be more accepting and go-with-the-flow, I would be happier, instead of grumpy and irritable as I was last week when a jackhammer kept me up until 3 a.m. as workers built street lights at night.
So even though Jessica couldn`t come and I wasn`t sure what the trip would entail, I agreed to go along for the ride. I actually thought it would be good for me to be without Jessica since I rely on her for translation and to explain appropriate cultural behavior.
``Be there at seven on the dot,`` Soledad told me several times, through Jessica, and I got up a little after six to shower and prepare.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A little after seven, Father lets me and Stephan inside the parish, puts on coffee, and wanders off. Stephan cares for a hermitage behind the church that was the home of Santa Fe`s founder. Father thinks the hermitage should be open to the public and he often leads marches to grounds during which parishioners sing, pray and plant crosses. At the gate, Stephan will appear and explain simply and solemnly that you need special government permission to go in. Sometimes, he lets a few stragglers enter.
Face-to-face, Stephan seems sad and I doubt he cares all that much about the hermitage. He tells me that his wife died eight years ago, and today is the anniversary of her death. I think that he is just waiting to join her.
We sit around awkwardly in the kitchen with him wondering, I suppose, what to say to the foreign English-speaking girl who is tagging along on his sacred trip. He tries small talk and says we shouldn`t be gone for long, since it only takes two and half hours to get to his village on public transportation. Soledad breaks the tension by arriving at 7:20 with her chronically late, unemployed and exuberantly cheerful daughter Lupita in tow. I learn Lupita is coming along, which is good since we are the same age and she is friendly. The two of them heat up rice-milk and chatter about the contents of Lupita`s purse. Father returns and Antonio comes in with eyes blurry from sleep. We all sit around drinking hot beverages and eating cookies. Since I`m being accepting, I stop myself from complaining inwardly about arriving at seven and enjoy my second breakfast.
Guillermo and Louisa, two parishioners who I have seen occasionally visiting Father, arrive at 7:50 to take us to the chapel. They are a quiet, sweet married couple who look alike as they both have round, smiling faces, small eyes and jet-black hair. We set off in their van and the scenery changes from the slums of pueblo Santa Fe, to the skyscrapers of new Santa Fe, and then to the country. We drive on windy roads for about two hours and we stop at a barbacoa stand. Everyone but me has tacos and Lupita insists on taking me to a tamale lady for food. Even though I have already had breakfasts and the tamale has cheese in it, I eat one to be sociable.
We make it to Stephan`s hometown where the buildings look like those in pueblo Santa Fe, only spread out and surrounded by grass and fields. We stop at Stephan`s sister`s convenience store and the women end up outside while the men are in the shop. Father calls me in so that I can try some homemade liquor.
Now, I`ve been trying to ease up on drinking and in general I don`t believe in alcohol consumption before noon. But when your priest and a grieving widow want you to join them in a shot, it`s hard to refuse. I sample sweet, sticky blackberry and sassafras mixtures.
We head to the chapel, which is quite pretty, gleaming white, and decorated with flowers, statues and photographs. Father jokes with a small crowd and then leads them in prayer. It is a short benediction and we go on to look around the grounds of Stephan`s house, bless a home under construction and pray at his wife`s grave. It is different from routine and I realize how much I have been missing fresh air and the ability to walk around.
We wrap things up around 12:30 and Father suggests going to the nearby Monarch Butterfly Reserve, which causes Lupita to squeal and clap her hands excitedly. I imagine that we will take a half-hour diversion in order to go to a roadside park full of butterflies. What no one anticipates is that we won`t actually end up getting home until 3:30 in the morning.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A toll both operator gives us directions to the reserve, saying it will be about twenty minutes until we get there. Twenty minutes turns into two hours, during which we repeatably ask for directions and I sleep intermittently. Everyone keeps saying to keep going straight and that we will get there soon. Finally, we see buildings on the highway that look promising--The Butterfly Hotel and restaurants with signs in English that signify tourists go there. A schoolboy tells us to go straight ahead and that we will get to the butterfly reserve in an hour.
We enter another village where we are told to go straight and where we have to pay an entrance fee for a car. Boys plead for pesos and one hangs on to the back of our vehicle. The car treks up a steep mountain full of a multitude of shacks, small houses and donkeys and burros on the streets. This is the lifestyle I expected when I signed up for mission work, but seeing it for the first time is jarring.
After a slow drive, we make it to the parking lot of the butterfly reserve where we learn that it will be a 40-minute walk to actually see the butterflies. Guillermo asks if we all want to go ahead despite this, and at this point, no one can turn back.
During the uphill walk, Lupita and I clutch arms and count steps, alternately in English and Spanish. We lead the way (except for Father who meanders nearby on his own), to Lupita`s credit as her boots have three-inch heels.
The ending point is a restful spot, where, as you would expect, many butterflies fly overhead. However, not as many as I expected because their migration period begins soon. We can closely observe dead insects and those with broken wings, which Lupita and Father are fascinated by. I enjoy the stillness and quietness of the woods, along with my exercise high.
The trip downward is much easier, but we are again confronted by children begging for us to eat at their family restaurants or to give them pesos. They run alongside the car pleading with us. No one acts that desperate in Santa Fe and I wonder if the people in the country are worse off or if they just know they are more likely to get money from tourists. I contemplate whether I should be doing mission work in an area poorer than Santa Fe, than think of how the people I work with have their corporal needs met but are missing family and companionship. Then I think of Washington, DC where there are many social programs to help the poor, but homeless people freeze due to the harsh climate. It`s overwhelming trying to create a formula in which you calculate who is neediest by assessing their lack of money, food, love, company and good weather. I decide you have to help those close to you, accept that it`s something but not enough, and enjoy life where you can.
We drive to a nearby town for dinner and eat at a small restaurant where there are three meal options. The waitresses/cooks/owners take their times serving tables and I have rice and beans and sip cinnamon coffee while everyone else enjoys chicken and mole. Father checks in at the parish to tell the deacon to say evening Mass and to let Jessica know that we will be arriving around 10:00.
Stephan opens up a bit more and says that his work at the hermitage is a distraction for him. He explains that he lives with other retired people.
``Like a monastery,`` Father jokes, as he translates to me.
I think of my house where Jessica and I don`t have television, a computer, boyfriends or heat and where lately, we have been praying every night.
``Mi casa tambien,```I say.
Incidentally, the parish would probably be a VFW hall, similar to those I have been to in Pittsburgh. While I don`t think many of the older handymen who work there have been to war, they are licking the wounds that life has given them, as are the woman without families who spend time there. It felt most like the VFW on Sunday, when I watched the Superbowl in Guillito`s tiny shed in front of the parish, on his black and white TV. Though I am from Western, PA where football reigns, I don`t take much interest in the game unless the Steelers are playing or it`s the Superbowl. So, I had to see the game, which I didn`t really understand because it was translated in Spanish. The guys around me were lost as well, but enjoyed drinking cheap beer, smoking cigarettes and slapping my hand after plays. It was quite similar to bars and clubs I`ve been to with my Dad in Pittsburgh, so I felt nostalgic.
-----------------------------------------------------------
We leave the restaurant around 7:30 and the drive makes me nervous due to the the lack of street lights. I cope by sleeping and am awoken around 10:00 to the sound of the car skidding. Father gets out and deduces that we have a flat tire.
Lupita takes the breakdown in stride and recounts past breakdowns, thanks God we weren`t in an accident, and suggests calling her brothers. They don`t pick up and more calls are made, to tow-truck companies who don`t want to travel out far to get us. One finally agrees to come, within 20 minutes. It still hasn`t come after 30 minutes and Jessica, who has gotten nervous waiting for me, calls and translates what is going on and tries to find a number for a tow-truck company. Guillermo calls the towing service and learns that they won`t be coming, so he and Father decide to walk to the far-off toll booth for help.
I can`t help but think that in the States, you might not have a spare tire but you`d probably have a three A`s card. And if you don`t have that, after about a half-hour on the highway, a patrol car would happen by and give you aid. Or there`s 9-1-1.
But, I am not in the States and instead of thinking of ways out of the situation, I think of ways we are in danger. (A target for robbers, potential victims of bad drivers.) At the youth festival yesterday, I had gone to confession as required by a novena that Jessica and I have been saying. I wonder if God wanted me to make peace with him before dying and I think that at least my family has each other and I won`t be leaving behind a despondent spouse like Stephan behind.
Thinks look better when a highway repair service called the Green Angels appear. We tell them to pick up Father and Guillermo and then to return. Jessica calls with numbers for more tow-truck services but Lupita says they won`t come out that far and that everything is under control . A few minutes later, Father and Guillermo return on their own, meaning the Green Angels are looking for them in vain. My cell phone runs out of battery power. The Green Angels fail to resurface and Father tries to flag down cars and I don`t know whether to be more afraid that someone will stop or someone won`t. Lupita and I huddle together and say prayers. Stephan seems adrift and I wish I could comfort him because I bet he`s still only thinking of his late wife. He finds a number for a nephew who lives an hour away and talks to him. Finally the Green Angels appear and begin the process of changing the tire. They set up cones and a light and leave us again for a spare tire. Around 2:30, the car is fixed and we return to the city.
Jessica, my own angel, is awake when we arrive and she has fixed up a bed for Lupita to stay in and made up mine . In the morning, we sleep well past the time she has left the house, and eat homemade muffins she has made for us.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Before all of the mechanical problems, I was thinking of how even though the car full of people had been thrown together, we were operating as a family. Father would be the patriarch, the couple who drove us obedient children, Lupita and I wayward sisters, and Stephan a solitary uncle. At the parish, as when I watched the game, I often feel like I am around family members as everyone participates in food, hugs, and disagreements.
In Mexico, people use the names of family members as terms of endearment, referring to non-blood acquaintances as daughter, son, uncle and aunt. Additionally, Mexicans are much more physically affectionate than Americans and I link arms with, am embraced by and have my back rubbed by people of all ages and sexes. I wonder if the ability to formulate makeshift families and quick bonds with those around them is Mexican a response to the unreliability of the government, social programs and a general sense of time. It seems in Mexico, you can only cling to those are are directly beside you. As I`m learning to tranquilly accept life around me, I`m sure I`m in for many early mornings and and late nights during which to ponder this.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
