March 08, 2006
3/8/06
Days are long here, and when you visit a lot of people, you have to eat a lot of food. I must have had about six meals yesterday. But we went to a lot of cool places, met a lot of wonderful people, and saw some beautiful sights. I'm kinda paying now for how much I ate yesterday though I think. It's a bit difficult -- you have to balance gratitude for hospitality (shown by eating the food), with wisdom in knowing how much you can handle when you still have three more meals to eat in the next four hours. Luckily, the portions are not too large. There seems to be a kind of rhythm to a visit -- when we get wherever we're going, there is a warm round of welcomes, with handshakes, hugs, and kisses occasionally. Then the wife (or wives if it's a community, not a home) go off to the kitchen to start preparing some kind of food. Once in a while if there is a daughter old enough she will have this task, and the mother will stay with her husband to talk, get news, and share what's happening with her as well. These meal-snacks can be as simple as a soda or café de olla and cookies if the visit doesn't fall anywhere near a mealtime, or as elaborate as a complete meal. As an example, the last family we visited last night before we headed back to San Cristobal, in Chilon I think it was, made friend plantains for us -- well, the teenage daughter did. It's not like whoever is cooking goes far away though -- most residences are fairly small (though some are quite large -- the socioeconomic strata, if that's how you could describe it, is vast, and often exists next door to one another), and so the woman is making the food usually just a few steps from the dining table that we sit at to visit. One story that Chuck has to keep retelling over and over is that of Emiliano's murder. Everyone seems shocked by it, but in a way, not really. Religious violence is somewhat common here -- not quite as bad as the Catholics and Protestants in Ireland, but similar at times. The town we are in at the moment, Chalchihuitan, is part of the...county, I guess would be equivalent,... where back when there was an uprising and the people kicked all the catholic priests out (or killed them), they also took a sixteen year old boy and crucified him, to kind of make their own version of Christianity, combining their old ways with some of what they had learned from the Catholic church. Nowadays, they still have this combined practice, which includes having what amounts to witch doctors in their church, who will divine why whatever is wrong with you is happening, and if it is a curse, they will take and do some kind of opposing incantation, or sacrifice a chicken, or various other things like that. These kind of religious buildings are marked by a grouping of four or five blue wooden crosses, usually about five or six feet tall, that have circles beyond the ends of the cross points. Actually, I'm sitting in the van right now, because Chuck and a couple of other guys are having a pretty serious conversation and making lots of plans, and I can't follow along at all. I didn't notice when we parked, but there is actually a grouping of the blue crosses right behind the van, five of them, cemented into the ground just to the side of the road. What's interesting though, is that even though there is this history of this created religion here, mixed from Catholic and ancient pagan type of practices, there is also a decently strong Christian presence here as well. And that's why we're here.
As for all we did yesterday, I hardly know where to begin. Well...we had had the day pretty much planned out, but then all the plans fell out. We we're going to Chilon to meet a woman who could direct us to the house of the pastor there, but she had though we we're coming the day before, and so had actually gone to Yajalon (where we had just come from) to visit someone. There was something else we we're going to do, that didn't work out either, so we were just going to get an early start back to San Cristobal to have some down time, when Chuck saw someone he knew from way back when. He and his wife and daughter were waiting for their ride to get back home (there are pickup trucks here with a kind of cage built over them, open in the back, that people ride on and in kind of like buses). But, Chuck offered to give them a ride, and so the adventure began. They lived in Tacuba Nueva, which is a small town that Chuck had wanted to visit, but it is way out in the middle of nowhere, about thirteen miles or so along a narrow (we almost slid off once, because it was a loooong way down), extremely windy, pothole decorated dirt road. It took something close to an hour to get there, and the ride made a trek on a camel look like a Sunday jaunt in a Cadillac. Actually, the way my neck was reacting to the holes makes me think of that rap song lyric, "Break ya neck." In truth, it was fun though, and you learn to roll with the flow.
The village, well town actually, though it almost feels like a village, was smallish and simple, mostly board houses where we went, but the people were wonderful. We got there and Chuck greeted all the people that he hasn't seen in two years, and we were shown their new church (btw, I have pictures of all this stuff I'm talking about), and the guys started talking. I follow what I can, and if it's general stuff, I do alright, but complicated stuff I don't get enough to really make sense of what is happening. So, I went out and did like often do, which is to make friends with the kids. Language barriers become much smaller somehow. They, of course, were quite shy around me, and kept running around corners and bushes, then creep back to see if I was still there. I'm guessing they don't see too many gringos there. Finally, one of the little girls who was carrying around her younger brother left him where I could snap a shot. I have to say, cameras are the greatest ice breakers, especially digital cameras. Slowly, one by one, the kids became curious about what I was doing, and I guess about why after each click I was looking at the back of my camera. One of the little girls came forward, and I asked her if I could take her picture, and she nodded yes (I asked by pointing at the camera, and then at her), and I did, and then showed it to her. This sent her into a fit of giggles, which brought one of her friends over, and the process was repeated, and before I knew it I had at least two dozen kids rioting around me, calling out "Hermano, hermano," trying to get my attention to take their picture. I would point to where I wanted them to go, saying, "Aqui," and they would rush over like a school of fish, and then try to elbow their way to the front. After they heard the snap, they would all rush back en masse, crowding around the little 1.8" screen trying to see themselves, laughing the whole time. After a couple of attempts at posing them, and a whole bunch of just point and shoots (I ended up just switching to auto on the camera, so a lot of the pics are just snapshots), I finally got them to sort of line up and pose one at a time for a photo. One of the grandma types came out of the kitchen/eating area to see what was going on, and the kids convinced her to let me take her photo as well. She stood there stoic and unsmiling for the shot, but at the snap she broke out in laughter, so I snapped again and caught it -- it's one of my favorite shots, and something I really wanted, as she was dressed in the traditional garb of the area (it's a Tzeltal area, more old-school than Yajalon). Anyway, I knew how hard it was for the kids to see their pictures, so I grabbed my computer form the car and downloaded them and out it on slideshow so everyone could see the pictures. That gave me a chance to go inside one of the buildings, the kitchen/eating area actually, and I was really glad I did because the women were inside making fresh tortillas over an open fire. I'd wanted to see this, but in town this is all automated in little tortillarias (they use a machine to make their tortiallas, which actually is kind of like a fortune cookie machine) that actually deliver the tortiallas (wrapped up in the ubiquitous pale pink paper) to your house for 60 pesos a kilo (it works out to about 2 cents a tortilla -- and these are all the small, corn type). Tortillas are served pretty much with every meal, and often take the place of silverware. I haven't mastered that yet -- chopsticks are way easier.
Anyway, back to Tacuba Nueva -- watching the woman make the tortillas was very cool, and I think I got a couple of good shots with some nice lighting -- there are cracks between the boards in the wall, so some light was coming in through there, and also through the open parts of the roof, and also from the fire. I think it was pretty cool. The women go pretty self-conscious quickly though, and when the kids noticed I was shooting again the ran over to try to get in the shots, so I only got a couple of the tortilla process, but still, it was quite cool. Speaking of cool, when I came into the building to download to my computer, the kids got me a frozen popsicle type treat that was quite yummy -- I think it was basically just frozen water and coconut, maybe with some coconut milk, but it was really good.
You know, something else that has really surprised me is that fact that souther Mexico is so absolutely lush and verdant. In the plane flying down to Mexico City all we saw was desert, which is what I've always thought of Mexico as having, but once we got out of there and headed south, the landscape has just gotten greener and greener. I don't think it quite is able to be classified as a tropical rainforest, but it's a far sight from the deserts of the north.
I keep getting off my topic, which is Tacuba Nueva. I'm not sure what else to say though -- it's just a really wonderful place. Like Chuck said, one of the hardest parts of the job is having so little time to spend in to many places. For the people, their life is pretty much the same day in and day out, and so someone from the outside visting is a big deal, and when you can only stay two hours or so, it feels kind of anticlimactic -- I mean, we pretty much drove for as long as we stayed there. Don't get me wrong though, even if the people down here lead simple lives, they are by no means simple and uneducated. One fo the houses we stayed at, their eighth grader was working on her physics and chemistry homework. In general, it seems that the Mexican education system is one of the better ones in the world. Life down here is just different, much more relational, much more family-oriented. Life is much more about the group rather than the individual.
(If the description of real-life violence offends you, don't read the next two paragraphs)
I mentioned religious violence, and I've alluded to Emiliano's death, which turned out to be a murder, but I haven't elaborated on it yet. Basically, Emiliano was the president of the missions group down here that Chuck is a part of, but he also was a kind of leader in his community, and as part of that he was asked to act as a kind of security, along with his brother and cousin, at a town celebration. Someone got drunk and was shooting a pistol in the air, kind of towards the celebration, so Emiliano and his brother and cousin went and disarmed him and put him in some kind of holding cell, presumably to sleep it off. His family heard about what happened, for some reason became enraged about it, and came and found Emiliano and his brother and cousin, and beat them. Emiliano and his brother both died as a result. The thing is that the police, very likely, will do nothing about it. Down here it's all about connections and who you know, and being a Christian is really not popular in certain areas. About 50% or more (the government has admitted to the 50% figure) of the police force is corrupt, and you have to grease the hands of the right people to get anything done, or know the right people [like have your son married to the police chief's daughter, or something like that]. And money down here is a real scarcity -- the average wage (there is a huge disparity, but we're talking average here) is about three dollars a day. Some people make a lot less. For example, today we passed by number of houses that were drying coffee beans in the front yard, and Chuck was saying they might only be able to produce two 100 pound bags per year, which sells at about 80 cents a pound. That 160 bucks might be supplemented to a degree with construction work in town, or something like that, but really, that's the base salary for a lot of people. So, you can see how getting money to get the police interested could be really difficult for his family and community. The thing Chuck worries about is how his family will be able to handle it. Just think how difficult it would be to sit by and watch the people who murdered your father get off scot-free, with the police doing nothing. It's a really difficult situation, with no easy answers.
There is another somewhat related story actually, that pastor Jose was telling the congregation this last Sunday when we first got down here, that Chuck explained to me just the other day when he realized I hadn't caught what was going on. In a neighboring town, I'm not sure where, a man was kidnapped, not for money, but because he was a Christian. His kidnappers took him out to the woods, tied him to a tree, and hacked at him with machetes. They took a large chunk out of his thigh, and cut his arms up pretty bad also. Then they left him there. When he was almost dead, they came and got him, and threw him out on the ground in front of his house. His family found him and took him to get medical help, and he's gotten a good bit better and it looks like he'll live, but he'll probably never walk again. So yeah, there's a price for being a Christian, and in some parts of the world it can be your life. Just a little reminder.
---Okay, leaving the stories of violence now.
One of the big things that sets Christians apart down here is not drinking. Alcoholism is a huge issue down here (the first couple of people I saw passed out on the side of the road I thought were dead, till I realized that they were passed out. Actually, last night on the drive back to San Cristobal we stopped when we saw a guy passed out right in the middle of the highway, that gets driven on at about 65-70 miles an hour. I was driving, and luckily already slowing before I even saw him, because I thought there was a topé coming up [topés are really harsh speedbumps that you need to go over at a crawl -- they have them on each side of each little town that sits on the highway, and several within the towns as well], and so I didn't even get close to hitting him, but he literally was passed out in the middle of the road. I stopped the car and Chuck got out and dragged him off to the side to sleep it off. Even that's kind of dangerous though, because if they wake up they might think you're trying to rob them or something, or just try to attack you if they don't know what's going on. This guy was pretty out of it though -- I pray he made it okay) -- okay, that was a really long insertion of information. Anyway, alcoholism is a big issue. Sociologists have kind of linked it possibly to the historical use of alcohol in indigenous culture, where is was used as a means of having a "religious experience" -- getting drunk, having dreams and visions, etc. The point is that drinking was always done to get drunk. It used to be a very controlled thing though, only done at times of religious festivals and such. So, some people reason, that's why down here the only reason you drink is to get drunk. It's been likened to the use of peyote by Native Americans in certain of their religious practices.
Beyond that, there is really a whole spirit of subjugation down here, that expresses itself in many ways, and seems to be rooted in the fact that the people of Mexico have been conquered so many times, and so brutally, historically. There is a slow change happening, I think, but especially in the older generation, or in the more traditional families, they don't look you in the eye, but rather keep their head bowed down. They look away when you look at them. The handshake is a constant presence, especially when meeting anyone new, but it is weak and limp, almost more of a brush. I'm kind of getting into a whole can of sociological, economic, historic, and a whole mess of other issue that I don't fully understand, but I'm just relating what I've learned, been told, and observed myself.
One thing that can't be denied is the amazing hospitality everyone down here has shown us. In the states it's all about quantity, flash, show, and social standing. Down here, it's about quality, content, realness, and relationships. The kids down here are some of the poorest you'll ever see. I watched some today that were using a string tied around one end of a woven plastic type of bag, like something you'd buy a hundred pounds of rice in, to give each other rides along the pothole filled street. They are poor in so many senses of the word, but they are rich in family, in the time their parents spend with them, in love, and in knowing they are loved. So many of the conceptions we have of Mexico and it's people are false, and not every place is poor and destitute. Poverty does not equal laziness, nor does it equal unintelligence. The culture down here is different, but there are certain aspects of it that I'd like to see incorporated into my life, and some parts of my life that I'd like to see become part of life down here. You have to realize though that it's not your job to change people, but to love them. That's what Chuck being down here is all about.
In Agape...
Days are long here, and when you visit a lot of people, you have to eat a lot of food. I must have had about six meals yesterday. But we went to a lot of cool places, met a lot of wonderful people, and saw some beautiful sights. I'm kinda paying now for how much I ate yesterday though I think. It's a bit difficult -- you have to balance gratitude for hospitality (shown by eating the food), with wisdom in knowing how much you can handle when you still have three more meals to eat in the next four hours. Luckily, the portions are not too large. There seems to be a kind of rhythm to a visit -- when we get wherever we're going, there is a warm round of welcomes, with handshakes, hugs, and kisses occasionally. Then the wife (or wives if it's a community, not a home) go off to the kitchen to start preparing some kind of food. Once in a while if there is a daughter old enough she will have this task, and the mother will stay with her husband to talk, get news, and share what's happening with her as well. These meal-snacks can be as simple as a soda or café de olla and cookies if the visit doesn't fall anywhere near a mealtime, or as elaborate as a complete meal. As an example, the last family we visited last night before we headed back to San Cristobal, in Chilon I think it was, made friend plantains for us -- well, the teenage daughter did. It's not like whoever is cooking goes far away though -- most residences are fairly small (though some are quite large -- the socioeconomic strata, if that's how you could describe it, is vast, and often exists next door to one another), and so the woman is making the food usually just a few steps from the dining table that we sit at to visit. One story that Chuck has to keep retelling over and over is that of Emiliano's murder. Everyone seems shocked by it, but in a way, not really. Religious violence is somewhat common here -- not quite as bad as the Catholics and Protestants in Ireland, but similar at times. The town we are in at the moment, Chalchihuitan, is part of the...county, I guess would be equivalent,... where back when there was an uprising and the people kicked all the catholic priests out (or killed them), they also took a sixteen year old boy and crucified him, to kind of make their own version of Christianity, combining their old ways with some of what they had learned from the Catholic church. Nowadays, they still have this combined practice, which includes having what amounts to witch doctors in their church, who will divine why whatever is wrong with you is happening, and if it is a curse, they will take and do some kind of opposing incantation, or sacrifice a chicken, or various other things like that. These kind of religious buildings are marked by a grouping of four or five blue wooden crosses, usually about five or six feet tall, that have circles beyond the ends of the cross points. Actually, I'm sitting in the van right now, because Chuck and a couple of other guys are having a pretty serious conversation and making lots of plans, and I can't follow along at all. I didn't notice when we parked, but there is actually a grouping of the blue crosses right behind the van, five of them, cemented into the ground just to the side of the road. What's interesting though, is that even though there is this history of this created religion here, mixed from Catholic and ancient pagan type of practices, there is also a decently strong Christian presence here as well. And that's why we're here.
As for all we did yesterday, I hardly know where to begin. Well...we had had the day pretty much planned out, but then all the plans fell out. We we're going to Chilon to meet a woman who could direct us to the house of the pastor there, but she had though we we're coming the day before, and so had actually gone to Yajalon (where we had just come from) to visit someone. There was something else we we're going to do, that didn't work out either, so we were just going to get an early start back to San Cristobal to have some down time, when Chuck saw someone he knew from way back when. He and his wife and daughter were waiting for their ride to get back home (there are pickup trucks here with a kind of cage built over them, open in the back, that people ride on and in kind of like buses). But, Chuck offered to give them a ride, and so the adventure began. They lived in Tacuba Nueva, which is a small town that Chuck had wanted to visit, but it is way out in the middle of nowhere, about thirteen miles or so along a narrow (we almost slid off once, because it was a loooong way down), extremely windy, pothole decorated dirt road. It took something close to an hour to get there, and the ride made a trek on a camel look like a Sunday jaunt in a Cadillac. Actually, the way my neck was reacting to the holes makes me think of that rap song lyric, "Break ya neck." In truth, it was fun though, and you learn to roll with the flow.
The village, well town actually, though it almost feels like a village, was smallish and simple, mostly board houses where we went, but the people were wonderful. We got there and Chuck greeted all the people that he hasn't seen in two years, and we were shown their new church (btw, I have pictures of all this stuff I'm talking about), and the guys started talking. I follow what I can, and if it's general stuff, I do alright, but complicated stuff I don't get enough to really make sense of what is happening. So, I went out and did like often do, which is to make friends with the kids. Language barriers become much smaller somehow. They, of course, were quite shy around me, and kept running around corners and bushes, then creep back to see if I was still there. I'm guessing they don't see too many gringos there. Finally, one of the little girls who was carrying around her younger brother left him where I could snap a shot. I have to say, cameras are the greatest ice breakers, especially digital cameras. Slowly, one by one, the kids became curious about what I was doing, and I guess about why after each click I was looking at the back of my camera. One of the little girls came forward, and I asked her if I could take her picture, and she nodded yes (I asked by pointing at the camera, and then at her), and I did, and then showed it to her. This sent her into a fit of giggles, which brought one of her friends over, and the process was repeated, and before I knew it I had at least two dozen kids rioting around me, calling out "Hermano, hermano," trying to get my attention to take their picture. I would point to where I wanted them to go, saying, "Aqui," and they would rush over like a school of fish, and then try to elbow their way to the front. After they heard the snap, they would all rush back en masse, crowding around the little 1.8" screen trying to see themselves, laughing the whole time. After a couple of attempts at posing them, and a whole bunch of just point and shoots (I ended up just switching to auto on the camera, so a lot of the pics are just snapshots), I finally got them to sort of line up and pose one at a time for a photo. One of the grandma types came out of the kitchen/eating area to see what was going on, and the kids convinced her to let me take her photo as well. She stood there stoic and unsmiling for the shot, but at the snap she broke out in laughter, so I snapped again and caught it -- it's one of my favorite shots, and something I really wanted, as she was dressed in the traditional garb of the area (it's a Tzeltal area, more old-school than Yajalon). Anyway, I knew how hard it was for the kids to see their pictures, so I grabbed my computer form the car and downloaded them and out it on slideshow so everyone could see the pictures. That gave me a chance to go inside one of the buildings, the kitchen/eating area actually, and I was really glad I did because the women were inside making fresh tortillas over an open fire. I'd wanted to see this, but in town this is all automated in little tortillarias (they use a machine to make their tortiallas, which actually is kind of like a fortune cookie machine) that actually deliver the tortiallas (wrapped up in the ubiquitous pale pink paper) to your house for 60 pesos a kilo (it works out to about 2 cents a tortilla -- and these are all the small, corn type). Tortillas are served pretty much with every meal, and often take the place of silverware. I haven't mastered that yet -- chopsticks are way easier.
Anyway, back to Tacuba Nueva -- watching the woman make the tortillas was very cool, and I think I got a couple of good shots with some nice lighting -- there are cracks between the boards in the wall, so some light was coming in through there, and also through the open parts of the roof, and also from the fire. I think it was pretty cool. The women go pretty self-conscious quickly though, and when the kids noticed I was shooting again the ran over to try to get in the shots, so I only got a couple of the tortilla process, but still, it was quite cool. Speaking of cool, when I came into the building to download to my computer, the kids got me a frozen popsicle type treat that was quite yummy -- I think it was basically just frozen water and coconut, maybe with some coconut milk, but it was really good.
You know, something else that has really surprised me is that fact that souther Mexico is so absolutely lush and verdant. In the plane flying down to Mexico City all we saw was desert, which is what I've always thought of Mexico as having, but once we got out of there and headed south, the landscape has just gotten greener and greener. I don't think it quite is able to be classified as a tropical rainforest, but it's a far sight from the deserts of the north.
I keep getting off my topic, which is Tacuba Nueva. I'm not sure what else to say though -- it's just a really wonderful place. Like Chuck said, one of the hardest parts of the job is having so little time to spend in to many places. For the people, their life is pretty much the same day in and day out, and so someone from the outside visting is a big deal, and when you can only stay two hours or so, it feels kind of anticlimactic -- I mean, we pretty much drove for as long as we stayed there. Don't get me wrong though, even if the people down here lead simple lives, they are by no means simple and uneducated. One fo the houses we stayed at, their eighth grader was working on her physics and chemistry homework. In general, it seems that the Mexican education system is one of the better ones in the world. Life down here is just different, much more relational, much more family-oriented. Life is much more about the group rather than the individual.
(If the description of real-life violence offends you, don't read the next two paragraphs)
I mentioned religious violence, and I've alluded to Emiliano's death, which turned out to be a murder, but I haven't elaborated on it yet. Basically, Emiliano was the president of the missions group down here that Chuck is a part of, but he also was a kind of leader in his community, and as part of that he was asked to act as a kind of security, along with his brother and cousin, at a town celebration. Someone got drunk and was shooting a pistol in the air, kind of towards the celebration, so Emiliano and his brother and cousin went and disarmed him and put him in some kind of holding cell, presumably to sleep it off. His family heard about what happened, for some reason became enraged about it, and came and found Emiliano and his brother and cousin, and beat them. Emiliano and his brother both died as a result. The thing is that the police, very likely, will do nothing about it. Down here it's all about connections and who you know, and being a Christian is really not popular in certain areas. About 50% or more (the government has admitted to the 50% figure) of the police force is corrupt, and you have to grease the hands of the right people to get anything done, or know the right people [like have your son married to the police chief's daughter, or something like that]. And money down here is a real scarcity -- the average wage (there is a huge disparity, but we're talking average here) is about three dollars a day. Some people make a lot less. For example, today we passed by number of houses that were drying coffee beans in the front yard, and Chuck was saying they might only be able to produce two 100 pound bags per year, which sells at about 80 cents a pound. That 160 bucks might be supplemented to a degree with construction work in town, or something like that, but really, that's the base salary for a lot of people. So, you can see how getting money to get the police interested could be really difficult for his family and community. The thing Chuck worries about is how his family will be able to handle it. Just think how difficult it would be to sit by and watch the people who murdered your father get off scot-free, with the police doing nothing. It's a really difficult situation, with no easy answers.
There is another somewhat related story actually, that pastor Jose was telling the congregation this last Sunday when we first got down here, that Chuck explained to me just the other day when he realized I hadn't caught what was going on. In a neighboring town, I'm not sure where, a man was kidnapped, not for money, but because he was a Christian. His kidnappers took him out to the woods, tied him to a tree, and hacked at him with machetes. They took a large chunk out of his thigh, and cut his arms up pretty bad also. Then they left him there. When he was almost dead, they came and got him, and threw him out on the ground in front of his house. His family found him and took him to get medical help, and he's gotten a good bit better and it looks like he'll live, but he'll probably never walk again. So yeah, there's a price for being a Christian, and in some parts of the world it can be your life. Just a little reminder.
---Okay, leaving the stories of violence now.
One of the big things that sets Christians apart down here is not drinking. Alcoholism is a huge issue down here (the first couple of people I saw passed out on the side of the road I thought were dead, till I realized that they were passed out. Actually, last night on the drive back to San Cristobal we stopped when we saw a guy passed out right in the middle of the highway, that gets driven on at about 65-70 miles an hour. I was driving, and luckily already slowing before I even saw him, because I thought there was a topé coming up [topés are really harsh speedbumps that you need to go over at a crawl -- they have them on each side of each little town that sits on the highway, and several within the towns as well], and so I didn't even get close to hitting him, but he literally was passed out in the middle of the road. I stopped the car and Chuck got out and dragged him off to the side to sleep it off. Even that's kind of dangerous though, because if they wake up they might think you're trying to rob them or something, or just try to attack you if they don't know what's going on. This guy was pretty out of it though -- I pray he made it okay) -- okay, that was a really long insertion of information. Anyway, alcoholism is a big issue. Sociologists have kind of linked it possibly to the historical use of alcohol in indigenous culture, where is was used as a means of having a "religious experience" -- getting drunk, having dreams and visions, etc. The point is that drinking was always done to get drunk. It used to be a very controlled thing though, only done at times of religious festivals and such. So, some people reason, that's why down here the only reason you drink is to get drunk. It's been likened to the use of peyote by Native Americans in certain of their religious practices.
Beyond that, there is really a whole spirit of subjugation down here, that expresses itself in many ways, and seems to be rooted in the fact that the people of Mexico have been conquered so many times, and so brutally, historically. There is a slow change happening, I think, but especially in the older generation, or in the more traditional families, they don't look you in the eye, but rather keep their head bowed down. They look away when you look at them. The handshake is a constant presence, especially when meeting anyone new, but it is weak and limp, almost more of a brush. I'm kind of getting into a whole can of sociological, economic, historic, and a whole mess of other issue that I don't fully understand, but I'm just relating what I've learned, been told, and observed myself.
One thing that can't be denied is the amazing hospitality everyone down here has shown us. In the states it's all about quantity, flash, show, and social standing. Down here, it's about quality, content, realness, and relationships. The kids down here are some of the poorest you'll ever see. I watched some today that were using a string tied around one end of a woven plastic type of bag, like something you'd buy a hundred pounds of rice in, to give each other rides along the pothole filled street. They are poor in so many senses of the word, but they are rich in family, in the time their parents spend with them, in love, and in knowing they are loved. So many of the conceptions we have of Mexico and it's people are false, and not every place is poor and destitute. Poverty does not equal laziness, nor does it equal unintelligence. The culture down here is different, but there are certain aspects of it that I'd like to see incorporated into my life, and some parts of my life that I'd like to see become part of life down here. You have to realize though that it's not your job to change people, but to love them. That's what Chuck being down here is all about.
In Agape...
