Fred
Allebach 11/6/01
Going
to Mexico
Before crossing the border I could feel my Spanish
start to well up in anticipation of a sea change in my surroundings. I feel at
home in Mexico, immediately then, I made friends with 2 or 3 folks at the 21
kilometer checkpoint, went to a store in Magdalena where the dueña remembered
me from last year. A lot came back to me quickly. Even though I am a gringo, I
have an alter identity that is part Mexican, that knows and appreciates the
life ways there. When we got to the Sierra, Iris observed that “all the words
run together”, that she can understand TV Spanish but this Sierra accent was
tough for her to get. Se comen las palabras. Even though Panchita in Hermosillo
can talk faster than anyone I’ve ever heard, she articulates so well she can be
mostly understood. In the Sierra when they talk fast or mumble, you are lost. I
bend my ear and catch the gist of it, better as the days go by. After a year of
studying Spanish in Hermosillo in 1998, I went to the Sierra alone and found I
could barely understand anything. Now I am speaking with something of a Sierra
accent myself. Apparently 16th century Spanish has been frozen in
the Sierra, due to lack of contacts, the people there speak Spanish as it may
have been 400 or more years ago.
The fields were green and the desert too, more than
around Tucson, effects of the recent hurricane rains. The hurricane blew out Guaymas and San
Carlos, causing much damage. The storm did get to the Sierra but with less
strength. Arriving in Hermosillo, mi domecilio, I navigated and remembered many
places and the people connected with them. Especially nice were the sincere
smiles and attention of Lucy’s family. As the group debriefed I talked with
Lucy (Luz Maria Sandoval Navarro) for a
good while and caught up on the news, many people to ask about that were/ are
part of my net down there.
I flash on how Americans in many respects keep
themselves hidden interpersonally, holding cards close, reticent, guarded,
calculated, well, that is a large generalization, perhaps a better sweep is
that northern Mexicans live out front, en la calle, much more socially
oriented, Americans stay inside, in their back yard, shades drawn. It’s a
public/ private thing.
Adéle Miraz Lopez (52 years old)
Her eyes are only a little better, muy poco she said,
after two operations. She has kidney problems, problems with salt and swelling
of her legs from fluid retention. The doctor says her eyes will recover only
very slowly. She is due for another doctors date in Hermosillo on November 12th.
Lucy has helped her by getting used clothes for her to sell at the flea market
in Yécora and has visited her a number of times in Yécora. We brought up a big
duffle bag and two large boxes of clothes for her. Adéle doesn’t always have
the resources to get her medications, has a poor diet, her husband Lupeto is an
alcoholic but with a heart of gold. Her kitchen is a mess of food all over the
floor, flies, trashed back yard, not hygienic in the least bit. I walked in and
found her out back doing dishes, knowing she couldn’t see, I said “hola Adéle,
Johnny Machaca está” and she responded with delight, “ay, Machaca” and a big
hug. After a brief bit of felicity at our arrival, she broke the news that
Carlos had died three days earlier in a car accident, he was cut in two and
that things in Trigo were muy triste ahora. That makes Hilario and now Carlos
that I will visit in the cemetery at Trigo Moreno. Carlos was the husband of
Iréne, whose house we made pastries in and who had the cute daughters peeking
from behind the curtain. Adéle said that her blood sugar is under control.
Adéle and I have been friends for a while, since my
first Trigo project in 1996. I stayed with her for ten days during the Semana
Santa in Yécora in 1998. She is very religious, yet resigned and accepting of
her fate, lo que Díos bendiga. She is surely suffering, yet she carries on
through what life has delivered her. I suppose people need to find some way to
name and handle life’s changes, it’s coming at you. How interesting the ways in
which people see it.
Puerta
de La Cruz to Bermudes
The road in was way rough, extremely rough, we had to
go really slow with new vans that had very low clearance. My truck did fine. At
la casa de la Doña Tila we were invited in for coffee and as I sat at the table
there was a bowl with what looked like sugar, but it was salt, I loaded in a
big spoonful for the rest of the drive, took a sip and whoa!, everyone got a
good laugh from that. One of the sons had cut his leg with a chainsaw and had a
big bandage with a bloody spot, ni modo, he was smiling and life went on. We
had Doña Tila call Mesa de Abajo on the CB radio and found that José Luis was
in El Cordón, the Doña called there and José Luis came down to get us in his
cattle truck. He arrived and we loaded in all the gear, saving some for my
truck to give traction. On the way up I needed to stay close so as to not lose
my way and sucked a lot of dust. The truck was beaten badly on the rocks and I
got a flat tire. We arrived in La Mesa to a nice welcome, even though everyone
was asleep. Rosa made us quesadillas and we got settled in for the night.
Bean
Harvest
We wake up early to go harvest beans, in rocky fields,
some group people with some families, trying to mete out our resources with
their needs. There are politics involved as to who gets the most labor out of
the gringos, it is a delicate matter. I wake at 5:AM, the stars are out, the
moon, full moon, so nice, full of nature, yet people too. The vistas of the Sierra were grand and
clear, the air still and tranquil, crisp and beautiful. The sunrises are so
clean and subtle, the Sierra stretches in all directions. We walked a song to
the rhythm of the harvest. The harvesting starts as early as possible, at
daybreak when the dew and humidity are high and the beans don’t pop open. You
pull the beans out by the main stalk, grabbing as many as you can in one hand,
not worrying if you get other plants in there as well. Many times the beans are
hidden by tall grass and other plants and you have to feel down in there,
listen for the sound of a bean plant and grab it sight unseen. You need to get
them all and not step on any either. The roots should all be pointing the same
direction. Then you transfer the bunch to the other hand and repeat the process
until the other hand is full of beans, in a good size bundle, with all roots in
the center of the bundle, which is then laid down in rows along lines of corn
that is especially planted in rows for markers, for more efficient picking and
placement of the harvested bundles. The bundles are laid down roots up, so that
later when you go to grab them for threshing, they all hang together. When
enough beans are out in bundles, it is time to thresh. We go out with small
tarps and stuff in as many bean bundles as possible and then carry them back to
a truck or to a way bigger tarp laid out in the field. Either back at home or
in the field, the beans are laid out in an even pile all along the big tarp
maybe 20 to 30 feet long. The tarps are made from fiberglass sacks sewn
together in a huge quilt. Then they drive over the pile back and forth with the
cattle truck to break open the pods. After the first series of passes, special
wooden forked sticks are used to thresh the husks, which are thrown up into the
air and the beans fall to the bottom. The whole mass is threshed with care
taken to pick up all the plants and throw them in the air. Then the pile is
arranged again and the truck driven over in another series of passes, which by
then, has the whole mass pretty well flattened. Now, the final threshing, after
which the husks are taken to storage sheds for cattle feed. What is left is a
lot of beans with fine chaff, which is broomed up with cut, green leafed
branches of oak or cussi. Then the tarp is pulled up and the beans fall to the
center in a big pile. A three gallon metal container is used to pour the beans
into a canvas or metal pail, where the wind then separates the fine chaff out.
This goes on and on until the men decide that it is clean enough. (The families
do the final cleaning in the kitchen, separating out bad beans and rocks. The
beans are mostly all bayos, greenish in color, but some look like pintos,
others red, others slick grey and some black. The variety is fun to look at and
I picked through the piles as if I was hunting sea shells.) Different guys go
about the process differently, José Luis being the best I saw. Three 3 gallon
containers make up a sack that weighs about 100 pounds. The pouring of the
beans into the sack is meticulous, as the quantity is known and later used as a
measure for resale or sharing among families. Different folks really like the
bayo beans, others like pinto or mayocoba, people will pay more for beans they
like and the villagers know what regions like their beans and where they will
get the highest price. It generally takes about three sacks to feed a family of
four for a year and two to three sacks to use for sowing the next year. They
save some sacks out for bad years and sell the rest. Off in the distance are fields
of harvested corn set into circular bundles called monos. The monos really
catch a feeling of being in touch with 1000's of years of harvesting, straight
out of a Peter Breugal painting, the men walking through the fields with huge
bundles of beans over their backs. The corn bundles dot the fields near and
far, appearing as if to be people, entities.
On my first day of harvesting, I had breakfast at José
Luis’. Rosa cooked eggs, with homemade cheese, butter, beans and tortillas, with the ever present
instant coffee and sugar. They all are way curious what we have to say about el
bin Laden y el Taliban. Everyone wants to know what I think and I give them my
two cents worth. After a good chat and question and answer session, I went out
and Tomás and I fixed our flat tires, mine with glue and a big screw into the
hole. Walking out to the street, Eberrardo and Máximo drove by and invited me
to go thresh. I went and afterwards was invited to Máximos house where Elea
cooked up an incredibly good meal of steak, tamales de elote, limes, cheese,
salsa, and coffee with fresh milk. Others trickled in to convivir with el Fred,
la Doña Elvira, Hector y otros, more platíca about the terrorists, after which
we went and threshed out 600 pounds of beans. Others were nearby milling corn
stalks for cattle feed, the mill was run by an old truck engine that one guy
had to keep pouring water on the radiator so it wouldn’t over heat. After we
were done, Máximo took me to his nearby corn field and gave me enough corn to
feed the group for dinner. The corn is distinctive to the region, one of the
many varieties of distinct types of corn in Mexico.
I had a sense of being immersed in a universal stream
of the harvest, the cornfields and monos stacked against the mountains and valleys,
the meals of food all grown and processed right here. With my recent readings
about the history of plant domestication, it was like taking me back 7000
years, through generation upon generation upon generation of people working
hard, in a simple and direct life, laughter, enmeshed, all together, working
for a lifetime.
After dinner we had some sing-a-long with guitar and
nice versions of Shenandoah Lullaby and Down in the Valley. We are welcomed to
the village and willing to participate, pleasantly tired and sore after a day’s
work.
The
Other Side of Town/ La Gente Para Allá
We have stayed so far only on the Clark Moore side of
town. The gente para allá are Clark Villas, very friendly and probably somewhat
jealous that they don’t get to host the gringos in their homes. I get the sense
that there are some differences among them, but they all visit and talk, so it
is hard to call just what level it’s at. They are cousins but not first
cousins. There is blood there but not thick as with brothers, sisters and first
cousins. A Clark Moore woman, Dora is married to Sigifredo Clark Villa, the
matriarch of the Clark Villas is the sister of the matriarch of the Clark
Moores. I suppose there is not much more to it than basic human stuff, no
mystery.
La
Casa de Tavo y Maria
I love the feeling I get from this family, the kids,
Octavito and Beto and the parents, Tavo and Maria. This is my house here. I
have my same old bed, the same bed Norman Krekler slept in when he came here.
I’m treated to a clear and open friendship. Tavo and Maria are in Cuatémoc now
for Tavo to maybe have an operation on his eye, hopefully they will be back
soon, as they are my family.
Days later: Tavo and Maria will be back soon. Beto
went to get them in Bermudes. I wait on the front porch under the moon, alone,
in the shadow of oak tree branches. The
light from the chapel flickers, animals call. A light wind blows. La Mesa de
Abajo will be complete for me now. The people here can hear a truck coming for
miles away, and anytime a truck comes in to town everyone makes a point to go
out and see who it might be.
Upon returning from Cuatémoc, everyone came over to
here the stories, which they regaled upon the neighbors, the sights, sounds and
social contexts. They bought Octavito a new pair of boots, and as he opened the
package, he flashed a smile at his dad that was so open, sincere, genuine, that
it was surprising to me, the level of confidence and intimacy, none of this
teen rebellion stuff or alienation. They sit sometimes, Octavito holding his
mothers hand as they talk. He is 18 years old.
One day Maria accidentally put sugar water from the
chayote (a kind of vine which gives a fruit covered with spikes, looks like a
spiked, green kidney, which is cooked like a potato and then soaked in sugar
water and eaten with milk. Chayote is the word for squash in some central
American countries, but squash is calabaza in Mexico) into the beans. When Tavo
tasted it he immediately protested that the beans were sweet, I noticed it too
but said nothing, Beto put up a fuss
too. Maria denied that there was anything out of the ordinary, but the protests
mounted until she finally admitted what happened. Then the men went on about
how it would make them sick. They regaled me to complain too but I took Maria’s
side and pointed out that it was all the same in our stomachs, the sugar from
the coffee, the beans, and how they better not press her too far or she would
make life difficult for them. The joke went on all day, ¡azúcar en los
frijoles, que bárbaro!
Tavo and Maria’s oldest son, René, crossed illegally
to the US seven months ago and is now working in Albuquerque. They have bought
a cell phone with an antenna, which they then buy a phone card for, to receive
the call. The calls won’t transmit to or from la Mesa, so they have to drive up
to a hill to take the call. René calls Radio Alegría in Cd. Obregón to give an
announcement of when he will call. The people in the country listen daily for
the news at noon, which the station provides as a service for folks with no
phones out in the country. Here comes the announcement, a la familia Clark
Clark, René will call at 7:PM. They ask, “is it the same time in Albuquerque as
here?” They were all excited, very sweet, if the INS could only see the lives
behind the folks they deal with.
I met Emilio Clark Moore, the only brother I hadn’t
met yet, as he came up for the Day of the Dead. We hit it off and he managed to
get my big flashlight off me in exchange for his old flashlight and 50 pesos. I
came up 15 dollars short, but gained an invite to visit his ranch in Rosario,
near Cd. Obregón, where he has a carnercería or butcher shop. He has an
eligible daughter. Visiting him would allow me to get to know Obregón and meet
all of the net down there, which would open Sonora up a lot for me. These folks
are so friendly and giving, I love it.
Are
You Married?
As usual, they all ask if I am married or have a
girlfriend, no pues, pero estoy buscandola. Do you have any brothers or
sisters? Where are your parents? They want to get a line on where I stand
socially. It makes me feel way disconnected. I suppose that’s why I felt so bad
about Diana. I thought I was about to be really connected. I dread the
potential silence of being an individual in America.
The idea that people are divorced and yet going for
more is intensely interesting to the people here. How does your church handle
that? What is the process? They want to get a line on that it is OK, how it is
OK, why it is OK. Indeed some folks on the project were not married yet
pretended to be, so they would not have to deal with the flack, or maybe so
they could sleep together. Contrast the intense interest in who is married and
who is divorced with a great Mexican promiscuity under the top of these formal
values, these guys getting crushes on 14 year old girls, talking about sex and
girls, la casa chica, Roberto’s father and father in law combining to father
over 70 kids by 25 or more different women. Then they can go to church and it
will all be OK. The cultural overlay concerning marriage and social context is
really not that different from the US, there is the formal level and then the
ways that people find their way around it.
Daniel was great to give me insights I hadn’t seen,
picking beans and finding out what it means. It’s a nice guy who can build you
up. I made a nice connection with him.
Mike
and Candy
It was funny to watch Candy tailgate Mike the whole
way up here, pretty close, not safe. It scared some of the girls but I don’t
think they told Candy. The lovey dovey stuff was unseemly for co-leaders,
especially considering the prohibition of sex on the project, as it was obvious
to all that the leaders couldn’t wait to get off by themselves. The smooching
in the morning, the sounds of which reached the girls, one of whom told me that
they were doing it and she had to listen. As well, the intense focus of the
co-leaders on each other made for a feeling that they weren’t available to give
quality time to other group members. This is a combination of feedback I got
from other people in the group, my own observations as well as Mesa de Abajo
people. Where are Mike and Candy? Caminando, heh, heh, heh. I can’t begrudge
someone their sweetness, it is very compelling and I understand. I’d be wanting
to be there myself, perhaps in a less obvious manner. A Quaker work project is
just not the right time and place for such an apparent indulgence, keep it
cooler, but how to put out such a fire and be co-leaders at the same time?
As well, this particular group never gelled as a
group, each sub-group was off unto itself, not giving more than necessary to
create something bigger, we never had a worship sharing or group meeting, the
threads never got sewn or people didn’t want to give at that level. So,
focusing on the level of participation is a non-issue here, it didn’t matter
because all seemed to be happy to stay in their own movies. The primary
participation was within subgroups and them with particular segments of village
people, young with young, old with old, love with love, floaters with all,
connections got made.
What
They Want
I have a list of things people want me to bring back
when I go back this winter: Swiss Army knives, tongs for the kitchen of Tomás
and Enerina, a guitar for Gabriel, hand rolling tobacco for Don Facundo, sweet
corn seed, paint (fuscia green, cream/ 100% acrylic semi-gloss), caulk, dry
wall mud for me to paint Tavo and Maria’s kitchen and sitting room.
Do
Arabs Speak English?
This is a further ramification of the question “do
Black people speak English?” Do Chinese people speak English? Can you
understand Chinese? They just don’t know what is going on out there, outside
their genuine little world. The innocence of the questions is charming and lets
me know that I am dealing with folks who would never understand a lot of the
things I might have to say, or it would stretch them in ways that would change
their innocence. They talk on and on about cows, (cattle and horses rule,
environmentalists would have a hard time seeing outside their box with these
people) grass, beans, worms, the weather, calves, what happened to who, all in
the immediate sphere, all with an elegance and dignity and sincerity foreign to
more fragmented folks. I talk about topics, things more abstract. I suppose it
is all just talk, just different material to talk about. It is the content
which differs, but not the impulse or the need.
Rosemary said she wants exactly what these people
have, community and relatives. It’s what the hippy thing was all about, trying
to recapture some sincerity in a world which stresses more an individual
trajectory. After telling Jesús about how playing the game of getting by in the
US is like spinning your wheels, if you are a low income earner, he said,
“well, I don’t want to go there now.” I tried to tell these guys they had it
made, they were self-sufficient to a high degree, why throw that away for a
cash economy and isolation?
Manuel got going one day about the different classes
of mestizos and all the different names. I know that is a part of Mexican
history a lot of people would like to forget, like the words nigger etc in
English. Manuel innocently divulged that when he sees people, he immediately
classifies them as to their blood and how the people in La Mesa de Abajo are
less mestizaje, puro sangre, like the hispanos
of northern New Mexico. He asked what we call a cross between a gringa and a
Mexican? He told me that Mexicans can take Indian wives but it doesn’t work the
other way around, Indian men don’t take Mexican wives. Just like male wolves
mate with female coyotes but not the other way around.
Ensconced
in the Kitchen
A great part of the whole scene is the “come on in,
sit down, have a chair, do you want some coffee?” These folks are incredibly
hospitable, plying you with food until you pop, “have some more, have some
butter, some chayote?” The women ply you with food. After you are done they
immediately want to give you more, the tortillas come off the wood stove for
you to enjoy a hot tortilla with every bite. Some chiltepine? Some more cheese?
How about some honey on that tortilla? There is a great sense of belonging, of
being immersed in a warm, accepting, laughing and arguing net of friends and
family. I drank all the water and ate all the food, not a drop of purified
water the whole time. Never got sick.
Dogs
They only have male dogs in town. They buy them from
Yécora or Cd. Obregón. They don’t want to deal with puppies, too much food and
too much hassle, plus, the macho dogs guard better. Gerrardo’s dogs are some
type of pit bull mix, with cut ears and tails to emphasize their
aggressiveness, as the ears always appear erect/ aggressive posture and the
tail cut so you can’t see it wagging/ i.e. friendly. Tuso, Gerrardo’s big dog
bit Doña Elvira and has all the gente para allá scared to death to walk uptown,
to even go to the chapel alone, so they only come up in groups. Tomás Clark
Villa really went off to me one day about the dogs, how he was going to kill
them with a machete if there was one more incident. It reminds me of the constant
hassle of dogs, barking, biting, pissing and how people struggle with their
neighbor’s dogs, all over the world.
On the animal theme, a mule is a cross between a mare
and a jack burro, a hinny is a cross between a stallion and a jenny burro. In Spanish,
a hinny is burrera.
Shady
Groves
There are very subtle and nice oak groves of dappled
sunlight and complex shadows from the random yet ordered pattern of the
branches. The greens mixed with the shadows and arroyos just take me. So nice
and cool, magical, as if leprechauns and elves may just come out. We had
Meeting in one, a perfect meditation place. The days pass in a flash, full of
work, conviviality and nature.
Heavy
Women
Heavy Mexican women have no shame for their bodies, no
embarrassment, they dress in as tight clothes as any. Panchita came out in her
night gown in the morning, in Hermosillo and hung out with no false modesty.
Mexican guys like big girls with big fat asses. Contrast this with the US, with
a preoccupation with slimness and you see that it is not universal, who is hot
and who is not. At my middle age, shape becomes less important than who is
inside that shape. The package becomes more important than the wrapping.
Cultures with few resources value being heavy while cultures with many
resources value slimness. From the premise ramifies the desire. What rama do
you fy?
Families
of Mesa de Abajo, El Cordón and Bermudes
ancestors who came from North Carolina at around time
of Civil War:
-Emilio Clark (grandparent of Doña Tila (Otila) in
Bermudes
-Thomas Moore
-Guillermo Clark
-David DeMoss came later than the three original
immigrants
-Maria told me that the two original Clark immigrants
had the same last name but were not related, thus Maria is from one Clark
family and Tavo from another, Maria from Guillermo and Tavo from Emilio, this
could however, be a fiction, as Beto has birth defects and Pancho, son of Tomás
Clark Villa, also has birth defects, she might know of this effect of
inbreeding and be trying to cover for it. The people to ask about the village
history are Pancho, who has written a book about it, Don Emeterio from El
Cordón and another sister of Doña Locha who lives on a nearby ranch.
parents of Tavo:
-Eloisa (Locha) Moore DeMoss (currently 80 years old,
looks ancient)
-Jesus Clark Garcia (deceased, Pancho’s picture with
him in every house is because it was the last picture taken of Jesus)
sons and families of above, in Mesa de Abajo
Octavio
(Tavo) Clark Moore
Maria
Clark Valenzuela (sister of Manuel in Bermudes)
Alalberto (Beto) Clark Clark
Octavio (Octavito) Clark Clark
René Clark Clark (first villager to go to USA, in
Albuquerque)
José
Luis Clark Moore
Rosa
Estella Amado Valenzuela
Esmeralda Clark Amado (little girl)
Victor Hugo Clark Amado (doing a year of service for
school scholarship)
Esmundo Clark Amado (same as above)
Tomás
Clark Moore
Enerina
García Herrera
Liliana Clark García
Briseada Clark García
Gabriel Clark García
Gerrardo
Clark Moore
Blanca
Beltrán Ochoa
Samuel Clark Beltrán
Hernán Clark Beltrán
related
families in Mesa de Abajo
Hector Clark Villa
Elvira Moore DeMoss (sister of Eloisa/Locha Moore DeMoss)
Eberrardo
Clark Moore (son of Elvira, cousin of Tavo)
Alba
Duarte Hernández
Eberrardo Clark Duarte
Elizabet Clark Duarte
Máximo
Clark Moore (son of Elvira, cousin of Tavo)
Elea
Hernández Gonzales
Asusena Clark Hernández
Fernando Clark Hernández
Tomás
Clark Villa (wants to have groups at his house, a big house, very industrious)
Beatriz
Clark DeMoss
Francisco (Pancho) Clark Clark (school teacher)
Sigifredo
Clark Villa
Dora
Clark Moore (sister of Tavo)
other
family in Mesa de Abajo
Facundo Lopez Quintero
Jesús Lopez García (child of Facundo’s brother)
Luz Clark García (unmarried, sister of Emeterio Clark
García from El Cordón)
Candida Clark García (same as above)
family
from Bermudes
Manuel
Gilberto Clark Valenzuela (brother of María)
Otila
(Tila) DeMoss Clark
Manuel Clark DeMoss ( accompanied René Clark Clark to
Albuquerque)
families
in El Cordón
Emeterio Clark García (brother of Tavo’s father?)
Matilda Alday Valenzuela
José
María (Chemelay) Clark Alday
Teresa
Amado Valenzuela (sister of Rosa Estella)
Heremita Clark Amado
Marco
Clark Amado
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