Daniel and Fabiola (a visitor from the Commission for Indigenous Peoples in Mexico City) swing by my place in the morning to whisk me off for breakfast.
The truck climbs the steep hill south of the city for the barrio of San Pedro. We camp it at a long, communal table in a small restaurant off the main road for the most delicious tamales I have eaten thus far. White rice heavy and moist inside it's corn husk, soaked in green mole, dappled with juicy bits of chicken--yum! Top that off with a warm and creamy cup of Oaxacan hot chocolate. I'm in heaven.
Fabiola & Me at XETLA
I return to the station to sit in on Araceli's "Enlance" show that shares airtime through the satellite with a station in Orlando, Florida. I'm a bit late, arriving halfway through the show--too busy stuffing my face with mole and sweet breads. Yet, I still get to hear Araceli's back-and-forth with Jorge Luna, the "DJ" in Orlando, her quick switch into the Mixteco language, and the calls of various people across the border trying to connect with the paisanos in Mexico.
The program that follows is called "Poder Joven" (Youth Power) and is run by a small group of college-aged students. I met a handful of them at the Aniversario the night before. Amidst joking and dancing I accidentally agreed to be a guest on their show. So when Daniel, one of the students, signals for me to make my way into the recording studio, I say, "Seriously?" There's no time to talk my way out of it, so I shuffle in, palms sweating, just thinking about my sorry Spanish. I muddle through about 15 minutes of questions; they ask me about my work, my impressions of the anniversary party, what kinds of discrimination I've witnessed of Mexicans in the United States. I try to speak well, to explain my perspective, to offer a "gringo" insight on immigration. I'm afraid my Spanish may have bumbled the message--but all seemed pleased when the program closed out. 
Rene follows with his show "Saludos Paisanos." Aside from it being immensely helpful to listen to the programming on the station, it's been really interesting to hear the slight change in voice of each producer as their thoughts and news fly out into the ether. I've gotten to know each of them around the station, or at the anniversary. Then to register their on-air personalities is something a bit different, and fun to witness.
Later, I sit in with Eva for "La Hora Mixteca," the show that initially brought me to XETLA, and the land of the Mixtecos. It is this show that I found on the internet, that drew my interest to the use of radio as a means to transmit a community identity across borders, a cultural telephone, if you will. So it is that I at last sit and listen to the show. It's a bit thin on content today, as the preparations for the anniversary party have drawn Eva's attentions elsewhere. She swaps conversation with a DJ in Fresno, California who receives calls from those listening in from the States. The first half hour is filled with regional music. I hear bands from the nights before, their brass and drums thumping over the air waves. Normally Eva will have prepared a "cápsula" or small recorded piece about something regional to play and discuss with her fellow DJ.
Other times she'll travel out further to record saludos from those in the pueblos. But with no spare moments this past week, she is left with time to fill. She begs me to sit in and talk on the show. I resolutely refuse. I'm more awake than I was in the morning with the Poder Joven group--so I stand my ground. I stand my ground, that is, until she lays her head in her hands in defeat and mutters, "Please won't you help me...? I need to fill time, please..." And so I shuffle once again into the recording studio and take a seat. This time she and the DJ in Fresno swap interviewing me about my project, how people have received me in the outlying communities, what I think of Tlaxiaco. It goes fine. I feel a bit anxious afterward, and can't seem to sit still in my chair. Public speaking is one thing; public speaking in Spanish is another, really.
The program that follows is called "Poder Joven" (Youth Power) and is run by a small group of college-aged students. I met a handful of them at the Aniversario the night before. Amidst joking and dancing I accidentally agreed to be a guest on their show. So when Daniel, one of the students, signals for me to make my way into the recording studio, I say, "Seriously?" There's no time to talk my way out of it, so I shuffle in, palms sweating, just thinking about my sorry Spanish. I muddle through about 15 minutes of questions; they ask me about my work, my impressions of the anniversary party, what kinds of discrimination I've witnessed of Mexicans in the United States. I try to speak well, to explain my perspective, to offer a "gringo" insight on immigration. I'm afraid my Spanish may have bumbled the message--but all seemed pleased when the program closed out. 
Rene follows with his show "Saludos Paisanos." Aside from it being immensely helpful to listen to the programming on the station, it's been really interesting to hear the slight change in voice of each producer as their thoughts and news fly out into the ether. I've gotten to know each of them around the station, or at the anniversary. Then to register their on-air personalities is something a bit different, and fun to witness.Later, I sit in with Eva for "La Hora Mixteca," the show that initially brought me to XETLA, and the land of the Mixtecos. It is this show that I found on the internet, that drew my interest to the use of radio as a means to transmit a community identity across borders, a cultural telephone, if you will. So it is that I at last sit and listen to the show. It's a bit thin on content today, as the preparations for the anniversary party have drawn Eva's attentions elsewhere. She swaps conversation with a DJ in Fresno, California who receives calls from those listening in from the States. The first half hour is filled with regional music. I hear bands from the nights before, their brass and drums thumping over the air waves. Normally Eva will have prepared a "cápsula" or small recorded piece about something regional to play and discuss with her fellow DJ.
Other times she'll travel out further to record saludos from those in the pueblos. But with no spare moments this past week, she is left with time to fill. She begs me to sit in and talk on the show. I resolutely refuse. I'm more awake than I was in the morning with the Poder Joven group--so I stand my ground. I stand my ground, that is, until she lays her head in her hands in defeat and mutters, "Please won't you help me...? I need to fill time, please..." And so I shuffle once again into the recording studio and take a seat. This time she and the DJ in Fresno swap interviewing me about my project, how people have received me in the outlying communities, what I think of Tlaxiaco. It goes fine. I feel a bit anxious afterward, and can't seem to sit still in my chair. Public speaking is one thing; public speaking in Spanish is another, really.Araceli and I decide to make a trip for ice cream and sandwiches (in that order of importance) for the crew that remains late at the station. When we return, she, Eva and I huddle around the recording consule, snacking on our newly hunted grub, whilst the Mexican National Hymn plays in the background (this is the first and last thing that is played each day on the station). The girls laugh at my torta (quesillo, avocado, tomato and lettuce). "Why no meat, Megan?" I have had my fill of lamb and beef and consumé-of-killed-thing for the weekend. So I opt for a vegetarian sandwich. They don't understand.
I hop a ride with Araceli to my lil' room in the big house. I chat a bit with my landlord and her daughter as I squeeze in through the tiny front door, festooned in Christmas regalia (side note: Christmas is big here, like any where with a Catholic/Christian population. They decorate their homes in an incredible fashion, huge miniature villages representing the nativity, large fake Christmas trees, with boxes wrapped with bows underneath. The difference is that the wrapped boxes are empty. Gift giving is not a huge part of Christmas here. They enjoy the pomp and circumstance of colorful decorations and music--but not the consumer angle. Kind of nice!).
I retire to my room off the dining room and kitchen. Is it the air here? Or the constant interviews today? Is is the brain working hard to translate Spanish? I read a bit. I listen to a few podcasts on my iPod. But eventually sleep overtakes me at this early hour. I schluff out of dusty pants and a hoody and into PJs (I am a stern advocate for pajamas!). I brush my teeth and then, collapse.
I hop a ride with Araceli to my lil' room in the big house. I chat a bit with my landlord and her daughter as I squeeze in through the tiny front door, festooned in Christmas regalia (side note: Christmas is big here, like any where with a Catholic/Christian population. They decorate their homes in an incredible fashion, huge miniature villages representing the nativity, large fake Christmas trees, with boxes wrapped with bows underneath. The difference is that the wrapped boxes are empty. Gift giving is not a huge part of Christmas here. They enjoy the pomp and circumstance of colorful decorations and music--but not the consumer angle. Kind of nice!).
I retire to my room off the dining room and kitchen. Is it the air here? Or the constant interviews today? Is is the brain working hard to translate Spanish? I read a bit. I listen to a few podcasts on my iPod. But eventually sleep overtakes me at this early hour. I schluff out of dusty pants and a hoody and into PJs (I am a stern advocate for pajamas!). I brush my teeth and then, collapse.
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