Eva and I planned to depart at 8 AM for San Juan Mixtepec. She needs to head to her bank first, she informs me as we meet outside my house. Oh, and her bank doesn't open until 9. Ok. We trek up to her house for a breakfast of black bean soup with nopales (cactus), and warmed tortillas. After schlepping it to her bank eventually, we head to the San Juan Mixtepec transport pick-up location. We're now heading out at 9:30 AM.
Turns out it doesn't matter when we left. Eva uses the hour-long ride to chat up her seat neighbor; and thus, she realizes where my tortillera lives. When we hop out at the neighborhood of Independencia, nestles in the hillside just above SJM, we encounter the sister of my interview subject. The tortillera is gone. It's her turn this week to stand guard over the town's forrest. It's her tequio service. She won't return until nightfall.
She sits down, and in a matter of minutes makes this clay jara (pitcher). My camera can barely keep up with the speed of her fingers. "I can't help but get dirty," she tells us. It's the consequence of her craft--hands dried with yellow-red earth, the mud slipping into cracks and wrinkles, under nail beds, between fingers. You can look at her fingers and see she's productive, prolific, even. (I look down at my hands, unsure that there are any mar
Before we depart she offers me a jara to take with me as a gift, and a quick bowl of cool guyaba juice (freshly squeezed from their tree out front).
I leave word that I will return Friday to visit her sister in the Plaza where she sells tacos. I leave behind a print of a picture I snapped of her over a month ago.
When we finally depart San Juan Mixtepec it is around 5. What we both though would be a quick trip has taken all day. I have no tape to show for it. Boo.
I get home and shuck off my shoes, smothered in dust. Once my head hits down, I know I don't have enough energy to carry myself to the center of town for dinner, or even to shuffle a few blocks down to use the internet. It's only 8:30, but I decide to read a bit and sleep. God, I'm an old lady now! I must rise early to depart for San Andres Chicahuaxtla tomorrow. Hopefully, I'll have more luck recording there. Thus, early slumber will do me good. G'night!