Una Maravilla

One of my ear plugs has fallen out. It's 3 AM and that damn gallo is having a fit right outside my window. I scramble for the light, pulling up sheets and blankets, trying to hunt down the missing bugger. My naked feet hit cold, wood floors--I hop and skip from right to left, exchanging discomfort from one little piggy to the other. I can't find it. And unfortunately, one plugged up ear does not a quiet morning make. At 5:30 I abandon my efforts to rest and get into the shower.

Today I depart with Beto from the Fondo Regional to head out to community where one of their projects takes place. We're meeting out near the station at 7. So after showering and loading the sound gear into my bag, I wind through town center, where even the taquilleras are not out yet, and hang a left toward the CDI.

One of Nacidos' founders, Beto and Tomás

I think I've mentioned the Fondo before in a past post. They're a government-funded collective that gives loans to small community organizations out in the pueblos. There are three technical advisers that run the Fondo, Augustín who I interviewed yesterday, Roberto, and Beto (and agronomist who is accompanying me to the project site today). The three travel out to villages to pitch the Fondo, assess the viability of proposed projects, and to assist along the way in anything a project might require to make it a success. The rest of the Fondo is managed by an assembly of representatives from each community organization that has a project with the Fondo. Those representatives decide which projects will receive Fondo loans, as well as the time period within which they will have to pay it back.

We climb into Beto's 4-door pickup and start the long trek out to Hidalgo Itundujia, a trek that turns out to be much further than I had anticipated. Hidalgo is the Fondo's favorite son. Its relationship with the Fondo began years back when they first formed their community's organization. A sawmill in their town was exploiting local resources and manpower, with little support of the pueblo itself. So about 100 employees thought, "Why don't we do this ourselves? Why don't we start a sawmill?"

The larger mill

So they formed their group and trekked to Tlaxiaco (about 4 1/2 hours) to talk to the Fondo. Since they'd never taken on a project before (and ability to function and eventually pay back the loan is crucial) the Fondo suggested they start with a smaller project. So they opened a small grocery store. It didn't work. Whether it's because the group had to learn how to divide up work and organize itself, or the timing, who knows--but the thing folded after a period. The group whittled down to a smaller number, about 50. They apply for another loan to purchase a portable mill and truck. And after a few years of struggling, sweating day in and day out, earning NO salary at all (everything they earned went back into the business), the group whittled down even smaller, to 18.

The Fondo took a group of the original members out to visit a community in San Juan Nuevo, Michoacan where, with the help of their local fondo, they were able to start a successful mill--and later diversified the organizations money into other projects. That visit was crucial. It motivated the Hidalgo folks into thinking, "If they can do, why can't we?" So they set themselves to work even harder with the hope that it would pay off at some point.

Today, the organization, called Nacidos Para Crecer (Born to Grow) runs two saw mills--the portable one they began with, and now a much larger operation for higher quality wood. They have a furniture-making department of the mill. They have a small office, that offers housing to employees that travel from outside the village to work there. And they employ over 70 people. But what's doubly amazing to me is that now Nacidos is handing out loans to their own community members. A widowed father with his two small children doesn't have money to build a house for his family--Nacidos gives him a loan, he comes to work for them, and

Tomás

pays it off over the years as he can. A small women's group asks for a loan from Nacidos to make their own enterprise; with the money they buy pigs and cattle and chickens, tend to the animals and slaughter them for sale within the community.

Probably the most amazing story of success is that Nacidos decided four years ago to invest in a band for the kids in town. They bought the instruments for a 17-person band. They hired a teacher to come and live in the community and give lessons every day after school. They even bought a bus to take the kids to play in different communities in the region. This past year the band earned over $1500 from gigs.

A Nacido Investment

I learned all of this from Tomás, the president of Nacidos. He was a part of that original 100 that whittled down to 17. He's been president of the group for the last 10 years. And as Beto puts it, he's the brain and soul of the operation. Tomás is in his 50s. And while I first met him surrounded by account books in the organization's office--he's still got the rough hands and worn clothes of someone who spends the day toiling. Tomás makes all of the deal for the group, to whom to sell the wood, where to distribute the furniture, equipment purchases, land acquirement. He travels most of the month. So when he tells me that he originally started with the group because he returned from migrating north, and wanted to be with his family, in his community--I sort of giggle and say--"but how often to you travel for the group?" He smiles and nods.

I can't imagine working for over 5 years without a salary, without even the promise of a future salary. Can you? And yet, with this blind hope, with the example of another successful project elsewhere, and the presentiment that "if not this, there is nothing--we must make this work," these guys worked themselves to the bone for years. It's amazing.

Hidalgo is nestled into a kind of tiny valley among ridges and ridges of mountains. Beto and I crossed farms and rivers; moist red earth turned to gray arid surroundings, and back to red again as we swerved and zig zagged further into the landscape. I kept zipping and unzipping my hoody as the temperature changed from can-see-my-breath cold to the hot sun and dry air of Hidalgo.

Band Practice
Tomás recounts to me Nacidos' story. Then we go for a tour of the two mills. The larger one sits right on the edge of a mountain. The smell of pine permeates everything. I take a deep whiff and remember high school days of building theater sets after school. Tomás points to the first truck they purchased with the Fondo's money; it is now a tiny almost-toy, dwarfed by the newest flatbed sitting right beside it. I see at least 5 of these enormous trucks arrive and depart during my stay. They head to Tlaxiaco, where they unload for the larger hauls, bringing wood to distribution houses in Puebla and Mexico City. Tomás invites Beto and I to his house for a bite and a refresco.

We hang around a bit longer to get a listen in of the community's band. About 17 kids straggle into a half-built house on the other side of town. Their teacher, a Mixe dude, complete with studded black leather belt and sonic-the-hedgehog hair (very popular here in Mexico now), leads them to take up trombone, alto sax, clarinet and tuba and pump out a few rousing tunes for us.

We leave with a few handshakes and thank yous all around. I'm starring out the window, silent as my body jostles around inside the truck's cab. Beto asks me if I'm tired. I guess I am. My brain wants to switch off the Spanish for a spell, I think. But really, I also can't stop thinking about how ideal this project is. It's a poster child of projects, no? It's the very ideal of helping someone help himself. Augustín warned me earlier that not all of the projects are a "maravilla," (a marvel). Some don't work out. Beto has said one of the biggest challenges is to get Mixtecos (he includes himself in this) to work as a team. He says they're very individualistic; the Fondo often butts heads with a community's cultural identity. So it's not just "how do we teach these guys how to cut wood, transport it, etc." It's also, "How do we teach them to set aside a certain way of operating themselves as Mixtecos, and form an organization, with a leadership body, and laws, and a desire to work hard without break or profit initially?"

Night falls as we wind our way back through now familiar ravines and hill crests. We stop off in Augustín Tlacotepec to watch Beto's daughter's basketball team pick up a trophy. We happen to bump into Augustín, Tlacotepec is his home village. He asks us if we can offer a ride to a friend's wife who is ill and needs to get to the hospital in Tlaxiaco. So we shuffle the contents of the truck's cab, and pile in. I crack the window and let the mountain breeze wash over my nose and mouth. I hop out at town center and walk the rest of the way to my little room. It's only 8:30 or 9--but I'm already ready for bed.

Spanish switch to off. Pajamas on. Lights out.