The push pull

Woah. Sleeping rocks. It's 7 AM. I'm content to roll in bed for another half hour, thank you.

I head out (the house still quiet and dark) towards town center. It's Tianguis, Market Day. So all streets leading to the central clock are lined with vendors setting up pyramids of shoes, or pyramids of fruit, or pyramids of chiles. The pyramid is a strong form for sales, I'm guessing.

I head for Encanto for a bite. I'm in need of fruit, rather than the heavy barbacoa and memelas they're serving at the market. That's exactly what I get--a fruit salad, crowned in yogurt and granola, a glass of freshly squeezed grapefruit/orange juice, and a bit of protein in a tuna/avocado salad. Can I just say--have any of you tried guayaba (guava) before? I really like the flavor of this fruit. But what the h@ll am I supposed to do with these tiny seeds?? (I'm dedicating myself to occasionally and randomly avoiding typing out whole swear words to befuddle my sister) I mean, they're supposed to be edible seeds--too many of them to pick them out. Yet they're too significant in size to just swallow like the translucent seeds in watermelon. Of course, they're perfect-sized to wedge in the crags of molars. WTF, Guyaba!??!!

Eva and I are off today for San Juan Mixtepec to meet with a youth group again about our upcoming youth radio project, to hunt down a space to hold pilot classes, and to chat with potential people/adults who want to help out. Eva's just texted me that we'll meet up to grab a collective taxi at noon. So I've got a couple hours to work before we depart.

We, and this goat, load into a four-door truck. Eva and I jump out at Independencia, a small neighborhood lurching on the hillside above Mixtepec. Eva needs to pick up some cups from a local artisan. While they chat, I practice my Mixteco. I've been collecting words and phrases from Eva on the car rides between Mixtepec and Tlaxiaco. The language is so tonal--it's really hard to discern one word from another. But I'm gonna get it!

We walk down the remaining highway into central Mixtepec. No one's home at Eva's house; it's all locked up. So we pop a squat at her aunt's place across the street to stretch our legs out a bit. I need to make a call to a friend to locate someone we need to talk to in town. Unfortunately, cell signals are very spotty here in this village. But Eva leads me up around back of her house, through a small corn pasture, around the back of an abandoned cabin. She tells me to sit down on the cinder blocks under a low squatting tree. And bam! I've got a signal suddenly.

We trek further into town, me practicing my Mixteco with a "tacuni, shi shi" here and a "aku que ni" there as greetings to those we pass people along the way. Slowly the leaders of the youth group appear in front of a small one-story house; this is their office, they say. Little by little the kids trickle in, some coming armed with guitars. Eventually Eva and I clear our throats to begin a second pitch to the kids. We play a few examples of youth radio work to get their imaginations going. We hand out the questionnaire. We answer a few questions from the gang. They seem quiet, but interested. We'll know better their interest level when we get the questionnaires back in a week, I'm guessing. The plan, as we lay it out for them, is to select six from the group to run a pilot program. Feliciano, their youth leader, has a line on a space we could use for free. Eva and I will donate our equipment--and we'll run a 4-week program to test the waters. If it seems like there's sufficient interest, and the project goes well--then we'll start raising the funds. The added benefit of the pilot program is that we can use the work the kids produce to include in proposals for funding. So much depends on the kids, of course. It's an interesting endeavor to put a lot of effort into something that you inevitable have to release to the fates, you know? It must be something akin to raising kids, I'm thinking. You put in all these hours, all this money, all this care--and in the end, it's really up to the kid to become who he/she will become. You can't force it--no matter how much you care about its success.

Ah, Mixtepec and her beautiful junk!

We eventually depart Mixtepec, lucky to snag a ride with a dude heading back into Tlaxiaco. At this hour it's hard to find transport back into town. Frankly, I'm not keen to share a bed again with Eva's sister and baby; my back's still sore from the last time. :)

We roll into Tlaxiaco at 8. An hour-and-a-half later I'm exiting Eva's house. We've made our agenda for the next two weeks of work on the project. I'm trying to transition over the main load to Eva--as this is her home village--and she's better equipped to take the reins, if only she could convince herself that she's capable. As an outsider, it'd be less helpful, and I think, appropriate for me to be pushing things along. I keep having to remind myself of the American skin I'm wearing. I push a bit about trying to get details nailed down, using our time efficiently. But you can only push so much. I'm reminded of friends I know here who are planning to depart Mexico soon; they've been here for years, and they're tired of it taking so much effort to get something done here. It's true--things move at a snail's pace, with so many road blocks thrown up. But it'd be fun to see even a small dent made in the region to arm young kids with the means to share their voice and perspective with the wider world. I just need to remember to step back at times and take in the while picture.

I'm feeling a bit under the weather as I leave Eva's house. Something I ate this morning, perhaps. I haven't eaten since--but feel disinclined to tromp around town now to search for sustenance. So I head back to my bed and my disco-lit room. Tomorrow I'll rise early to head out on an early van. Food can wait until then.