Random Events - Hillside Graduation

I should note that all of these "random events" have transpired over the last month. I'm too lazy to try and trace what happened exactly when in order to give you dates or proper chronology. Lethargy is setting in, folks. That's what happens when there's over a month of straight rain. Just ask anyone you know in Portland, OR.

The morning of the day I leave the Mixteca I get roped into traveling out to San Andres Chicahuaxtla. I'm in town center happily eating a sope when Rene from the station walks by. He tells me that he and the boss are heading out there for the clasura (graduation ceremony) of the local school. I need to drop off a CD of a radio piece I made to a woman in the town. I feel like I should take advantage of the free ride out there. I'm also anxious to get Daniel, the boss, to talk to Eva and I about our radio project. I keep asking Eva to make an appointment with Daniel so that we can sit down and pitch our project, ask his advice, get him on board to offer us some air time; she's told me thus far that he hasn't been around at the station to ask...for the entire month. Really? So when Rene and I arrive at the station, I call Eva (it's her day off), and ask her to come quickly to meet with the boss man, he's finally made an appearance.

Thus, the morning finds all four of us crammed into the front of Daniel's truck, heading out the winding road to Chicahuaxtla. There's a ton of construction along the route. I quip that it appears they are digging up dirt from one part of the road and merely moving it to another part. They laugh, adding that that's probably not too far off from the truth.

Forty-five minutes later we roll down the pocked gravel road into Chicahuaxtla. No one's quite sure where the clasura is taking place. I jump out at the Plaza to head over to Epifami's chicken shop to drop her a CD. She's surprised to see me--and embarrassed that I put a picture of her on the cover of the CD case. We make introductions all around--and then get directions to the school graduation.

The truck climbs another hill, breaking through clouds to the lona (bright yellow tent) hunched on the side of a green ridge. Today marks the end of the term for the Primary school--that's grades kindergarten through 6th grade. So a number of officials have been invited to the event to watch the kids present poems, dance, play guitar and sing. It's quite a showing, which shocks me. I'm trying to think if I remember such a large graduation ceremony from my primary school days. I don't think so. The girls and boys are all decked out in traditional garb. This is a Triqui community--so apart from the costumes for the occasion are dozens of women wearing the huipil that is customary here. It takes them up to 6 months to hand weave these beautiful gowns. Each row is a different symbol (the basket, the soldier, the little bird). The older you are, the more white in you huilpil, to reflect the white in your hair. The younger, the more red. The costumes are also quite something to look at. I'm dazzled by the long, trailing braids threaded with colorful ribbon. They are not braids of their real hair, too thick and long. it is actually dark, thick yarn.

The older kids perform a dance representing a wedding (there's a bride, a groom, parents). Each dance representing a different ritual of the wedding ceremony. Some of the younger kids collectively recite a poem, complete with adorable hand gestures to represent cloud, or the rain falling down down.



I snap a shot of the most adorable little pair dancing to a waltz. They are pretty loudly counting out their timing (1-2-3) as they point toes, reaching forward to take the next step. The girl is definitely leading the pair, telling her partner just when he is messing up, snapping him to attention with a strong glare. A group plays a couple local songs with guitar and tambourine. We are told they have only been practicing it for two weeks. An impressive display.






The whole event is taking place in both Spanish and the Triqui language. And it's long, really long. I am continually surprised by how patient Mexican people are. I'm having a hard time imagining Americans watching, raptly, an event transpire over the course of hours without getting restless. I need to get going, however. So after a quick tour of the community radio station (a tiny room complete with one mic, a CD player and mixing board), we all pile back into the truck to make our way back to Tlaxiaco.

I grab a quick pastry at the bakery, my bag and head for the suburban station where I'll pick the most uncomfortable seat in the van to head back into Oaxaca.