Random Events - 2 Villages, 2 Community Events, 48 hours

Just so that you don't think it's all fireworks and pancakes over here, I'll include a bit of field work I did out in the Mixteca over the last weeks...

In a recent trip up north to the mountains I needed to get a series of recording "errands" done. The first, is to record the annual Fiesta Patronal in Magdalena Peñasco. I've written about Magdalena before; Araceli, one of my colleagues from the station, is from this village. This time, however, I was hunting down some sound for a potential radio piece in the States. Magdalena is what is called a "sending community" to various towns and cities in the United States. I'm sniffing out a few of her recipient communities in the U.S. to work on a migration piece. A perfect time to record, thus, is when 1) People return home (like for annual parties), and 2) When there's some action going on worthy of recording (like for annual parties).

Chely and I head out in the afternoon and make our way to the Municipal President's office first. It turns out he's participating in the basketball tournament--so we have to wait until he gets off the court. But then he very graciously offers us as much time as we want to sit down and get his take on Magdalena, her make-up, her problems and beauties and of course, her party. The president has actually immigrated himself to the U.S.. He returned this last time only because he was selected by the municipal assembly to fulfill his community service by taking the role of the president for a year. That's a year with no pay, mind you. When they say "community service" they mean it.

After we depart, I coerce Chely into doing a vox pop around the town square with me; let's get a few opinions from others about what they think of the town, its celebration and such. I can't believe I am actually convincing someone else to help me do a man-on-the-street bit; this is my least favorite kind of radio interview. I always feel like I'm ambushing people--especially here where people are so shy and reserved, at first. But I also realize I'm a sore thumb already, what with my white face and my giant microphone. So what have I got to lose? This time, Chely is the one being shy--and SHE actually speaks their dialect, and is from here!

I get a bit of sound from a local band playing. I snap a few shots whilst recording--I'm getting good at that. I learned from my colleague Rene. The trick is avoiding mic noise while snapping the picture. But because Chely is there--she can also get some good perspective shots--and prolly, the first, if only shots of me actually doing what I do here. So there you go, friends--this is what I do.

Once I record a bit of ambient sound, the basketball tourney, passerby--I feel I've got enough to safely tuck away my equipment and enjoy the rest of the party--which will, I am told, stretch well into the night. Rene and Eva join us later as night falls. Someone in the municipal government throws us a pack of tickets to the dance later so we won't have to pay to enter. Little by little, representatives arrive from nearby localities with their community band, flowers and some symbolic offering of food to the Municipal President. Directly in the center of the square a crew of six are setting up the Castillo (oh yea, another one! I'm psyched) The president told me earlier that every year they hope they raise enough money through donations from community members, the amount they have set aside in the Municipal budget, and from Mayordomos (town sponsors) to out do the party from the year before. These parties mean everything to those who live in and around the area.

I am not disappointed. Mau and Alejandro were telling me that the Castillo I was so impressed by near Carmen Alto really wasn't that stunning. And now I see why. This one is unbelievable. Each arm that pinwheels and spins into explosive colors, turns into a car, or helicopter--another a horse, and then an eagle. The corona on top spins and spurts fire and eventually forms the words "Magdalena 2008." It's riveting. And that's only the beginning. Behind us a crowd of over 20 men are dancing with fireworks bulls on their heads. They haven't lit them yet. This is the pre-explosion dance, I suppose. I can't wait.

So, we dance, we fill our bellies with tacos al pastor when energy is low, we dance again. By 2, I'm ready to call it in. Eva and I need to head out in the morning to her village, San Juan Mixtepec for an event. We all pile into Chely's car, Eva, Rene and Chely's sister sandwiched in back. I snap this one of my pals; it looks to me like a paparazzi shot, no?
Day Two comes too early, really. Eva and I hope a collectivo out to Mixtepec. We'd agreed weeks earlier to attend a Municipal event in town. We also though it'd be a good time to chat with the kids at the high school in Santa Cruz, a nearby town, about the youth radio project. When we arrive, the town square is cluttered with women hooded in the typical blue rebozo of this region. Every corner, the foot of every tree, is crowded with someone. The hot sun finds all escaping into any slip of shade that can be found. We find out the event, the inauguration of the building of a new highway, isn't for another hour. I try to encourage Eva to get out her recorder and collect some "saludos" for her weekend call-in show; she always complains to me that she doesn't have enough extra material to play. But she too, is shy about making the rounds. I get it. I totally get it. Whenever I have to do a vox pop, which is rare, I have to have a good talking to with myself about it. So scary. I gently nudge Eva into conversations with women. We try to use their curiosity about why I am here to get them going. I throw out a few words in Mixteco, they all giggle at me--and bam, we're off and running.

Eva & Me--all out of shady spots


Eventually, we notice the event is about to begin--and follow a crowd of cowboy hats a bit outside town center to the event locale. I watch as women gather around to hug the Federal Deputy who has theoretically "made this project possible," and is in town today to preside over the breaking-of-ground. A few speeches are made. There are hand shakes and greetings. And then a giant bulldozer rolls up and scrapes a few feet of dirt in front of us. Done. Let's eat! No really, that's what happened.


Soon men are passing around empty cups, followed by others with a pitcher of tepache--a drink made out of the flesh and rind of a pineapple and then sweetened with brown sugar and cinnamon, or sometimes beer. This is the non-alcoholic variety.

Eva and I head uphill, following the others to the site of the second phase of the event. I'm not really sure where we're off to--or what is happening, but I'm here to help Eva before we sidetrack to Santa Cruz. Someone offers us a ride in their van--so we pile in. Others hitch onto the back of pick-ups, or sit atop flatbeds. We wind up the old highway--I can see why it needs construction--the gravel giving way to giant potholes. We crest a hill and I see the blue and yellow-striped tent that marks the event site. A band is playing Rancheros loudly. Eva tells me she just needs to get a couple interviews with local leaders--and then we can hop a taxi back down towards Santa Cruz. Unfortunately, the event takes shape on its own. Presentations begin--each invited guest takes a turn at the mic, speaking on the project at hand, thanking those involved. This is an undertaking, mind you, because there are around 25-30 invited guests--each speaking for 5-10 minutes. Ugh. Eva muscles her way around, trying to get interviews in when she can. And when we're finally handed bowls of red mole and chicken, I give Eva the look of "please, please, let's get out of here."

Mother nature had her own plans, however. Just then it starts to pour--total torrential downpour. The only cover is under the tent--so the crowd of over a hundred people squeezes in tightly. After waiting for a half hour, Eva and I are both done. The rain hasn't lessened in any way--but we're about two blocks from the main highway where taxis pass by--so we need to get out there to the roadside if we're ever going to get back towards town. Of course, the important guests immediately jumped into waiting suburbans and escaped quickly--leaving the rest of us behind to figure out the tricky math. And here's the math I mean: there's probably close to two hundred people here. About 125 of us got here riding in the back of a truck, on the roof, on a flatbed. So when it's raining, that really cuts down on available seating. Eva and I watch as cars packed with people inside roll by. We're huddled under a small tree--somewhat wet--when we see a 4-door truck loading people in. Eva asks if they're going back to Mixtepec--the driver nods, but says he doesn't have space inside the cab--only in back. We see this tiny older lady making a spot for herself on the trucks flatbed, the driver hauling out a tarp to cover her--and we both jump in. Who cares. Once you're wet, you're wet.

Thus commences a moment that I so wish I had a picture of...it is what I will deem my Fulbright Brochure Moment. It's embarrassing to admit, but this is exactly the kind of moment I day dreamed about before coming to Mexico. It's this romantic idea of myself, seated in the back of a truck, legs dangling off the end; I'm in a far-off village, surrounded by hills and dust and sheep. I've got my headphones around my neck, a backpack on my shoulders, and a deeply satisfied smile on my face. Maybe it's hard to understand why that image is appealing. But to me it taps right into some fantasy of what life as an adventuresome foreign correspondent must be like. Now, mind you, I don't think of myself as a foreign correspondent (nor, do I think I have aspirations to become one, at least not in the traditional sense); I don't really even consider myself that adventuress--especially not when I meet some other expats her, of heck, the many I've met who cross the border over the desert. But there's something independent and heroic about the back-of-the-pick-up ride in a small, dusty town. Something...Anyone else out there have a good day dream image they hold onto?

Well, the actual event is very different from the brochure moment in my head, of course. As is the case a lot of the time, no? But it's no less fun, really. If you could see this picture, instead of the one with me and the sheep and the sun, you'd see three women, huddled under a blue tarp, in the back of a grimy old truck making it's way down muddy roads. Every jut and hole in the road I noticed before is now even more obvious to my butt and aching thighs. And yet, the deeply satisfied smile--it's still plastered on my face, just like in the dream. This is so funny to me. We're mostly soaked, tired, jouncing around in back with this old lady, who is laughing herself--and from what I can tell, swearing in Mixteco. There's a trail of cars behind us, making the dame downhill trek. But I keep waving to the one right behind us. They've clearly got a commentary going about the which of us will fall overboard first; each time we hit a big bump, they laugh at the obvious grimaces marking each of our faces. The tarp slides left; we pull it back over us. The tire we're all crouched on top of skids away--and we hurry to pull it back into place. By the end, once we make it back to Mixtepec, we're wet, and cold and a bit tired. And I think both Eva and I realize there's no visiting Santa Cruz today. We'll just be lucky if we find a collectivo in time to get us back to Tlaxiaco. She's got a show to host in the morning--and I've got a suburban to catch back to Oaxaca.

Oh, my poor butt!