Saturnino and his Stoves

I knew it’s going to be a good day when I washed down the armadillo meat covered in a red chile sauce with a 1 litro of Coke before 10am. I sat at the small square table in the windowless adobe room with Saturnino from Zacango and Martín from the community as the doña of the house regaled us with the information that we had just eaten armadillo. A smiling Saturnino was wiping the last of his sweet chile sauce from his plate with a fresh tortilla, while I thought, “So that’s what that is.” During most of the almuerzo (literally lunch, but typically refers to a meal eaten at 9-10am) I struggled to pick out the tough meat as it all seemed to be hard bone, so I probably ate little actual armadillo. The chile sauce tasted great though.

As Saturnino enjoyed an after meal smoke, we checked out the luckier armadillo that was tied to a tree behind the house. Buried in his shell and protected by the tree roots, Cristina had to give him a good yank before we were able to peer into the face of a future meal for the family. He wasn’t feeling very photogenic and soon withdrew to his hard shell.

I got a call from the satellite phone, the only phone in Zacango, from Saturnino last night requesting a ride to San José in the morning as MCC usually helps him with transportation. By 8:45am this morning with the adobe stove molds secured in the back of the truck, Cristina, Saturnino’s 20 something daughter, Saturnino and I were on the rode to San José to build two stoves and to train others on how to build the stoves.

Last Thursday, Martín from the community of San José and Aquilano, an engineer with CDI (Centro de Desarrollo Indigena Center for Indigenous Development) came by the MCC office to ask for support in the construction of stoves that save firewood. In the late 1990s and early 2000s, MCC promoted and actively supported the implementation of this appropriate technology in the communities. The stoves are designed to use less firewood and to decrease the amount of smoke in often windowless kitchens. The numerous benefits range from improved health at the family level to decreased deforestation at the regional level.

MCC still has one stove mold which includes a rectangular wood mold for the base, a circular mold for the firewood space on which the comal (metal cooking surface for tortillas) sits, a meter length tube which acts as a pipe to pull the smoke up the chimney, and two smaller connecting pieces. It sounds like a lot, but all of the pieces could easily fit in the trunk of a car. In 2002, MCC sold the other mold to Saturnino and his wife Bernadina of Zacango who have since then been responsible for the construction and capacity building involved with the stove technology. When MCC receives requests of this nature, we act as the conduit of communication with Saturnino and Bernadina.

Saturnino is short and spindly, though surprisingly strong. He was born in Zacango and has lived his 50 odd years in Zacango, minus the three years in the States. Most of his siblings live in Morelos as they never returned when they left to find work years before. His eight children, seven daughters and one son, still live in Zacango. The youngest is studying in high school in Olinalá. Building and providing training for the construction of the stoves has been good employment for Saturnino, a reason not to return to the States.

He earns 500 pesos for the construction of one stove with the requirement of help from three or four people of the community. This payment includes capacity building as his philosophy is learning by doing. He offers a reduced rate the more stoves are built in a community; however, increases the price if nobody from the community helps. I learned many of these details on the road trip through the mountains, where it feels like Saturnino is almost shouting his answers, though it’s just his manner of speech.

After five minutes on the road, I thought it worth asking if Saturnino knew where the community was located, as I simply had no idea. He didn’t either other than it was in the direction of Temalatlcingo. We would ask at the crossroads. The crossroads never appeared, but San José was surprisingly easy to find and only 35 minutes from Zacango.

Fortified by the armadillo, which Cristina slyly escaped claiming to have already eaten, and energized by the liter each of Coca Cola, we gathered at the first house for the demonstration stove. Saturnino encouraged as many as wanted to come for the training, and especially the women, since the stove would directly impact their daily life. In the end it was a small group that included two brothers, whose houses would each have one stove by the end of the day, five or six women from the community and one or two children who found the lounging dogs more interesting than the training. Throughout the day people drifted in and out of the activities.

Saturnino began his presentation with the benefits of the stove. He looked to the hills talking about years past and the lost lush green of the trees, emphasizing the environmental impacts of the stoves. He moved on to the respiratory illnesses that befall many women because they inhale so much smoke while cooking. The stoves we were about the build pushed the smoke through the chimney to the outside.

His next gambit, which was repeated often throughout the day, was about his ten years of experience building the stoves. It takes less than an hour to build a stove once everyone is trained. And the training is important. If everyone helps out and learns the process, they wouldn’t need him, only the mold. He would just as easily train one person as a thousand. His résumé continued with his experience in Morelos where he and his wife were hired to build 400+ stoves. They built six to eight per day including the pretile (the 1 meter x 1.2 meters adobe base on which the stove sits).

He insisted on mentioning that MCC owned the mold, and it was MCC who brought this technology from the States and taught him how to do this. Each time this was mentioned, I quickly downplayed this aspect as it was apparent to everyone that I was even more clueless than they were as to the basics of this construction.

While Saturnino continued the preamble with a mix of rehearsed jokes and stories, Cristina, his only daughter that knows the process, built the wooden frame. This involved a wrench, some wire and the numbered, wooden boards. We moved inside the sunless room where Saturnino gave an explanation of the placement of the mold so that the air from the outside would push the smoke through the stove.

Next, he arranged the four necessary pieces inside the wooden frame, careful to explain the function and placement of each piece. The piece that created the opening for the wood had to be flush with the frame and flush with the circular mold that would eventually house the fire. A short connector created the space for the movement of heat and smoke from the fire pit to the tube that led to the chimney that would send the smoke out of the room. Eventually, two ollas would serve as molds on top of the tube so that there would be three cooking surfaces for the stove, unlike the usual one cooking area stove.

As the various women looked on and whispered to each other in Nahuatl, the indigenous language spoken by the community, Saturnino disassembled the mold and invited the women to try. The women were shy and hesitant to try. I took one of the pieces and said to the most bold of the bunch, “Where should I put this piece?” Through shaking of heads and giggles, we assembled it again under the expert eye of Saturnino. The process was repeated several times so that several women were able to practice.

While we were learning to assemble the mold, one of the men piled the adobe contents on the floor in front of the stove. One of the benefits of the stoves is the low materials cost. In San José CDI provided the financial support for the community to build two stoves, much of which would go toward the expertise of Saturnino for the construction and training. MCC charges a mere 25 pesos to rent the mold, and the actual cost of the building materials is less than 100 pesos and includes:

7 buckets of sifted dirt

2 buckets of sand

1 package of lye

1 bucket of mule poop

Saturnino emphasized that there was no cement in the stove, unlike others, because the adobe keeps the heat longer and would ultimately use less wood.

I soon was on my knees, hands caked in dirt and cracking from the lye as I mixed the ingredients. Under the tutelage of Saturnino I learned the importance of the adobe mix – to dry and it cracks, too wet like mud and the stove collapses when you take the mold off.

As a few of us mixed the dirt, the others poured it into the frame and pounded it with wood blocks to make it firm. At the threat of charging more for lack of participation, the women gathered around to hit the dirt into the frame, giggling at Saturnino’s jokes and stories.

As the frame filled up, three spaces along the back tube were created with ollas, two for cooking surfaces and one for the chimney hole. A few pieces of rebar were added to fortify the mold and the process of mixing the dirt and pounding it into the frame continued.

Pay special attention to Saturnino's hat.

At some point in this process, I ducked out to enjoy the fresh air. I soon found myself trying to answer who the Mennonites were and what we were doing in Olinalá. These questions were from the same man who at the end of the stove construction wanted to know how to say, “It’s finished,” in English. I was impressed with the knowledgeable curious questions that both he and his wife asked throughout the day about different cultures.

And now for the impressive finish. Saturnino and Cristina sprinkled water on top of the finished stove to smooth the edges and in preparation to take off the molds. Like a paper mache mold, the stove became a reality as each layer pealed away; the wooden frame, the circular center and so on. Piece by piece the mold parts were taken away, and with some water and wet adobe for touch ups the stove emerged and all were impressed.

Just need to take off the mold.

Before we could drink more Coke to celebrate, Saturnino asked several of the women to show him how they built their fire. Several of the women stepped forward and offered their demonstration. Since Saturnino guarantees his stoves, he didn’t want the community to say that the stoves didn’t work because he didn’t show them how to build the correct type of fire that would pull the smoke through the stove. The correct structure requires that the small sticks that burn quickly form the foundation with the longer thinner logs on top. In this way, the bottom quickly lights and leaves the ashes on the bottom so as not to trap the smoke.

Saturnino’s final training related to the stove maintenance and involved comparing the stove to a woman. When the wife is young, she always has the time to do her hair and look nice for the new husband. This makes the husband excited about coming home. When she doesn’t take the time to look good, the man starts to stray. And so like the stove, the woman needs to continually polish the stove with water so that the man will always want to come home to eat from the food prepared on the well maintained stove. It’s a favorite story of his because it was one that he repeated as he finished the second stove too.

While Saturnino put the finishing touches on the first stove, he sent a group to begin the process of mixing the adobe at the next house. For the second stove he boasted that the stove would be finished in less than one hour since the training was complete. And, indeed the process was efficient despite the repeated jokes.

Payment in hand and papers signed assuring the construction, business was finished. All that was left was a meal since if was 3pm. As we sipped another liter of Coke each and ate fresh tortillas, which in eight days could be made on the new stoves, I encouraged Saturnino to think of what his business might look like if he were independent of MCC, and it was just Saturnino and his stoves.

Harvest

Elvira is one of the women who attends the Adult Literacy Class that Jaime and I teach every Wednesday evening in Zacango. She has seven or eight children; the oldest is in his teens and the youngest just turned two. Her husband is in the States with a panadería (bakery) business who sends remittances and returns two of three times a year. He plans to return for Christmas.

The family has a plot of land of about 1 hectare planted with corn near the community primary school. In Zacango, harvest began in late October, and Elvira is one of the last to finish. There seems to be a general understanding in the community that all the corn will be harvested by November 30, as on that day the animals are released of their pens and allowed to roam free, eating all the bare corn stocks.

Jaime and I agreed to help Elvira and her sons on Thursday morning with her harvest that began two days previously. Everyone was hard at work by 7am, though I arrived by 8:30, since my morning ritual of coffee and reading was too difficult for me to break. As I called out to Elvira and Jaime that I had finally arrived, Elvira laughed and said they were almost ready for a break. I traipsed across the field unsure of the rows declaring that I should at least learn the task at hand before break.

There is nothing mechanized about harvest. Earlier in the month, they had gone through the fields and harvested the zacate (silage), so that all the remained in the fields were the stocks with ears of corn on top that had been drying in the sun for the past few weeks. The silage would be used as animal feed in the coming months, and the corn would be used for making tortillas and any other number of corn based dishes. I quickly learned to husk the ear of corn and leave the dry husk and silk on the ground. Jaime and Elvira had a short metal stick that helped to open the husk, but I preferred to use by nails and fingers. I stood with Jaime and Elvira throwing the husked ears into sacks that would later be dragged to Elvira’s house for drying.

With five ears of corn harvested to my name, we were done with that section and walking the 5 minutes to her house for almuerzo (lunch, but refers to 10-11am meal). Her house is full of plants with a relaxing open air space behind the house with a dinning table and wood fired stove for cooking. The uncovered entryway was piled with harvested corn that was drying. With a welcome gentle breeze blowing through metal covered porch, we drank atole de piña and ate fresh tortillas, hard boiled eggs and salsa of pure red chiles.

Before returning to work, Elvira showed us around her place. She still had some cilantro and tomato plants from the family garden project the MCC supported in the summer. Since Jaime was interested in her pigs, we appreciated the four dirty pigs, including two piglets, which would soon be released to eat in the harvested fields.

It soon became evident that Elvira is both hard working and very entrepreneurial. She pointed out a cotton like tree in here backyard. The seeds from this tree are brown and bead like which she uses to make bracelets. Jaime and I now have one to remember our harvest day. She picked up a dried, round flower that she was going to paint and sell as a decoration. Last week as I was driving home from Zacango, I saw Elvira and her mother picking clahuancas (small sour fruit) a half mile from town. On the weekends, she sells the fruit in Olinalá. While she is in town, she also sells baby hats that she crochets during her nonexistent free time. She is full of ideas and always working.

With more admiration for her work ethic, we returned to another part of the field, the sun high in the sky. The two young kids built a small fort for shade out of the corn sacks and corn stocks. We picked the corn, working our way down the rows. I was hot enough with my tank top and could not imagine what Elvira felt with her black sweater on, but she seems unfazed. At the end of our rows, Elvira thanked us and said that we would leave the rest for her sons to finish. While I would have continued, I was glad to escape the midday heat.

Feliz Cumpleanos

Valentina, a faithful student of the literacy classes, missed class last Wednesday. It soon became apparent why. She had spent most of the day preparing for the 6^th birthday party of her oldest son, Iteal. Valentina and Hernan, one of the two primary school teachers in the community, are neighbors of Jaime and Bruce in Zacango. Hernan, Valentina and their two children Iteal and Betuel are active participants in the MCC supported classes in the community.

By the time we arrived to the party, the excited neighborhood children were sitting in anticipation and the adults were filling in the circle of plastic chairs in the main room of the house. The large sheet cake bought in Olinalá was proudly displayed on only table in the room. The pleased parents served Coke to the 20-30 parents and children.

When all the children were settled, they sang Happy Birthday and Las Mañanitas to Iteal who was proudly standing behind his cake. At the end of the song, which included several verses and lyrics that I’m not familiar with, the chanting began. “¡Que le muerde!” (Bite it!) Part of the birthday tradition in Mexico is that the birthday celebrant bites into the cake. Once Iteal took a small bite of the frosting, Valentina served cake and more Coke. With a sufficient sugar high, I left the children still in full celebration.

Valentina, Iteal, Hernan, and Beteul

Iteal

Iteal and Beteul

English Classes in Zacango

I want to thank the Men’s Sunday School Class of Berlin Mennonite Church in Berlin, Ohio for their generous donation of a copy of Rosetta Stone, English levels 1-2. The donation has improved the learning environment and resources of at least 35 students who are learning English in Zacango, a community of 200 people where MCC workers Bruce and Jaime Friesen-Pankratz live.

Jaime teaches English classes every Tuesday and Thursday from 3-6pm to three different groups of students. The classes meet in an unused classroom of the elementary school in the community. After much work, Jaime and Bruce have created a welcoming space for their students to study English and to learn how to use the computer. They found unused desks and chairs for the students and have created many posters and visuals to decorate the walls.

The first hour, 18 students from the primary school sing songs and play games to learn colors, numbers and greetings in English. The second hour is for students of middle school age, and the last hour is for students in their teens and early 20s, many of whom are young women. For the older students, groups of 3-4 students rotate between three learning centers. Jaime works with one group on listening and speaking skills. The other two learning centers involve the use of the Rosetta Stone, which integrates listening, reading and speaking skills. The young women really love using the Rosetta Stone as it integrates learning English with their recent computer skills.

Education in Zacango is a scarce resource. There is a primary school that has two teachers. One teacher is responsible for the students in grades 1-3, and the director of the school teaches grades 4-6. The classes should meet in the morning from 8:30am until 2pm, though usually the students leave at noon. Unfortunately, classes are sporadic, with weeks of only two or three days of class. For students who want to continue their education in la secondaria (grades 6-9) and la prepa (grades 10-12), they would need to go to Olinalá, a 15-20 minute drive. Few have the resources to pay for the transportation or the necessary school supplies and uniforms.

Jaime and Bruce have made their classes a priority. The classes are consistently held every week and begin on time. The students and the community have seen the value that they have placed on education. There are changes in behaviors that reflect this value. Many of the young women work really hard in the mornings to finish their chores and tasks so that they are able to be at the classes in the afternoon. Hernan and Valentina, Jaime and Bruce’s neighbors, posted a calendar of their weekly events. All of the events posted are the classes that Bruce and Jaime teach.

Jaime, Maricruz and Rosio

Lala and Yulisa

Enrique and Carmen

Lala and Jaime

Rosa and Dori

Gabriela and Marisol

Fiesta de San Diego

There is never a bad day for a fiesta in Olinalá, and saints’ days are of particular importance. Thursday, November 12, was the saint day of San Diego, and it is only logical that the neighborhood named after this saint would have a large fiesta in honor of their saint. There are six neighborhoods in Olinalá, many of whom are named after saints. My old neighborhood was part of barrio San Diego, which I found out after I moved. The large neighborhood includes much of a hillside to the north of town on the way to Zacango, where at the top of the hill is a small, but beautiful chapel in honor of San Diego.

I first heard about the fiesta on Wednesday during literacy class in Zacango. Maria, who is always ready for a fiesta and fun, said that she would join many from Zacango for the procession to the neighborhood party. On Thursday as I read and enjoyed the sun on my rooftop deck, I heard a loudspeaker in the area announce that all those from barrio (neighborhood) Paraiso were invited to gather at 4:30 to begin the pilgrimage to barrio San Diego. From Bruce and Jaime who went last year and would be there again this year, I heard tell of a procession, dancing and a meal, the usual activities for a fiesta.

Thinking we would be appropriately late, Manuel, a coworker, and I climbed the hill to the chapel at 5:30, only to realize that people had only just begun to gather. We talked with Max and Irene who live near the chapel. Max’s brother, Luis, is the mayor of Zacango and a good friend of Bruce and Jaime. Irene cleans the MCC office twice a week. While waiting for the procession, I could see the white and red corn drying on the rooftops of the houses, the large pile of squash stashed in a corner waiting to be sold at the market, and the restless donkey eating the yellow flowers while chickens scampered around its feet.

Like a beacon on a hill, the chapel shined with candle light and smelled of fresh cut flowers. To the right of the chapel was a large concrete area that looked like it could have been a basketball court, but that night would be used for eating, saying mass and dancing. Papel picado fluttered in the wind. In front and to the left of the chapel, vendors selling drinks, snacks and knick knacks had set of shop for those who could not wait until dinner. There was a lot of activity and wonderful smells emanating from the left of the chapel where large amounts of pozole (corn soup with pork) was being prepared.

The music of the standard brass band hired for all fiestas signaled that the procession had reached the top of the hill. Similar to the Fiestas Patronales (Patron Saint Festival), though on a much smaller scale, the procession included youth dressed up in scary masks or as tigers who danced to the music of no less than two bands and the more somber adults carrying the saint draped in orange flowers. It lasted less than five minutes.

The 10-15 youth continued to dance to the music outside the chapel as Manuel and I surveyed the scene. The best description I can offer is that of a block party or town fair, minus the rides and cotton candy. I chuckled to see an old neighbor of mine who used to live across the street from me at my old place. My memory of him is that he stood on the balcony some mornings engaged not so appropriate activities. His proclivities tended toward those of my infamous neighbor in Regent Square, if you are familiar with that story. In the defense of this young man, it is common knowledge in the town that he is mentally not all there.

The 500-600 people were not going to fit into the chapel built for 50 people at most, so mass was said outside. Manuel and I were standing on the edges of the circle where the kids ran off energy and excitement, vendors continued to sell their wares, and dinner preparations continued. Every now and again a small grandma would chastise the children for their noise which would quite the group for a few minutes.

The highlight of the mass for me was when we sang “A la Orilla,” a song from the Mennonite Hymnal that I don’t particularly enjoying singing at home, but sang with gusto that night. It was the one time that I felt connected to the liturgy. After the spraying of holy water for those who stepped forward, the mass concluded.

With the conclusion of mass, the party could begin. Men carrying large pails of pozole made their way through the crowd to the tables. Bowls of ground chile, wedges of limes and shredded pork filled the tables along with liters of coke and bottles of tequila. The food was served buffet style from six to eight tables had all of the same food. As best I could tell, each table belonged to a different barrio or community that people had already paid into for the cost of the food. I was invited to eat at several tables, but Bruce and Jaime assured me that we were with the Zacango group. A woman handed me a styrofoam bowl full of pozole. I added chile and lime juice, managing to avoid the pork.

With dinner served, the music and dancing resumed and the tequila began to flow. I really did not see a future for me in the drinking or dancing, and by 9pm I decided that I had celebrated San Diego to the best of my ability. Saturino, a man from Zacango who had a relationship with MCC for many years, assured me that the party was just beginning. I certainly did not doubt him, but asked that he would tell me all about it another day. Maria could not believe that I was going to miss the fireworks. At home, I could still hear the music and see the chapel shinning on the hill.

The next morning as I walked to the office, I saw the sad reality of fiestas. At least three men were sprawled across the sidewalks, a tragic outcome over indulgence at a fiesta. San Diego was certainly celebrated and certainly got his fill of tequila.

Virtual Tour

Welcome to my new house.

plants on my front patio

My front door is to the right of the plants, and the animals are opposite the plants.

the view from my front door beside the kitchen

There are bardrock chickens, a duck, and a turkey is usually roaming free.

The family, who owns the house where I live, lives in the house behind the animals.

kitchen

kitchen

dining room

The stairs lead to the roof where there is a washing machine and clothes line. It offers good views of the town. In early October we watched fireworks from the roof.

living room

The office is to the right of the white chair and my bedroom is to the left, behind the dark material "door." The bathroom is the room behind the white chair. The door leads to the balcony that has no railing. The extra bedroom is to the left of my bedroom. It has a single bed and a cabinet to store the sheets and towels for the house.

living and dining room

office

my bedroom

Team Guerrero

In the less than two months that I have been in Mexico, more than half of the MCC workers in Olinalá have returned to the States. I’d like to think that their departure is not related to my arrival. I am glad to be working with the three remaining workers, so, let me introduce you to Team Guerrero.

Bruce and Jaime Friesen-Pankratz and their three children Zam (8), Hizee (5), and Ziko (3) are from Canada. For the last year they have been working and living in Zacango, 15 minutes from Olinalá. Bruce is beginning a watershed management process in the community and has been teaching computer and English classes. Jaime has been teaching English classes and adult literacy classes to women in the community.

Manuel Vazquez is from Morelos, Mexico who just graduated from university. He has been working with MCC for a year. Much of his work has been in the communities involved in community development.

My New Home

If there is one thing that I love to do and do well, it’s organize. I love to organize office and school supplies, kitchen wares and closets. For every space or pile of items in chaos, I will find a way to order, categorize and arrange.

This insatiable need to organize has done me well in my many moves these last 30 years. In Pittsburgh alone, I have moved six times in eight years (thank you Levi and Gloria). And every move has included carefully packed and labeled boxes. I’d like to think that those who helped me move were impressed by my organizational skills. My favorite part of every move is organizing the new space.

I give you this introduction to say that my coworkers who helped me to move would have no idea that I love to organize given the experience of moving on Tuesday evening. Manuel and Bruce arrived to my house and were faced with books stuffed in plastic bags, plates and mugs wrapped in towels and sheets that were stuffed into a plastic hamper and a pile of pots and pans overflowing from the bin that I use to shower. Since boxes were scarce, flimsy plastic bags and large pots and buckets were my only containers for one of the most disorganized moves I have ever been a part of.

Beginning at 6:30pm, we packed the bed of the white truck, half with plants and the other half with my clothes and household necessities. On the second and last trip, I frantically stuffed food from the refrigerator in plastic bags and wedged myself in the front seat of the truck holding a teapot and a bundle of sheets that I had just stripped from the bed and a pillow.

By 7:30, I stood in my new house surrounded by books strewn across the floor since the bags broke during the move, pitchers and bags of spices littering the kitchen counter and a mix of groceries and households items on the floor and dining room table. Chaos. And now I could begin my favorite part of moving – organizing my new living space.

For the next nine months I will live in the house where the Dyrst’s lived during their last two months with MCC in Olinalá. The three bedroom house has a large space for living and dining, and a kitchen with a view of the chickens, turkeys and ducks that roam the small area that separates my house from the owner’s house.

The house is part of a family compound, which is common in the area as extended families live together. Dona Clara is the matriarch who lives with four of her eight children, the youngest who is in high school. One son lives in the apartment below me; two daughters are married and live elsewhere in Olinalá; and one daughter is married and living in New York City. In-laws live in the house beside my new house. It feels like I have joined a family.

And this family doesn’t know how much I love to organize. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to sleep before I gave some organization to the mess that surrounded me. As the Dyrst left all of MCC belongings, I set about to cleaning and integrating my things with the pots and pans already there. I tried to graciously assure Pepe that I was up to the task alone (and actually wanted to be alone for the task), but I soon realized that he was set on keeping me company in conversation. He left when I had made some progress in the kitchen, but soon returned with the mission of cleaning the bathroom. “Doña Clara insists,” he said. Doña Clara quickly followed with a welcome and an insistence on helping me to settle into my home. They set to work on a much more thorough cleaning of the bathroom than I would have done, and I quickly put bags and items into their proper room to give a quick semblance of order so they would not worry. By 11, they walked the few paces to their house, and I worked in the bedrooms on the far end of the house until past midnight.

This morning I woke up with sun streaming in the window of my new bedroom. Drinking a cup of coffee, I finished most of ordering and organizing that began last night – this time on my own. As I was washing dishes, Doña Clara knocked on the door with food in hand. “Don’t you want to eat?” She gave me fresh tortillas and a plate of rice, cooked vegetables and a hard boiled egg for a 10:30am meal. Less than a half hour later, Toni stopped by to ask if I wanted to eat something with them at the house. I assured him that Doña Clara had already given me food.

After two months of living on my own in Olinala, I quickly understand that my remaining months not be on my own. I will not lack for food or daily conversations. Welcome to my new home.

Pictures to follow soon.

What do you do?

After one month in Mexico, I returned to Pennsylvania for a two week orientation at the MCC offices in Akron, PA.

The first week was a general orientation for all new workers (40) in the organization. It was great to be able to see the scope of the work of MCC; those working in the thrift stores in Canada to those working in the communication department in Akron to those working with partners in Uganda. I participated in a variety of sessions including an overview of the process for restructuring MCC and a discussion on peace theology and power in relationships. I have great memories of celebrating a Phillies win with the some folks from the West Coast office, watching the Akron Halloween parade, ripping up old books at the Material Resource Center (trust me, it was a difficult task for me), and making smores and talking by the campfire. However, as always, what I will remember most are the people.

The 14 of us who would be working internationally were privileged to have a second week of orientation specifically designed for international development work. At times it felt like Development 101, but I found it valuable to talk with the directors of the international programs and with others who would be in the field with me. I am proud that MCC has quality people working internationally in Uganda, Sudan, Burundi, Cambodia and Bolivia. I left Akron on Friday appreciating the thoughtful and dynamic people involved in MCC. Love it!

I was thankful to have the weekends to visit family and friends. I ate ice cream and tasted wine with family at Sandhill Berries, watched the Steelers to victory and donned a swine flu costume in Halloween celebration. Throughout the time, I was asked, “What do you do?” It is an elusive answer. The first month on assignment, I read a lot of documents describing the history of MCC’s presence and work in Guerrero, talked with the workers about their impressions of the work, and visited communities where MCC has worked and is currently working. It was a time of listening and learning.

The presence and work of MCC in Guerrero is going through a transition. We are in the midst of an impact assessment to evaluate our efforts in the communities. In the next few months, I will be part of a team in deciding if MCC should continue to work in the area, and if so, in what way and how. If MCC decides not to work in the region in the future, I will work on a transition and exit strategy for the work.

Day in DF

I wrote this reflection on Saturday, October 17 before flying to the States for a two week orientation in Akron, PA.

Right on time, the bus pulled into the Tasqueña bus terminal at 4am. After a rather sleepless night on the bus, I managed to find my luggage and a taxi to take me to the MCC Mexico office / guesthouse where I might finally sleep in a bed. I was surprised to find all the lights on at the office and Marcos, an Argentine in the YAMEN program, just saying goodbye to friends. As it was near 5, I said good morning and was off to bed.

Wanting to take advantage of my one day in Mexico City, DF, after a few hours of sleep, I was awake and making a plan for the day. By 11am I was walking the few blocks to the metro enjoying the cool air of the higher elevations. The first item on the agenda was to find some coffee, and plenty of it.

Navigating the subterranean annals of the metro system I was quickly reminded that Mexico City is one of the largest cities in the world. With a population that is expected to top 20 million by 2010, I was swept away in the wave of humanity climbing the stairs to the Zócalo. I smiled when I spotted the Steelers logo in the sea of people – Steelers Nation crosses borders.

The last time I was in the Zócalo in 2006, I wondered through tents of people who were camping out for weeks in protest of the presidential election with a margin of less than 1 percentage point. Thousands of Obrador supporters of the PRD party were calling the election of the current President Calderón of the PAN party a fraud and demanding a recount. It wasn’t until September, two months later, that Calderón was declared the official victor. This time, the Zócalo was still covered in tents, but the tents housed thousands of books for the International Book Festival. I browsed and paged through a variety of books from children’s to the classics to recipe books.

By the time I walked to Café Popular it was time for lunch. The line of people waiting to be seated was a good sign that the coffee and food would be worth the wait. As a party of one, the hostess quickly ushered me to my seat at the bar of the diner. With noticeable sleep in my eyes and speech, I ordered a café con leche. The waitress poured strong concentrated coffee into a tall glass and topped it steaming hot milk. It was a sweet reward after the travel. With the menu advertising “Abierto 365 días al año, 24 horas al dia” (Open 365 days a year, 24 hours a day) and the bustle of activity of the efficient wait staff, I felt like I was in the Mexican version of Tom’s Diner. I so enjoyed the atmosphere and coffee that I indulged in another strong glass of café con leche.

Caffeine coursing through my veins, I window shopped on my way to Parque Alameda that is sandwiched between El Palacio de las Bellas Artes housing the murals of Orosco and Tamayo and the museum housing Diego Rivera’s mural of La Catrina. Since I had seen many of the murals during my previous time in Mexico, I skipped the museums and opted for the thriving market selling artisan crafts and food stands crowded with people eating tacos dorados (meat filling rolled in tortillas, fried) and tlacoyas (oblong filled tortillas, fried).

Leaving the Historical Center, I traveled south to the Coyacan neighborhood, one of my favorite areas of the city. Coyacan is the neighborhood of La Casa Azul (the Blue House), the house where Frida Khalo and Diego Rivera lived for many fitful years. It has now become a museum housing several of Khalo’s works. It is also a neighborhood of cafes, parks and artist markets.

I wondered through the large weekend artesian market appreciating the unique jewelry, glassware and hippie clothing. The parks were full of people drinking coffee and eating ice cream. The daily market was filled with fruits and vegetables, a bustling tosada stand and stalls selling the US influenced Halloween costumes and the more traditional Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) decorations and necessities for the ofrendas. I was tempted to buy the calaveras (sugar skulls), but settled on a sampling of the colorful papel picado.

Taking a break from the markets, I toured the Casa de Cortes located in the main plaza. Cortes established the first municipal seat in Mexico during the siege of Tenochtitlán. In the small capilla (chapel) that is now used for weddings, there are murals by Rosales, a student of Diego Rivera, that depict the torture of Cuauhtemoc to make him divulge the location of Aztec treasure.

As day turned into night, I sipped horchata and watched the Saturday afternoon activity in the plaza. I particularly appreciated the group of university students holding signs Abrazos Gratis (Free Hugs) and the reactions that they elicited from people.