Work and Hope

I end my time in Mexico and my work with Mennonite Central Committee (MCC) after a flurry of activity in August. This past week as I attempted to give a brief orientation of the MCC work and the city with Luke and Sarah Roth-Mullet, new workers who will be in the Connecting Peoples position in Mexico City, I have hope and faith that the vision and mission of MCC will continue seamlessly in Mexico.

MCC seeks to accompany local organizations and to support the work of the churches. Over the weekend, I traveled by bus, two hours more than probably necessary due to long rest stops, to Campamento Mazahua with members and leaders of the Mennonite Churches of Mexico for the 2^nd Anabaptist Convention of Mexico. During our four days together, where about 150 members of the Mennonite Churches of Mexico from the states of Mexico, Chihuahua, Tamaulipas, Veracruz, Sinaloa, and Sonora, I sang praise songs with the more than ample amplification, shared meals and interesting conversations about the work and vision of the churches, and listened to the dialogue related to the Conference theme, ¿Cómo ser y hacer iglesia? (How to be church and do church?). Sharing this experience with many faithful and dedicated people gives me hope for the future work of the Mennonite Churches in Mexico.

I leave tomorrow morning with a deeper understanding of the work and vision of MCC and of development and all its complications and contradictions. I am so thankful for the opportunity that MCC has given me this year to serve and work along side incredible people. I am so impressed by the dedication and passion of MCC workers, and it has been an honor to a colleague in this organization.

Thank you.

Hail Storm

Do not let the white stuff fool you. It is not snow, rather a rare hail storm in Mexico City that left me without power for several hours this evening.

The road in front of the apartment had a layer of hail that later created a small river on the street.

Bus trips

I am so thankful that my last overnight bus from Olinalá arrived promptly this morning at the Tasquena bus station in Mexico City at 4am despite the driving rain for the first two hours of the trip along the sharp curves of Guerrero. I attribute the success of the eight hour trip to the driver’s sidekick / relief driver, sketchy though he was.

On my Sunday evening bus ride to Olinalá, the bus driver’s sidekick was his 10 year old son, who did a good job of keeping him company despite the distraction from Rambo in the background. The noise from this highly plot-driven movie (joke) drowned out any possible sounds from other passengers, including the cat. I only heard the cat when he first boarded the bus. The distinct, desperate meows for help and jumping garbage bag were the only clues of the cat’s presence on board. Thankfully I was not sitting close to the pet’s owner, as it was no doubt a lively ride.

I am sure the driver also appreciated the last hour or two of the trip when one of the passengers regaled all of us sitting near the front of the bus with a monologue of tales from his drug smuggling days. He was coming home to Temalaquilcingo, a pueblo outside of Olinalá, after two years of living in Sonora. The bus driver disappointed him when he said that this bus was not carrying any drugs. I was thankful. I have no idea what the driver sidekick thought of the whole scene.

Last night, on the return trip to Mexico City, I traded listening to drug smuggling stories for a lesson in swearing. The driver’s sidekick showered his speech with every profanity that I know in Spanish and many more new variations of the words and phrases. The rich vocabulary was not want expedited the trip. With three hours of highway driving remaining, the bus driver sprawled out across the first two seats, while the sidekick drove. That is why we arrived at 4am on the dot. I should mention that there was a quick and shifty change of drivers as we pulled into the station, the original driver quickly wiping sleep away from his eyes.

Adios, Farewell, So Long

It was a perfect farewell combined with a birthday celebration on my last day in Zacango and with Bruce, Jaime, Zam, Hizee and Ziko. I am so grateful for their friendship and kindness during this year. Thank you. I will certainly miss you.

Cerro de Gallo

In the States, hiking Cerro de Gallo, 1740 meters or about 5700 feet and accessed via Chiaucingo, a 15 minute drive from Olinalá, would require all the latest gear in outdoor clothing, hiking shoes, energy snacks and all the fashionable hiking accessories. In Zacango, it requires the nearest pair of shoes that you own, be it flip-flops or jelly shoes, whatever you felt like putting on when you woke up in the morning, hotdogs and lots of candy.

Yesterday I played a rousing game of football with the kids who are part of the children’s summer program that Bruce and Jaime are leading in Zacango. Today I climbed a mountain with a group of ten excited children, ranging from 5 to 15 years old, and a handful of adults. By 9am, we began our assent, which we soon found out was no Sunday afternoon walk in the park.

The highest peak on the left was our goal.

Plenty of energy at the beginning.

We walked by farmers' fields and animals.

Beautiful, lush green scenery.

Again, our goal was the far left peak.

We followed the ridge to reach the top.

A bit deceiving that this was only the first of three or four peaks that we had to climb to reach the absolute top.

Three hours later, including several sugar shock dips into the candy bag, we achieved our goal. I was super impressed with the children who taught me all about the flora on the mountain. It is no secret that I am the least inclined to be able to identify plants, but the knowledge that these young people had truly surpassed expectation. Growing up in the campo means that the children are well aware of their surroundings and without a complaint on a fatiguing hike in the sun.

The view from the top.

Elvira and Gloria started a fire with damp firewood in under 10 minutes. Impressive. Those with patience and interest roasted hot dogs.

An impressive group at the top of Cerro de Gallo.

Celebrating our return.

Please note the hiking gear, especially the footwear. Elvira, left, relieved the mountain of numerous plants and even scrap metal for her next creative venture. The future benefits of carrying all that extra weight most of the way up and all the way down did not seem worth it to me.

Resting after a long, but fun hike to Cerro de Gallo.

I have great memories sharing this experience with the children from Zacango, and a physical reminder for the coming week with red shoulders and face, thanks to a fierce afternoon sun.

Baking Group

Pizzas, breads, muffins, cakes, and now oatmeal raisin cookies. The women of Zacango who have been attending the weekly baking group since the spring would be more than happy to make any of these delicacies for you. Almost twenty women gathered in a small room, once dust covered and dilapidated, that they converted into a community bakery. Several women brought flour, sugar and other baking ingredients to restock the group’s supplies.

This week Jaime guided them through the cookie recipe that she had printed on a large poster. Several copied the recipe into a notebook for later use; even though, all the recipes are hanging on the walls. On days when the group does not meet, women pay a small fee to cover the cost of the gas to use the oven. Most women do not have an oven at home, and if they do, it is used for storage. The cost of a gas tank, about 300 pesos, is limiting for most in the community, aside from simply not being accustomed to using an oven.

Jaime guides them through the recipe, encouraging everyone to help measure the ingredients or stir the batter or grease the baking sheets. And while there are definite leaders who potentially could take over the entire process, there is good camaraderie among the women who talk and laugh together. It was a privilege to be a part of this group of women this afternoon.

Adventures in Shopping

Walmart has upwards of 50% of the retail market in Mexico with Walmarts and Sam’s Clubs, in addition to grocery stores such as Superama, restaurants such as VIPS, and clothing stores such as Suberbia. The nearest Walmart is two metro stops from the apartment, and the easiest place for one stop shopping. But where is the adventure and fun in that?

At the Portales market, a 15 minute walk from my house, my choices of vegetables, fruit, dried beans, chiles and assorted house wares abound. The fruit vendor hand picks the avocados and melons to be ready for the week or for that day. I buy one peso worth of cilantro that is more than enough for the week. The woman selling cream and cheese allows me to taste test the cheese before buying. And for being a vegetarian, I have dallied in the meat section of the market to buy bacon for the team meeting. I had to walk past the pig heads, all sorts of innards and plenty of meat parts that I could not identify, but I managed to find bacon by the kilo. I asked for thinly sliced, but that was a difficult task given that the 15 year-old welding a large knife was individually slicing each piece.

Lina is my usual café where I buy freshly roasted and ground coffee. I know exactly where the fruit vendor is who sells real honey, and around the corner, the stall where I can buy real butter. My favorite store near the market is Alpina. I have learned to go early, or expect to wait in a long line. As far as I know, the store has everything you might want to buy in bulk. I can not say for sure since I have to have my exact order ready at the first window, pay at the second window, and wait patiently as the employees troll their long aisles, shelves to the ceiling, filling my order. One the same street, I buy fresh chipotle tortillas and potentially any shape or size of piñata.

Time consuming. Yes. Always an adventure with new things to see and discover. Absolutely.

Copan Ruinas

On the western side of Honduras, a few hours from the Guatemala border, lies Copan that traces its foundations to the Mayas. Now a hot spot for tourists, Copan boasts some of the best preserved Mayan ruins in Central America.

The immense plaza of lush green is dotted with different mounds, alters and stelas.

This is part of the ball court.

This is the second largest ball court, the first being in Chichen Itza, Mexico, in Central America. The goal was for the players to get an 8 pound ball to hit the protruding stone, toward the right of the photo.

The lucky winners were sacrificed. Sometimes it is good to be a loser.

The 63 steps and two thousand glyphs tell the history of the royal house of Copan. The stairway is the longest known text of ancient Mayan civilization.

The Jaguar Court is the site of the ball court sacrifices.

Beautiful macaws enliven the ruins.

Are we a People of Peace?

This month will mark the 90^th anniversary of the founding of Mennonite Central Committee (MCC) that was formed when several Mennonite conferences met in Elkhart, Indiana. MCC began by delivering aid in Russia, Ukraine and Turkey. Since then, thousands have served with MCC in more than 50 countries, working alongside local churches and communities to carry out disaster relief, sustainable community development and justice and peace-building work in the name of Christ. MCC workers attempt to build bridges to connect people and ideas across cultural, political and economic divides. From the beginning, MCC has been grounded in the Mennonite Church that at its core, values peacemaking.

Peacemaking is when Colombian communities, divided and devastated by civil war, are able to tell their stories through a peace quilt. Peacemaking is when the Honduran Mennonite Church works together to understand what it means to be a peace church so that as one body, it can be a witness in a politically divided country. Peacemaking is advocating for communities impacted by the mining companies in Guatemala. Peace is political, BUT….

Have we forgotten that peacemaking is building relationships with our neighbors? Peacemaking is sharing a meal with those of different faiths and cultures. Peacemaking is helping to create viable economic markets for small farmers. Peacemaking is supporting education opportunities for children without access. Peacemaking is encouraging reforestation efforts.

MCC is an organization that seeks peace through the work of churches and partners around the world. All of the work is fundamentally based in peacemaking. Please join MCC’s efforts to be a people of peace both locally and globally.

Worlds Apart

It is easy to identify the differences and to do it quickly. When I arrived in Mexico I had the pleasure of testing all kinds of new foods, very different from the Tex-Mex food that passes for Mexican cuisine in States. Now I eat picante on freshly made tortillas or quesadillas filled with nopales or rajas for lunch served between 2:00 and 3:00 in the afternoon, and I can buy a variety of fried foods from any number of vendors that crowd the streets. I am resigned to the idea that waking up early to finish errands before work is impossible since businesses do not open until at least 9am and more often 10am. I rely on the corner store for quick access to milk or cheese and on the markets that spring up around the city selling fresh fruits and vegetables. I take for granted the extensive and secure bus system that reaches all the vast parts of Mexico. The education experience for the children I know in places like the state of Guerrero includes rote learning and months where classes are held less than 50 percent of the days. And this passes as normal. While I am one border crossing away from my home, I feel worlds apart.

After more than a week in Honduras, comparisons abound. Again it is easy to identify the glaring differences between two countries that while sharing a language, seem worlds apart. The hot and humid days begin before 8am with a heavy breakfast of eggs, refried beans, cheese and tortillas. I do not have to wait until mid afternoon to lunch on baleadas (large flour tortillas filled with beans, eggs and dry crumbly cheese) or tejadas (fried plantains). In talking with the Mennonite Central Committee (MCC) workers, I quickly realize that it is not safe to be out at night alone in cities like San Pedro Sula, especially as a woman. Most have been mugged at some point during their time, losing only material wealth like money, cell phones or cameras. There is a heightened sense of insecurity. The bus system feels chaotic with people shouting destinations, luring us to repainted school buses for long, hot bus rides across a country a quarter of the size of Mexico.

And yet, underneath these obvious differences, are we worlds apart? What is it that tips the balance in society? What does it take to create a breakdown in trust in communities or lack of faith in the legal and judicial system? Thus far shielded from the violence of the narcotraficantes (drug traffickers), will this violence permeate Mexican society and filter through communities in the US? How can we respond in our communities, worlds apart, yet connected and dependant on one another?

Regional Retreat

It was a short night of sleep after Friday evening’s talent show that included our lucha libre skit, a tongue and cheek commentary on Mennonite Central Committee (MCC). I said goodbye to my beloved equipo fuerte (strong team) this morning at 3am. Equipo fuerte, as we Mexico workers named ourselves for the week, stems from our airport experience on Monday. The airline offered food and lodging for the night plus an additional $200 USD to two people willing to change flights. It was definitely enticing, but I told Alejandro, the TACA representative, that it was all seven of us or none at all because we were un equipo bien fuerte (a very strong team), which produced plenty of laughter. The team did not let me forget my statement that made an appearance in our skit.

While the week’s morning workshop sessions were less than inspiring, I was impressed with the quality and dedication of workers that MCC has working in the region. In a region that is plagued by insecurity and a widening economic gap, there is much reason for hope through the MCC work with partners and communities. MCC supports food security projects in western Guatemala that includes advocacy surrounding the impact of Canadian mining in the region. MCC supports the Honduran Mennonite Churches in their quest to be a witness for peace in a country reeling from political instability after Zelaya, the country’s president, was forcibly removed from power a year ago. MCC supports youth and children in Nicaragua through education projects.

Despite geographical proximity, we all live in a different reality shaped by our context; however, we are drawn together by our desire for mutual transformation, a process of sharing and learning together. The work of MCC will not change the course history, but I do have hope that the work of MCC will plant seeds of hope in individuals and communities that has the potential for change.

Heading to Honduras

The MCC Mexico team had a wonderful weekend together; relaxing in Mexico City, reflecting on our experiences these last few months, suffering Mexico’s loss in the World Cup and celebrating the work and contributions of Natalie, our SALT participant who has been in Cuernavaca this past year. I am so grateful to be a part of this supportive group. We listen to each other, laugh together and join in the struggle and work of hope and peace.

Today we leave the confetti strewn office for Honduras to spend a week at the MesoAmerica Retreat with other Mennonite Central Committee (MCC) workers from Central America. The Parque Nacional Cerro Azul Meambar (PANCAM) and the MCC Honduras team will play host to over 40 people working in Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras and Nicaragua. I am excited to meet others working in the region with MCC and to experience my first foray in Central America.

Pride

I should have realized something out of the ordinary was going on at the Zócalo when at the exit of the metro I saw several bare chest men sparkling with glitter. There was a more than usual push of people at the metro exits due to several exits blocked off to accommodate the FIFA Fan Fun Center that covered the entirety of the Zócalo.

We went to the Zócalo on the eve of the Mexico vs. Argentina game to avoid tomorrow’s crowd but still be part of the FIFA fever. Unfortunately we were denied entrance to the FIFA Fan Fun Center. The stage was empty and the big screen was quiet. Nobody was attending the tents of food, games and souvenirs. Not to be deterred, we walked to another entrance in hopes of charming the guard to let us walk the grounds that would be saturated with fans tomorrow.

We were again denied as closing time was 6pm. However, the visit was not in vain. The rainbow flags were waving and people of all shapes, sizes and orientation were parading the closed streets and sidewalks. The clothing and makeup brought a lively lift to the Zócalo with the FIFA setup as a backdrop. Rounding the last corner of the Zócalo, we stumbled over the usual protesters camping out in the Zócalo, not to be denied attention for their cause.

Never a dull moment in the City’s center.

The Music of Puebla

Last night we sat outside at one of the many eateries surrounding Puebla’s zocalo (main plaza). Three doors down a singer crooned out of tune, accompanied by a guitarist. The wait staff at our restaurant sang along to the seemly well known songs, oblivious to the discord. To serenade the patrons of our restaurant, two roaming musicians briefly competed with the amped, off key singer. Welcome to Puebla.

Puebla is home to the famous 5 de mayo battle of 1862 where confounding all expectations, Mexico defeated the French troops. Often thought of by my students, and probably many in the US, as Mexico’s Independence Day, 5 de mayo simply marks the victory of a battle, which, often forgotten, ended in the French winning the war. 5 de mayo is the name of Puebla’s main walking street that is lined with retail stores, and changes into 16 de septiembre, Mexico’s actual Independence Day, on the south side of Reforma.

5 de mayo, Puebla´s walking street

If I was not distracted by the musicians at the cafes and restaurants, I was soaking in the beauty of the colonial buildings, studded with Puebla’s famous azulejos (ceramic tiles), and numerous churches and cathedrals. The main cathedral, which boosts the highest tower in Mexico, is on the 500 peso bill if you do not make it to Puebla to see for yourself. This afternoon, with the cathedral as their back drop, the teenage praise band sang their Alleluias and Amens to a swaying crowd, arms lifted to God.

the Cathedral

Stuffed from one of Puebla’s culinary specialties, mole poblano, I sat in the city’s theater, located off the zocalo that was hosting a weekend of music, free to the public. The rock fusion group that took the stage was composed of a group of young Puebla musicians who used strings, like the cello, viola and violin in conjunction with the accordion or saxophone to create some rock music. I really appreciated their style and their approach until they got a little too experimental for my taste.

enchiladas con mole poblano

mole poblano is a rich chocolaty sauce

the classic restaurant ambience

chile en nogada

another Puebla specialty, it is a chile poblano with a meat filling, doused in a sweet, creamy sauce

Before we returned to the bus station for our two hour ride to Mexico City, it was one more moment of music at the churrería. We opted for the table not immediately in front of the singer and his guitar. He sang and strummed, with more interest in his cigarette break than his music.

I Count in Mexico

I was disappointed to miss the 2010 US Census. I wanted to be counted. Thankfully Mexico is willing to count me in their census. This afternoon when I opened the MCC office door, I feared it was one more person trying to sell me something. The census worker quickly showed me his official badge and asked if I lived here. Here was my chance. I decided that I had spent enough nights at the MCC office to qualify with a “yes” answer. The questionnaire was brief, asking for information related education, religion and the living quarters. In less than five minutes, our interview was over. I was counted.

Hot and Humid

Tapachula, Mexico’s southernmost city, was the next border town that I visited. After four or five days of the cold and rain of San Cristobal, the heat and humidity of Tapachula left me prostrate in bed to end my week long trip in Chiapas. I did, however, find enough energy to succeed in my reconnaissance mission.

In August, a family will be joining the MCC Mexico team and will be the first MCC workers to live in Tapachula. With the help of Luis Flores, a Guatemalan who works for the International Organization for Migration, I toured the city for all of the necessities of setting up a life such as housing, food markets, transportation and banking.

After one short day, I decided that I would not choose to live in Tapachula, but given the work of Arturo and Adrienne, the new MCC workers, it is important for MCC to have a presence on the southern border. Adrienne will be the regional policy analyst for Latin America, and the proximity to Central America will ease her extensive travel schedule. Arturo will be exploring and analyzing the issue of immigration as MCC Latin America works to have an integrated approach to the issue recognizing the realities on both sides of the border.

It is impossible to escape the reality of the border. Early this morning at Tapachula’s two gate airport, the police and security officials suffocated the area. Before I was allowed to check in, an official in army green meticulously reviewed my documents. Next, they screened all of my baggage. Only then was I able to proceed to the check in counter. Boarding pass in hand, I had to show my passport and all my documents to the immigration officials even though I had never left the country. Finally, I proceeded through one last security screening to reach the waiting area.

It’s good to be back home in Mexico City.

A Face of Hope

As a teenager, Malena remembers playing at the river and seeing the Honduran and Nicaraguan mothers clutching the hands of their children, a look of sheer terror on their faces. They did not know how to swim, but crossing the river was the only option to continue their journey. Growing up in Chamic, a border town with Guatemala, Malena lives the reality of the immigration struggle. Her three month old daughter will be the next generation.

Malena operates a quesadilla restaurant a few hundred feet from the Mexico / Guatemala border crossing of Chamic. She counsels the young women who eat at the restaurant who are caught in a vicious cycle of prostitution and addiction. These women work at local bars, lured by the false hope of higher wages and passage to the US. It begins with one drink, but it ends in a cycle of addiction and prostitution to pay the debt of their coyote or the bar owner.

After years of working at the restaurant, she can easily tell who the scared migrants are and where they are from. She engages them in conversation, very slowly shedding the layers of distrust in which they wrap themselves. She listens to their story. She offers advice. She helps.

The Guatemalans cross easily with a day pass. Their features are so similar to the Chapanecos (those from Chiapas) that they easily blend in and have fewer problems at the checkpoints further north in Chiapas, the most difficult area in Mexico to pass through for migrants. For the Hondurans, it is their features that are the death of them, but there is nothing they can do to change them. She has given some migrant men different T-shirts so that they look more like the men from surrounding villages. She has lent several a bicycle so that it looks like they are commuting to work. She counsels women to abandon the tennis shoes and dress up. She gives them makeup so that they look like they are out paseando.

I asked her how she began and why she does this type of work. “It’s the reality that I live. I’m surrounded by it and can’t avoid it.” Immigration is a fact of life in Chamic. Everyone knows who the polleros (people who migrants pay up to $5000 USD to help them cross) are as well as the narcotraficantes (drug traffickers). They bribe the border officials with sums of up to $20,000USD. But, nobody says anything.

In recent years, there is increased violence due to the rise of the Zetas, groups of organized crime. They are the unknown and the most dangerous. It is said that the originator of this group, a former army official trained at The School of the Americas, was named Zeta. His followers were there after named Zeta 1, Zeta 2… and so on; the birth of the Zetas.

Everyday Melena goes to work and is a face of hope to these many faces of fear. By listening, she exults the humanity of the migrants who all to often will be abused and caught in violence for not having the face of a Mexican.

I am Christian not Catholic

It rains in San Cristobal, but it is not the rainy season rain like other places in Mexico. It is a cold, all day rain. Yesterday and today’s rains forced me to take refuge in the numerous coffee shops that litter San Cristobal’s quaint streets, each advertising the renowned coffee of Chiapas. I normally would not choose a large, but completely empty café; however, the Biomaya Café sells exclusively biomaya coffee.

Four years ago when I lived in Motozintla, Chiapas, for the summer, I worked with ASIAC, a cooperative of coffee growers, who was trying to get their coffee, branded biomaya, to a larger market. It was exciting to see that as of six months ago, this coffee cooperative, through Potpo, another local nonprofit organization, had a coffee shop in San Cristobal exclusively dedicated to selling biomaya coffee.

Gilberto, the lone server this afternoon, brought me my café con leche (coffee with milk), and stayed for conversation despite my open novel. It could have been my look of desperation for warmth or that I was the only person in the coffee shop or that Gilberto was bored and saw me as a captive audience. He showed off his English when he found out I was from the US, and told me that he would never forget the people he met during his nine years living in Arizona. He proudly presented the business card, which he keeps in his wallet, of the professional painters that he worked for in Phoenix.

Like many who I meet, he found it difficult to understand what a single woman was doing in Mexico, alone. I explained as best and as briefly as I could about the work of Mennonite Central Committee, which prompted the question of religion. I tried to place Mennonites in a framework that he might understand; “I’m an evangelico,” (evangelical or Protestant). Since it was Sunday and we could see the main cathedral through the drizzle, I asked him if he was Catholic. “No, I am Christian not Catholic.”

It is not the first time that I have heard this sentiment in Mexico, but I am always frustrated by how the catolicos (Catholics) and evangelicos (Protestants) have found a way to create more division than unity. In a country steeped in religious conflict that includes the forced conversion of many indigenous by Cortes and the Spanish in the 1500s to the 1917 Constitution and its anti-clerical laws and the counter revolution, the Cristero War, in the 1920s, the conflict continues in Chiapas today.

Gilberto told me that unlike the Catholics, he reads the Bible and believes in God. He was not at all convinced that the Catholic religion is also based on the Bible and the belief in God. He shared a common conversion story. Life before being Christian included drinking, being unfaithful to his wife and ignoring the responsibilities of family, and now he spends time with family and provides financially for their needs, through God’s blessing. I appreciated his fervor and faith, yet I struggled to convey to Gilberto the potential for shared passion with Catholics, fellow Christians on this journey of life.

With this recent conversation in mind, I discussed with Ernesto Martin, director of INESIN, an organization that works for interreligious dialogue, this constant conflict and tension between the evangelicos and catolicos, especially in Chiapas. Keeping in mind that he is a Nazarene pastor, he said that for many years Catholics emphasized the rites and rituals. People associated the Catholics with the rituals and the Pope, rather than God and the Bible. The Evangelical movement began preaching from the Bible and emphasizing the personal relationship with God. Some suggest that the Evangelical upsurge pushed the Catholics to begin preaching from the Bible.

Similar to Northern Ireland, another conflict clothed in religious tension, the situation in Chiapas has become political, based in a struggle for power. Political candidates support education or medical programs sponsored by evangelicals with the hope of winning votes. In the last ten years el Ejercito de Dios (God’s Army), basically a paramilitary group, has taken up arms to further the evangelical agenda and its political power. While the state is still predominantly Catholic, Evangelicals hold key political positions, though with elections on July 4, time will tell which Christian group will occupy the elected positions.

Mundial Mania

Marooned in Mexico’s Mecca for European backpackers for the first game of the Mundial (World Cup), there was no shortage of cafes and bars in San Cristobal, Chiapas ready to host the 9:00am crowd to watch Mexico kick off the 2010 World Cup against host country South Africa. Breakfast conversation was impossible with the television volume on high and all attention of the standing room only café focused on the game. The energy and excitement of the crowd was intense. With every shot on goal and diving save, a roar rippled through the small café.

It is hard to imagine that in a country consumed by soccer that I would have a meeting at 10am on the initial morning of the sport’s world showcase, with Mexico in the opening game. Inconceivable though it may be, there are Mexicans that are not futból (soccer) fanatics, and one of them is Ernesto Martin, director of INESIN, one of MCC’s partner organizations that works to create space for interreligious dialogues.

With the score at zeros and one more half to play, I made my way to my meeting, the first of two. I realized that Ernesto, the chatty and cheerful director of INESIN, was doing a favor to Nataneal, the other organization’s administrator, by discussing with me all of the needed MCC business first. Nataneal did not make it to work today until noon, as probably much of Mexico’s work force, after Mexico’s 1-1 tie with South Africa.

Classrooms of Hope

In her early 50s, Guillermina Tinoco has been with MCC Mexico for almost fifteen years. Having the longest tenure in the organization, she is a living history of MCC Mexico’s work. She has interacted with her fair share of interesting and unique MCC workers and country representatives, but her generous spirit fails to ever convey a word of judgment or criticism, only kindness and compassion. She remembers working for MCC when the offices were in Cuernavaca in the 1990s. When she began as accountant, she came into the office about everyday to complete the extensive accounting requirements for Akron and for the state. While she continues to do the same work, I see her in the office only three days of each month, due to the changes in technology, speed of current communication and new operating systems.

When she is not in the MCC office, she volunteers in Naucalpan, an at risk neighborhood in the northeast of Mexico City, at least two hours from the MCC offices. She teaches literacy to adults at a Baptist church through the governmental program INEA (Instituto Nacional de Educación de Adultos, National Institute for Adult Education). In the fall, Guillermina, along with two other women, began Aulas de Esperanza (Classrooms of Hope) for children with different abilities. MCC is financially supporting Aulas de Esperanza through a monthly grant from MCC’s Global Family education sponsorship.

Aulas de Esperanza began after a discussion with Maria, one of the women who attended literacy classes with Guillermina. Unique to many in her situation, Maria is a devoted advocate for her son who is mostly deaf. She recounted to Guillermina the continual struggle that she has encountered to obtain a decent education for her son who is more than falling through the cracks of the public education system.

In cooperation with the local school, Aulas de Esperanza welcomes six to seven students in the small but adequate classroom twice a week in the morning. There is a brief group instruction time, and then individual work stations. The women volunteers receive daily petitions to participate in the program; however, due to limited resources, space and volunteers, Aulas de Esperanza can only attend to the fifteen students that currently attend.

Today as I shared lunch with Guillermina, I sat in complete disbelief as she shared with me the experiences of some of the students who attend Aulas de Esperanza. With my experience in the US public education system, my teacher training emphasized the importance of teaching to all types of learners and to accommodate students with special needs. Differentiated instruction was the phase du jour the last time I was in the classroom. I understood the mandate as a teacher to provide an equal education to all the students who walked through the door, and I was sure to receive a phone call or an email from the parents if I did not.

Maria’s son Luis understands school as a place where he is relegated to the back corner of the classroom. With no hearing in his left ear, and only partial in his right, Luis obviously needs special accommodations in order to learn. At best he is ignored. At worst, he is taunted by the other students, who have as their role model the teacher who is also insulting Luis, adding how stupid he is. He is not stupid, he simply can not hear like the other students. He is in third grade and can not read. He is passed along to the next grade because the teachers seemingly do not want to deal with him.

The 13-year-old Alejandro, one of the oldest children at Aulas de Esperanza, was expelled from school. He and his younger brother live on the streets doing odd jobs and getting food where they can as their mother has left to be with another man who does not want them. Carmen, labeled as dumb by those at school, has had excrement smeared on her by other students. And the stories continue. Since Aulas de Esperanza opened its doors in the fall, more students and concerned parents have emerged, each with their unique story.

Each of the students at Aulas de Esperanza has learning disabilities that hinder their learning in the standard school environment. I know from experience, that it is time consuming to plan and to teach to the diversity in the classroom, yet the treatment of these children is unacceptable. I do not doubt that there are dedicated teachers and administrators in the Mexican public education system. Unfortunately for the handful of students at Aulas de Esperanza, their few hours a week outside of the regular school system is their chance to learn.

What is the hope for these students? Guillermina hopes that they can attend a technical school or learn a trade so that they can eventually provide for themselves in dignity, and not resort to life on the streets that means violence, drugs and poverty. It is my hope that Aulas de Esperanza endures and grows so that more children have the encouragement and opportunity to learn.

Haz Sandwich

As I walked into the Plaza Hidalgo, one of the main plazas in the Coyoacán neighborhood this afternoon, I discovered several guys in the green Mexican soccer jerseys kicking around a soccer ball. There was a camera or two around, so my first thought was that they were going to film a commercial for the Mundial (World Cup) that is quickly approaching.

With Mexico playing in the opening game against host country South Africa on June 11, World Cup fever is alive in Mexico. A few weeks ago as I was wondering through the historic district, I came across the filming of a World Cup commercial with lots of people dressed as fans from Mexico, Spain, Brazil, Argentina and so on.

Today I decided to sit only a few feet from the action. As a spectator, there did not appear to be any direction to the action, and the guys continued to mess around with the soccer ball, showing off their ball handling skills. All of sudden a heavy beat boomed from the gazebo, and a young man and woman began a choreographed dance not five feet from where I was sitting. They were clearly invested in these dance moves. Several more apparent bystanders join them, and within 30 seconds the plaza was filled with dancers, swinging their arms and swaying their hips to the beat. It quickly dawned on me that I was in the center of a flash mob.

The photographer in red definitely has several pictures of me. He is standing where I was sitting before this all began.

I moved to a bench further back. A girl quickly jumped on my previous seat and continued the dance without missing a beat. A photographer that I had seen earlier was moving around the crowd taking pictures. He snapped several of me laughing at this experience. I laughed even more when an older woman who was walking through plaza decided to get in on the dancing action. She blended in pretty well until the end.

The last move of the dancers was to take off their shirt and swing it around their heads while doing some rebel yells of excitement. Before you get scandalized, all involved had a shirt that said “Haz Sandwich” underneath their top shirts. And as quickly as they appeared, they all scattered their separate ways.

“Haz Sandwich.” It did not click for me until on my walk from Coyoacán to San Angel, a neighboring area, I saw an advertisement at a bus stop for a popular bread brand, Bimbo.