Pecha Kucha Invitation

Playing with Children in Mexico is the title of our Pecha Kucha program to be presented November 9 from 7 to 9 PM at the Riverview Cafe in downtown Brattleboro, Vermont. The event is free and open to the public.

What is Pecha Kucha? (It is pronounced pe-chá ku-chá.) Good question. A friend recently explained that it is like adult show-and-tell and then recruited us to participate. There will be ten presentations each consisting of twenty slides shown for twenty seconds each for a total of just over six and a half minutes. It's a chance to see and hear a little bit about a lot of topics, expand your mind, meet folks with similar and dissimilar interests.

Why is it called Pecha Kucha? The words mean “chit-chat” in Japanese. This entertaining art form was developed in Japan to pick up the pace of professional presentations. Six minutes of something boring is bearable. Six minutes of something inspiring can motivate you to make contact with folks who can help you learn more. It is now a social fad that has spread around the world - all the way to southern Vermont.

So, we invite you to come be inspired about our work as cultural ambassadors with the children of rural Mexico. If you live too far from Brattleboro to attend you can contact us here for more information.

Looking Backwards, Looking Forwards

In May, 2009 we left our home in Papagayos to help lead an RV tour to Alaska and planned, God willing, to return by August or September at the latest. The H1N1 influenza was still new at that point and there had been questions about border closings, so we included in our packing some things not needed for a simple RV tour – interview clothes, many of our important papers, all of our songbooks.

Apparently God had plans for us. We have continued to be in the US for almost a year and a half as one thing led to another. My father died in August; my daughter asked us to stay in Vermont for the 2009-10 school year; we bought and renovated a tiny house; a new grandchild was born and has celebrated his first birthday; I spent a month helping my sister recover from major surgery. All important events in our lives.

We have sung and danced, laughed with and loved many people, earned many a day's wages, torn out more lathe-and-plaster and knob-and-tube wiring than we had ever imagined doing in our lives. And through it all we have missed our southern home and the people we consider our extended family.

In January, we flew to San Luis Potosí for a visit and spent most of the time perched on our friends' chairs sipping sweet, milky instant coffee and exchanging the details about our lives in Spanish. When we left Papagayos to return to Vermont our amigos consistently wished us safe travels and let us know that they would be waiting for us whenever God was willing for us to return.

Almost daily our hearts fly south to roost on the branches of our friends' guava trees. When we are in Mexico our hearts fly to Vermont their roost in the maples. The songs of our hearts truly make a bittersweet harmony. We have created two homes. Our intention was to double our true security by doubling our base of dear friendships, but it also created a constant longing for being with loved ones in our other home.

It seems that now our tasks in Vermont are coming to a close. By mid-November we plan to begin our drive south and, God willing, we'll cross the border safely and arrive in Papagayos in time to celebrate Thanksgiving Day with Chuy, Chayo, Hector, Simón, Rosa, Tere and Ismael and many other dear ones.

Day Length

Our home in Papagayos rests south of the Tropic of Cancer. In the summer the sun passes north of being directly overhead at mid-day, but the day lengths vary only about an hour through the annual cycle of seasons with the average day about twelve hours long. Nearly equal amounts of daytime and nighttime.

During our visit in Fairbanks, Alaska, in early July we got to experience the "land of the mid-night sun." Actually, Fairbanks is a little bit south of the Arctic Circle, but the daylight to dusk cycle fills each day at mid-summer.

For some reason I awoke at 1:30 in the morning on July 6th. I peeked out of the closed blinds in our camper and I could still see the green of the cottonwood leaves and the grass nearby. All nature called me to walk to the Chena River that flows past our campground.

The thrushes chanted their mantra to call the sun back for another long-in-the-sky day. It was not the spiral song of the Vermont veery or the heartaching beauty of the wood thrush, but their own sweet Alaskan melody. The mosquitos dive bombed my head using my ears for bull's-eye targets. A fish jumped to catch an insect for breakfast in the swift tannin filled waters. Two gulls flew upstream in their sleek flight jackets in contrast with the ragged shoreline white spruce trees.

By 3:00 AM there was color rising in the eastern sky, a blush of rose, and the sky overhead was brightening to blue with the approach of morning. There was plenty of natural light to read and write without using electric lights. The smell of damp cottonwood filled all the space between the water's edge and our camper as I headed back to the screened refuge of our traveling home.

Diversity

As I steered my cart down an Anchorage supermarket aisle on a quest for ketchup, I saw a young woman intently studying the jars of spaghetti sauce. Something about her manner told me she was feeling overwhelmed by the display.

I said hi and that was enough to give her permission to ask for help. “Please,” she said, with a wave of her hand that encompassed the hundreds of jars of spaghetti sauce. “For this?” and she pointed to a cellophane bag of pasta lying in her shopping cart.

I nodded as I took in the variety of brands and styles available and imagined what it would be like to choose one if I couldn't read English. “¿Habla español?” I asked, just in case that would make our communication easier, but she just stared at me blankly. I tried a different tack. “United States,” I said, pointing to myself. Then I pointed to her with a questioning expression on my face.

“Azerbaijan,” was her answer. I don't even know what language people from Azerbaijan speak, but I was confident my Spanish wasn't going to be of much use in this situation.

I surveyed the spaghetti sauce choices quickly and found a row of jars that featured pictures of the main ingredients. One variety showed garlic next to the tomatoes, another basil, another cheese. I did my best to indicate that any of the several hundred jars would be a good choice. But it wasn't my place to decide her menu for her.

We parted, but a few minutes later I ran into her again in the detergent aisle. I never thought about how many choices there were for someone who simply wanted to wash some clothes. She indicated with her hands that she only wanted a little detergent, but she was confused by the small boxes of dryer sheets. As well she might be. I tried to explain that those boxes were not soap and steered her attention to the smallest liquid and powdered detergent choices available.

We didn't develop much of a relationship in the few minutes we spent shopping together. But it was enough for me to reflect on the human diversity that makes my life so interesting and rich.

Back in Papagayos, everyone except for Laurel and me is Mexican, and in my mind our neighbors' collective characteristics define what it means to be Mexican.

However, my image of what someone from the United States is like is a little more complicated. I have a picture in mind based on the dominant culture as I understood it from the vantage point of my childhood. But my image is so often wrong that I'm ceasing to be amazed when I see that my fellow countrymen and women come in so many skin tones and speak so many languages. It makes me proud.

Once Friends, Always Friends

It only takes a moment to become friends, to fall in love with someone. An open look into another person's face, to give a welcoming smile or nod, that can be enough to connect my heart to a new friend. Sometimes such a meeting is followed by a slow building of confidences, stories, personal histories as we search for and forge connections and commonalities. But even if we don't have much time together our minds have touched and we know each other, know we will always share friendship.

In 1995 I went to the UN World Conference for Women, NGO Forum near Beijing, China. My goal was to make a friend from every continent. I walked with my heart open. One morning, as I was going quickly between workshop offerings I passed a woman who was also walking with her heart and eyes open. I recognized her as a person I wanted to get to know, to build a friendship with and turned to follow and catch up with her. She had also turned to find me! We spent five minutes sharing a little about ourselves, then traded contact information, embraced and said goodbye. My life has always been richer for that time spent together. I wrote several letters and received one from her. But she was from Libya, at that time a country labeled as an American enemy, a forbidden place by my government. My letters and hers were censored. Yet I still carry her in my heart.

This summer we have visited many friends. I felt loved and honored by spending time with each of them and building on our earlier connections.

Most recently we stayed with Joon and Shim (and their daughters Shina and Dona) who we first got to know through Steve's work as an English as a Second Language teacher in Brattleboro, Vermont. When they moved to Vancouver, British Columbia from Brattleboro we stayed in touch and even visited on an earlier trip west. Then we moved to Mexico, changed our email and Joon changed his email. We lost each other. We tried the old phone numbers, we tried asking mutual friends for the new contact information without any luck. We were lost to each other. Then one day as I was working in the garden in Papagayos Steve burst out of the house with wonderful news. Shina had invited him to be a friend on Facebook, we could connect. What a joy to hear again from our friends.

Last week when we arrived at their door Shim said, “You look just the same.” She said it in clear English which had not been available to her the last time we visited five years ago. The girls had grown, of course, from giggling grade-schoolers into thoughtful middle and high school students. Both are now published writers. Shina showed us her portfolio of art work; Dona gave us a tour of her Facebook page with photos of many friends and adventures.

Joon pressed many books on us to read during our visit. He has spent the past five years developing the Creative Writing for Children Society. One book held Shina's story called “Facefriends,” an account of using the online social networking service to locate her best friend from second grade. I laughed out loud at her list of details from living in southern Vermont and wept tears of joy at her reunion with her dear friend.

One evening after a dinner of delicious traditional Korean food Joon announced, “Tonight I will take you to meet our friends, Shawn and Jo Ann.” He had us go up to their neighbor's front door, only two block from their house, and knock. He coached us to inquire where to find Joon and Shim. Shawn just laughed and said, “They are hiding by the garage door!” We all laughed. These four Korean Canadians clearly enjoy each other's company.

Jo Ann, round faced and lively, told of their surprise reunion. Shawn and Jo Ann were taking a week of vacation from their home in Winnipeg, Manitoba to Vancouver, B. C. and had decided to spend Sunday morning at the Korean Church. But it had been noisy and she felt restless. Jo Ann decided to leave the service and go to the washroom. On the way she heard someone call her name. In this strange place, so many kilometers from home, who could possibly know her? She turned and saw a grownup version of a girl she had sung with in high school choir back in Seoul, Korea. Shim rushed to her and they had embraced and haven't let their friendship go since then.

Joon and Shim have plans to move again this summer. We promised to stay in touch and sorely wish we could give then a hand with packing and moving, but we have our plans to go to Alaska.

As we head out on the road again, my mind goes to my Libyan friend. In 2004 our countries naturalized relationships, opening the way for trade and communication again. I hope someday we will have a surprise reunion, the chance to cook traditional foods for each other, to sing and walk the same path together for a while. To fall more deeply in love and smile as we pose for pictures together.

Green Angels

I heard about the Green Angels the first time I went to Mexico back in the 1960's. The Green Angels are bilingual mechanics paid by the Mexican government to aid tourists and other travelers on the nation's highways. They cruise all the major routes looking for motorists that need help. They carry spare gasoline and diesel fuel, jacks and tools, a limited selection of hoses and belts and wire and hardware, and a generous amount of mechanical ability and common sense. Their service is free.

As we were driving north along a lonely highway toward the border we developed a coolant leak at our radiator's drain valve. I tried to close it tighter, but no matter what I did the coolant kept dripping out. We used most of the drinking water we were carrying to add to the radiator to keep the engine cool, but we kept driving knowing that eventually we'd get to the next city where we could find a radiator shop.

All of a sudden I recognized an oncoming vehicle as being a potential source of help. I hadn't been thinking about the Green Angels, but when I saw the approaching utility truck painted white with a large green stripe, I instantly remembered everything I'd heard about these angels of mercy on the Mexican highways. Only seconds before they passed us, I flashed our headlights. As I pulled off onto the shoulder they slowed and turned around and came back to where I had parked.

Victor and Jorge greeted us cheerily as they stepped from their truck and we shook hands. Then they inquired how they might help us. We showed them the coolant leak and they tried a couple ideas for fixing it, although they weren't successful. They did give us directions to the nearest radiator shop along our route where we would be able to have another drain plug installed.

As Victor was looking at our radiator, he glanced over the engine and noticed a worn spot on a vacuum line that was leaking air. He insisted on replacing that section of hose. I think he would have been disappointed if they hadn't been able to fix something for us.

Before sending us on our way, they asked us to fill out a brief form that they were required to submit for each incident. When we got to the comments sections and started to write in Spanish our appreciation for their service, they laughed and requested us to rewrite it in English. Maybe they get more credit from their boss for assisting foreign tourists.

As we said goodbye, we thanked them for their help and they wished us well. I was glad that after all these years of knowing about the Green Angels I finally had the opportunity to take advantage of their assistance. I will add this experience to a long list of examples of Mexican hospitality.

"More Than Tourists" Goes On the Road

This week we will be loading our camper onto our pickup truck and leaving our home in Papagayos to head north through San Luis Potosí, Nuevo León, Coahuila, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, Nevada, California, Oregon, Washington, British Columbia, Yukon Territory, and finally Alaska. We've been hired to work on an RV tour of Alaska this summer. Our job will include bringing up the rear of the caravan and assisting with a number of tasks.

We'll be looking for ways to have meaningful contact with whomever we meet along our path. We hope to apply some of the lessons we've learned here in Mexico to help us be more than tourists wherever we travel.

We'll keep you posted.

Swine Flu in Papagayos, Mexico

First of all we want to let folks know that we are well and there are no known cases of swine flu in Papagayos at this time. Now I'd like to tell a little more about how folks here are reacting to the health warnings.

On Sunday April 26, 2009 we went for a picnic in the next valley with our good friends Simón and Rosa. The day was bright and breezy and we enjoyed a spread of good food under the shade of a Huastecan Fresno tree, then a walk along a stream bed to the site of a waterfall. We were unaware of a pandemic. All was well with the world. It was great to be alive and sharing time with friends.

After our picnic and walk we headed into Ciudad del Maíz to do a few errands and a little visiting before heading back to the village. In the stores and on the streets we saw a few people wearing masks over their noses and mouths. We asked one shop keeper about the masks after a masked customer left the store. He said there was some kind of disease going around.

We headed to the Ortegas' house to do our visiting. Jazmín was sitting in the shade outside the kitchen. She stood up to greet us with the traditional handshake and kiss on the right cheek. After the usual exchange of pleasantries she asked if Chuy was going to school the next day. As far as we knew there would be classes the next day. She reported that she didn't have to go to school until May 6th. That all the schools were closed because of the swine flu. She also explained that some people were wearing tapabocas to prevent the spread of the disease. We made a point of washing our hands well with soap and water before asking for a drink of water and going to check in with Jazmín's elderly grandparents.

The next day we checked online about the swine flu epidemic. We found the websites of the World Health Organization and the Centers for Disease Control to be especially useful to us. Now we are checking them twice daily for updates.

In the afternoon on Monday our teenaged friend René stopped by to visit. Instead of a handshake he had settled on linking crooked elbows as a suitable form of greeting that was more sanitary. It was a little funny, maybe a little too physically close, but a great conversation starter about the influenza and health precautions. But then he leaned over our lunch that was heating on the stove and asked what was cooking. Steve pointed out that he could be more thoughtful about health precautions around food.

That evening we walked over to Simón and Rosa's house. On the way we saw another friend. The automatic handshaking ritual froze in mid-air. He said what with the flu and all, maybe it would be better not to shake hands and we agreed. Clearly we need to find a friendly, healthy alternative to this national custom.

At Simón and Rosa's we were greeted by traditional firm handshakes with everyone there. We were offered chairs and then food, but no chance to wash our hands first. We ate anyway. We'd come to find out if they had heard if the meeting planned for next weekend had been canceled or not because of the flu epidemic. Simón is in charge of a group of folks in our state learning to make and use herbal microdoses for healing. A large meeting was planned for as many as forty people to gather here from all parts of Mexico. Simón said he was waiting for the call. If someone didn't call him by tomorrow he would initiate the idea of postponing the meeting until after the flu passes. That seemed like a good idea to us.

Last night, Wednesday, Hector and Chayo came to our house for a little visit. I think they smelled the chocolate chip cookies that were baking in the oven. We offered them coffee and cookies which they were glad to accept. While the water heated for the instant coffee we also offered them anti-bacterial alcohol gel to clean their hands. Hector held out his open palm to receive a squirt of hand sanitizer and explained that he had washed his hands many times during the day and had just showered so his hands were probably pretty clean. I know they had just passed through the barb wire fence near their pig pen to get to our place. I guessed that another cleaning wouldn't hurt.

Our conversation centered around the flu news reports and rumors, the numbers of sick people and deaths and questions about which states in Mexico were already affected. We shook hands when we said goodnight, then went to wash one more time before brushing our teeth and heading to bed.

I was awake in the middle of the night with my mind full of unanswerable questions. We have planned for months to travel to the U.S. at the end of May. Steve had questioned if maybe we shouldn't be prepared to leave sooner than that, possibly on short notice, if there was a warning of imminent border closings, for example. My mind was a tempest. Should we leave Papagayos as soon as possible? Or should we wait and leave on our planned departure date?

After tossing over and over for an hour I finally woke Steve to talk about it. We came to a compromise decision. We will prepare now so we could be ready to leave on short notice. These preparations are all work we would be doing in the next few weeks anyway. If we stay until our original departure date we can get all the gardening done and leave the house and yard in great shape. If we have to go early, Hector and Chayo will help harvest the garden and water the new plantings for us.

The other main decision we made is to keep in close touch with our grown children, our family and all of our friends both near and far.

Our true security still comes from our broad network of close relationships. At the deepest levels, all is well.

Belief In Cures

Chayo came over to visit on Saturday. She was worried about her young adult nephew who lives in the north. He has had headaches for a month and has not been able to work because of the pain. The young man's mother, Chayo's sister, had called to see if information about a cure could be found here in the village. This was a last resort for them following doctor visits and expensive prescriptions that did no good. If they could concoct a cure at home that would be great. If not they were thinking of coming back to the village so he could be treated by a healer in the village.

The healer that was consulted is doña Luisa. After a phone conversation a cure was suggested of bathing his head in a tea made from romero. By the time this information was passed back north Chayo's nephew had been scheduled for an MRI to rule out a tumor in the brain. Chayo believes it is best to follow every possible option to find a cure.

This conversation led to her telling us about other cures she has seen work. When she was a teenager the girls of the family had to carry water long distances to fill the needs of the family. She and her sister had made a trip to a pond with the large water buckets and were headed back home when her sister had an "attack." The girl fell on the ground and Chayo thought she was dying. After a few minutes she came back around and they went on home. In the next few weeks more attacks followed and the family sought a cure. The recommendation was to drink the blood from a male deer while it was still hot. This proved impossible, so blood was dried and later made into a tea. After drinking this concoction, Chayo reported, her sister was cured.

Chayo also knew another girl who had taken ill because she was afraid of dying after the untimely death of a friend. A curandera was called in and touched the girl in a certain way on her head and made washing motions in the air around her. Soon she found relief and was able to live fully afterward without fear.

With belief, with thoughtful hands and prayers, Chayo said, cures can be found for illnesses that pills and doctors can't remedy. (Here is where you read the disclaimer - don't try this at home without supervision, etc. This is the intercultural acceptance part of the story. People here believe in cures more than in doctors. People in the US believe in doctors more than cures. In your own life you get to choose a satisfying combination according to your beliefs.)

The Curandero

A few weeks ago I was riding our horse when he stumbled and pitched to his knees. I was thrown off sideways and landed on some rocks with the horse laying across my legs. I've healed for the most part - the cut on my elbow is now just a series of small scabs and the pain in my shoulder and ankle is hardly noticeable. For the first several days after my fall, I was walking really twisted as my left hip was out of joint. But after about a week of applying ice packs and ointments, I had thought I was better. I was walking straight again, and my hip no longer hurt. But perhaps I made a mistake by thinking I had healed enough to begin using the mattock and shovel and wheelbarrow to continue an earth-moving project I had going in our back yard.

When I started walking crooked again, Chayo suggested that our neighbor don Pancho could help me. Don Pancho is a curandero. Our dictionary translates the word as "quack," but the people here in Papagayos use the term with respect. It refers to a healer, one who may not possess a medical degree but nonetheless has a natural gift for curing others.

I went over to don Pancho's place and he agreed to see what he could do. Don Pancho is an elderly man with eyeglasses and long dark hair flowing from his ears. He explained in Spanish and mime that he would massage my hip. He led me across the yard and into the part of the house his family uses for sleeping. He pointed to the bed in the corner and I understood that would be the "massage table." I crossed the room, but before I could lay down, a very indignant chicken rose up from the pillows and squawked and fluttered her way across the room and out the door.

Hanging on the wall above the bed was a large and worn photograph of a much younger don Pancho dressed in the fanciest get-up you can imagine. As he liberally applied Vick's Vapor Rub and kneaded my muscles, I asked him about the photo. Yes, he had once sung and played guitar in a mariachi band in Mexico City. But his fingers hadn't touched a guitar for many years. I suggested that his fingers probably remembered. He wasn't quite so sure about that, and anyway his interests had changed. Music was no longer his passion. And besides, his beautiful mariachi suit had been eaten by the mice.

When he finished the massage, he rubbed on a tonic from a large Pepsi bottle. It was the color of Pepsi, but he assured me that it contained alcohol and a number of herbs and that he had concocted it himself. He said I should come back in a couple days for another treatment. Meanwhile, I should not shovel any more dirt; I needed some more recovery time.

As we opened the door and exited the bedroom, the very indignant chicken squawked and re-entered, ready to reclaim her spot on the bed. She had been waiting impatiently for us to finish so she, unlike me, could get back to work.