Thursday, December 22, 2011

Posadas, Piñatas and Ponche: Celebrating Christmas in Oaxaca.

I am delighted to have the opportunity to experience and learn about the traditions and customs of Christmas in Oaxaca. I love especially the idea of the Posadas

As the story goes, Mary and Joseph, desperate for shelter on the eve of their child’s birth were turned away from a series of Inns. Now, here in Oaxaca, as people play out this journey of the sacred family, nobody gets turned away. Neighbours and strangers alike are welcomed into churches, and private homes, and gifts and food are given generously. Multiple times in the past week I have come across these small processions in the streets. Children are in the lead, dressed in coloured robes; darling little Josephs and Marys. They carry candles and sparklers, singing softly songs that I wished I knew. [[posterous-content:pid___4]]

Posada at Xochimilco Church 19 December, 2011.


Another tradition of this time is that of the piñatas. I only realised recently that the reason they are so extremely hard to smash is because at the core is a heart of solid pottery, an actual clay jar or pot. I was taught how they are made by one of En Via’s borrowers, Ana Rosa who has been making and selling them recently, hoping to capitalise on the fun tradition that sees one smashed at every posada, not to mention New Year’s also.

[[posterous-content:pid___3]]Ana Rosa in her Piñata shop, making a seven pointed star 15 December, 2011. 


The piñata, which is covered in coloured or sparkling paper, represents the devil that is said to disguise himself in masks and fine decoration as a way of tempting people into sin. They are often constructed to have seven points or cones sticking out, each with a streamer attached. These seven points represent the seven deadly sins. The sweets, fruits and gifts that are placed inside the piñata are symbols of the distraction of earthly wealth and possessions. Participants are blindfolded and encouraged to hit the piñata in a play of fighting against evil forces. As the one blindfolded swings away, the crowd gathers and sings “Dale, dale, dale, no pierdas el tiro, porque si lo pierdes, pierdes el camino” (Hit, hit, hit, don't lose your aim, because if you lose, you lose your way”).  The actual stick they use is a symbol of virtue, and the reward for keeping faith is eventually obtained on breaking the piñata and releasing the goodies inside. 

As the kids smash at the hanging target, whole families and communities stand about talking. Some hold hot cups of ponche, a delicious tea like drink, flavoured with fresh pieces of green apple, raisins, tamarinds, guavas and cinnamon. There are currently big metal vats of the drink on the street corners in the Zocalo, and in the food markets that spring up all over in time of festival and celebration. My first taste brought a real feeling of love and gratitude for this place, my home of Oaxaca, and joy in being able to experience new things every day. 

As well as the fresh ingredients for a city’s supply of ponche, at the city markets these past weeks, I have noticed that many people have been selling an abundance of a strange moss type of plant. It didn’t look edible, though I was too shy to ask what it was for. Then I saw the nativity scene outside of the church at Xochimilco and it all became clear. It is literally a little mountain made of this moss, and all around are planted little figures and miniatures. There are shepherds and flocks of sheep, the Three Wise Kings and at the peak there are Mary and Joseph looking down lovingly at a blank space between them. [[posterous-content:pid___2]]

Nativity Scene Xochimilco Church 19 December, 2011.


I asked my companion, an 82 year old woman who had my arm as we walked about the church yard, about this obvious absence. She shook her head at me good-naturedly; “Of course Jesus is not there, he has not been born yet, but he will be here, he will appear on the 24th”.  And I have a wonderful feeling that that will be the biggest party yet... 

I want to take this opportunity to wish Merry Christmas to all our supporters. However you and your families spend the Holiday, know that you have true friends with us here in Oaxaca, Mexico, and that you are in for another great year of stories in 2012!

[[posterous-content:pid___0]] 

Posadas, Piñatas and Ponche: Celebrating Christmas in Oaxaca.

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By Kim Groves


I am delighted to have the opportunity to experience and learn about the traditions and customs of Christmas in Oaxaca. I love especially the idea of the Posadas

As the story goes, Mary and Joseph, desperate for shelter on the eve of their child’s birth were turned away from a series of Inns. Now, here in Oaxaca, as people play out this journey of the sacred family, nobody gets turned away. Neighbours and strangers alike are welcomed into churches, and private homes, and gifts and food are given generously. Multiple times in the past week I have come across these small processions in the streets. Children are in the lead, dressed in coloured robes; darling little Josephs and Marys. They carry candles and sparklers, singing softly songs that I wished I knew. 

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Posada at Xochimilco Church 19 December, 2011.


Another tradition of this time is that of the piñatas. I only realised recently that the reason they are so extremely hard to smash is because at the core is a heart of solid pottery, an actual clay jar or pot. I was taught how they are made by one of En Via’s borrowers, Ana Rosa who has been making and selling them recently, hoping to capitalise on the fun tradition that sees one smashed at every posada, not to mention New Year’s also.

Ana Rosa in her Piñata shop, making a seven pointed star 15 December, 2011. 


The piñata, which is covered in coloured or sparkling paper, represents the devil that is said to disguise himself in masks and fine decoration as a way of tempting people into sin. They are often constructed to have seven points or cones sticking out, each with a streamer attached. These seven points represent the seven deadly sins. The sweets, fruits and gifts that are placed inside the piñata are symbols of the distraction of earthly wealth and possessions. Participants are blindfolded and encouraged to hit the piñata in a play of fighting against evil forces. As the one blindfolded swings away, the crowd gathers and sings “Dale, dale, dale, no pierdas el tiro, porque si lo pierdes, pierdes el camino” (Hit, hit, hit, don't lose your aim, because if you lose, you lose your way”).  The actual stick they use is a symbol of virtue, and the reward for keeping faith is eventually obtained on breaking the piñata and releasing the goodies inside. 

As the kids smash at the hanging target, whole families and communities stand about talking. Some hold hot cups of ponche, a delicious tea like drink, flavoured with fresh pieces of green apple, raisins, tamarinds, guavas and cinnamon. There are currently big metal vats of the drink on the street corners in the Zocalo, and in the food markets that spring up all over in time of festival and celebration. My first taste brought a real feeling of love and gratitude for this place, my home of Oaxaca, and joy in being able to experience new things every day. 

As well as the fresh ingredients for a city’s supply of ponche, at the city markets these past weeks, I have noticed that many people have been selling an abundance of a strange moss type of plant. It didn’t look edible, though I was too shy to ask what it was for. Then I saw the nativity scene outside of the church at Xochimilco and it all became clear. It is literally a little mountain made of this moss, and all around are planted little figures and miniatures. There are shepherds and flocks of sheep, the Three Wise Kings and at the peak there are Mary and Joseph looking down lovingly at a blank space between them. 

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Nativity Scene Xochimilco Church 19 December, 2011.


I asked my companion, an 82 year old woman who had my arm as we walked about the church yard, about this obvious absence. She shook her head at me good-naturedly; “Of course Jesus is not there, he has not been born yet, but he will be here, he will appear on the 24th”.  And I have a wonderful feeling that that will be the biggest party yet... 

I want to take this opportunity to wish Merry Christmas to all our supporters. However you and your families spend the Holiday, know that you have true friends with us here in Oaxaca, Mexico, and that you are in for another great year of stories in 2012!

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Tuesday, December 13, 2011

New Beginnings: Introducing Tlacochahuaya and Aurora

 

I have begun to think of the towns we work in as being sisters. Teotitlán is the big sister; with growing experience, and confidence in her stride. Diaz Ordaz is the middle sister; the one you might have expected to follow exactly in the older’s footsteps, but of course walks her very own path with pride and resolve. And so, I introduce Tlacochahuaya, the newest addition to the En Via family, as the little sister; full of potential, and hope, and the courage to join us in solidarity…

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There was a breeze blowing a little dust about in the warm sun drenched streets when I first arrived in the town of San Jerónimo Tlacochahuaya, and this made me smile to myself, as I’d recently read that in the Náhuatl language, Tlacochahuaya describes a place of damp or wet soil, or of the swamp or marsh. Located just 25 kilometres from the city of Oaxaca, it is said that the town was founded in the year 1100 by a Zapotec warrior by the name of Cochicahuala, “el que pelea de noche”. I absolutely love that. “He who fights the night”. In 1566, the town was officially brought under the Spanish Crown and, under order of Hernán Cortés himself, work began on the construction of the Dominican Convent of San Jeronimo that still occupies a stately position in the centre of town. People come from all over the region to climb the narrow, winding stairs to reach the chamber that holds the ancient German made organ, said to be one of the finest examples of its kind in the world.

 

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We are thrilled to begin new working relationships in this dynamic and unique community. There are new groups of women coming forward to participate in our program with the goal of using microfinance to improve their lives and those of their families, and as always we consider it a privilege and honour to work with them.

I want to introduce you to one of these women; Aurora Sanchez Angeles. Out of all the women in the room, she seemed to me to be the oldest in years. I gravitated towards her, perhaps seeking wisdom, perhaps invited by her young laughing eyes. Aurora. That’s a beautiful name I said, and meant it. “You think so? I don’t really like it”, she teased me. In Roman mythology Aurora is the Goddess that personifies the dawn. She comes across the heavens each morning to announce the arrival of the sun. This Aurora, of Tlacochahuaya, is 65 years old, and to me she suddenly represented all the new beginnings and relationships that were coming to light within this new extension of the program.

Aurora heard about En Via’s work from her niece who is one of our current borrowers in Teotitlan, and she and her family were interested in involving their own projects and businesses. At this point in our conversation Aurora brought out an armful of rustling garlic cloves, and as well as the familiar aroma, I imagined I could smell the very sun that had dried them in the field. Her and her husband, Manuel, have been growing and selling garlic and beans together since they married 46 years ago, and with this first loan with En Via she plans to buy fertilisers for the soil in order to boost their crops.

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When I asked her what she liked best about doing her business, she told me that she enjoys the chance to talk to her neighbours as she goes out into the valley sometimes door to door, or market to market, to sell her produce. Prospects for sales, as well as conversation, look good this month for Aurora, with Christmas just around the corner. She encourages everyone to plan a big meal seasoned with a generous amount of garlic!

Her borrowing group of three will be made up of her, her daughter Jacelina and her daughter in law, Alma. The two younger women have started businesses selling Tupperware, clothes, perfume, and other gifts in the town. As we spoke, they were looking over at as affectionately and making welcome all the women who came to the house that afternoon to learn more about the program.

With 7 children, 14 grandchildren, and 3 great-grandchildren, I get the distinct impression that Aurora is a seasoned household and business manager. When we discussed En Via’s business classes that she had recently graduated from, she told me that she recognised the importance of wisely investing money made from the loan. “The money disappears straight away if you just go out and buy a dress or shoes”, she said. “So, what will I do from the money I make? I will invest some, I will save some, and I will eat some”, she told me as a matter of fact.

It seems that in even in such a small time, a matter of weeks, the women of Tlacochahuaya have reached out to us with such warmth. They express it in many ways; with open doors, smiles, jokes, and steaming hot bowls of coffee and bead. As I talk with them I can sense their excitement. The have received their first loans and now they will take up the challenge of investing them and using them as tools to make their own projects grow and create their own successes.

I am proud of the way that En Via’s program has expanded in this natural and meaningful way. We are now reaching more women and families and sharing and developing more than we ever imagined we could. And we are able to do this only by the support we have received from you all, our tour alumni, our friends, our followers and valued companions on the common road. I promise to share with you, the news of Aurora and all our new sisters in Tlacochahuaya as they experience these new challenges and new beginnings.

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Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Celebrating life through music

By Marie Kerrin 

My memories of growing up in New Orleans are deeply sensory.  That peculiar, confusingly sweet smell of the French Quarter: freshly sugared beignets, the thick fried dough still hot, mingling with scents of sour beer spilled onto streets in tribute to late nights of abandon; the glinting gold, rich purples and greens of Mardi Gras banners draping proud balconies; the late night fog-horns of Mississippi barges, sleepily announcing their arrival with a resonant bass warning; and the sweet spice of my mama’s Shrimp Creole, the thick roux of an okra seafood gumbo, or the creamy heat of Crawfish Monica at Jazz Fest. 

But most importantly, you can’t be a New Orleans native without understanding what it means to breathe music.  It’s a visceral knowledge that life is a composition of melodies and beats, and the act of living is a dance, a response to the underlying rhythm of being.  Which explains the affinity I feel to Oaxaca.  The people of this city understand how to embrace and protest life through music, just as New Orleanians do.  It isn’t always a conscious act, just as you don’t focus on each blink your eyes take, but the omnipresence of music makes the energy of this city addictive.

And inextricably linked are the festivities fueled by the music.  Both in New Orleans and Oaxaca, music acts as a cohesive, bringing people together and inspiring bursts of celebration.  Revelries are centered around the live bands, whose tunes feed the energies of hungry crowds, encouraging groups of friends and strangers to gather and rejoice together. 

Last Friday, a good friend Crysthell invited some friends and me to her university’s calenda, an evening parade celebrating the end of the school semester. We met Crysthell in front of the Santo Domingo church at about 7:00 pm, when the sky was already dark and the church was lit in the eerily beautiful glow of its nighttime spotlights.  The parade had already snaked through town, up Alcala Street from the Zocalo, and was culminating at the cathedral.  From blocks away, we could already hear the blasting trumpets and banging drums of the street brass band, accented by the shouts and cheers of the parade crowd.

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Upon arrival we were quickly absorbed into the frenzied energy.  The brass band stridently blasted horns, and the dancing crowd boisterously jostled and elbowed us.  We found Crysthell just in time to grab onto her shoulders as she took off, weaving through the crowd, starting a frenetic congo line (similar to our “second-lines” in New Orleans).  After a couple minutes, so many people had joined us that the line doubled into itself, the head colliding with the tail like a caterpillar running into itself, and we dispersed.  The passion and recklessness went on for at least an hour more in a celebration that would rival Mardi Gras at its best.  And this was just a regular Friday evening in Oaxaca. 

But by far, Etla’s celebration during Dia de los Muertos has been one of my most powerful Oaxacan musical experiences.  As Kim mentioned in an earlier blog entry, there is a magical energy throughout Oaxaca in early November (http://www.envia.org/blog/2011/11/8/the-day-of-the-dead-and-the-celebration-of-life-in-oaxaca.html).  But the celebrations in the town of Etla are particularly renowned for their uniqueness.

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On the evening of November 1, the quiet town of Etla, located just 12 kilometers out of Oaxaca city, comes alive with vibrant street parades accompanied by live music lasting into the morning.  San Agustin Etla is at located at the top of a sloping hill, with the smaller town of San Jose Etla at the bottom.  Both towns host massive street parties, as the prestigious town bands lead revelers along the hillside roads, like pied pipers luring children with magical harmonies.  Most striking are the dancers whose costumes would put every Halloween partier in the United States to shame: elaborate and frightening masks completely disfiguring the wearers.  Particularly distinctive are the men wearing costumes covered in thousands of mirrors, glinting in streetlights and creating music with every dance step, the heavy suits jangling, crashing, and smashing. 

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At 8 am, the sweaty, exhausted but still feverishly playing bands of the two towns meet halfway on the hill for a jovial musical battle.  I danced alongside the costumed monsters and masqueraders until dawn, when I was ready to collapse.  The night was spectacular and one of my favorites in a catalogue of incredible evenings.

In Oaxaca, people abandon themselves to music and celebration.  Of course, just as anywhere, life’s realities and stresses are always impatiently tapping their feet demanding attention, and there is a time for solemnity and work.  However, Oaxaca’s culture has an appreciation for festivity with which music is closely linked.  Music is a seriously respected form of expression here, and as a New Orleanian, I can relate.  If you come to Oaxaca, you can enjoy the random street parades that spring up out of seemingly nowhere, and dance into the early light of dawn with passionately playing brass bands.  Forget your problems until tomorrow—trust me, when you want to find them, they’ll be just where you left them—and embrace the energy of the current moment.  

Come down to Oaxaca, feel that rhythm and dance with the crowd.  You’ll likely bump into me in the heart of it all, and I’d love to extend my hand and swing you around. 
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Friday, December 2, 2011

A Love Story

By Marie Kerrin

I had never heard the term “microfinance” three years ago. Throughout my life, I’d put a lot of energy into avoiding numbers, and I had done pretty well. I majored in English, worked as a paralegal drafting and editing court documents, and successfully passed off bar tab calculations to more numerically inclined friends at the end of every late night gathering. The word “finance” itself inherently repelled me, like some boring cousin your mom might guilt you into hanging out with—it takes all your effort to smile through gritted teeth when cousin Johnny monologues about his pet iguana, just as my eyes would instinctively glaze over at any reference to interest rates. But after three years of working in impoverished African and Mexican communities for whom micro-finance is a lifeline and a future, I’ve grown to understand that microfinance is much more than numbers—it is a symbol of possibility, opportunity, and empowerment.

When I was accepted into the Peace Corps, my primary assignment was obvious. An English degree, TEFL certification, and a year’s experience working at an elementary school qualified me for exactly one position: teaching English. The thought of preaching the powers of the gerund to a rowdy, pubescent audience certainly did not thrill me, but I was so excited to start a new life and a new adventure in a foreign country that the job was secondary. And so after careful packing, frenzied last minute preparations, and many tearful goodbyes, off to Africa I flew.

Diang, Cameroon, a village of 2,000 in the fringe of Africa’s largest rainforest, the Congo Basin, was my home for two years. As my French improved, my relationships with the community deepened, and I formed close friendships with people I want to know forever. One of my best friends was a local business owner named Estelle.

Estelle was a single mother of two who had moved to Diang from an even smaller village to open her own business. She had left school at 15 with her first pregnancy and spent the next few years in an abusive relationship with her daughters’ father. When she finally gathered the courage, she left him and moved to Diang. When I met her, she was renting a three-room shack in the center of town, using the front room to sell beer and cheap whiskey.

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By this point, I had a rudimentary education about microfinance.  Many of my friends were Small Enterprise Development (SED) volunteers, and I had been subjected to countless heated debates about the sustainability of micro-loans in international development. Terms like credit and financial security were becoming more than abstract concepts to me—and I would eventually come to witness their personal power through my work with En Vía.

After being friends with Estelle for a while, I began to notice little things about how she ran her business. For example, even though she wrote down most of the purchases her customers made, she would write on whatever tiny scraps of paper she had nearby and stuff them in a drawer.  When the beer delivery truck came, she wouldn’t always check her inventory before buying her supplies. And when she needed to buy malaria medication for her children, I would see her open the zipper pouch where she kept all her business money.Even though she was extremely intelligent and her business was successful, I noticed a few things she could do a little differently. 

With my own rudimentary business education, and after conferring with my SED friends, I offered Estelle my advice. I showed her how keeping track of purchases in a notebook not only organized her incoming money but helped show her which beer brands were more popular than others.  I advised her on setting aside money for savings and about setting long-term business goals. The advice was basic and she learned quickly. We even started talking about the possibility that she might take out a micro-finance loan to develop her business—but after researching her options, Estelle realized it was implausible for her.  

Because of unreasonably high interest rates, micro-loans are considered to be a tool for the wealthy in Cameroon—which is ironically contrary to the original intention behind micro-finance. Estelle had the modest dream to expand the outdoor patio of her shop and buy chairs. Eventually, she even planned to move to the city where life would be easier, with electricity and water, but for now, it was a distant dream. She is smart, hard working and ambitious, but without a small bit of capital to pull ahead, her life remained stagnant.

I completed my Peace Corps service in June 2011.  I was elated to be home with my family again, in my beautiful New Orleans, enjoying the luxuries of the developed world—consistent electricity, flush toilets, hot water, yoga classes, organic coffee shops with vegan baked goods—but my experience in Africa changed me, and I couldn’t forget Estelle and all the friends I had made. The inequalities of our lives nagged at me, pulling at my sleeve when I was feeling comfortable, reminding me not to forget.  I started daydreaming about my next adventure, wistfully searching organizations on the Internet—and this is how I found Fundación En Vía.

My work with En Vía has introduced me to a lot of women like Estelle: brilliant and driven, but confronted with harsher realities than many of us have had to face. The business classes we offer cover a lot of the topics Estelle and I discussed in the slanting afternoon sunlight outside her back door. But more than that, En Vía provides the loans that would have helped Estelle so profoundly. Like Estelle, the women we work with are empowered and strong.  It is simply that En Vía is able to provide these women with the tools they need to get ahead. I wish so badly Estelle had the opportunity to benefit from the resources we offer. 

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Many non-profits, particularly those that work in international development, struggle with the sustainability of projects. In addition, current research shows the fallacy that aid is always a good thing—scholars like Dambisa Moyo and William Easterly are popularizing the theory that dropping billions of dollars into Africa has not only made no difference in alleviating poverty, but has actually critically hindered development. And besides these macro-scale inter-governmental blunders, I witnessed so many well-meaning charities donate money and resources without any training, leaving water pumps to rust when no one was trained to fix broken parts, or school buildings to decay without teachers or administration to maintain them.

But En Vía is not that type of organization. It is not well-meaning outsiders throwing money at a problem they don’t understand. It is genuinely community-based, and with a model of providing basic monetary capital while interweaving educational programs, it promotes sustainable development that I honestly believe in.

It is funny how closely tied I’ve become to something that years ago would have provoked from me deep yawns and sleep-heavy eyelids. But after what I’ve seen, I truly believe in the power of microfinance now, how it provides opportunity to those who need it without condescension or arrogance. Every week, when I lead tours to visit our borrowers in Teotitlán, when I hear stories about their lives and families, about their businesses and plans for their futures, I feel proud to be a part of an organization like ours. I’m also reminded of Estelle and her strength and my hope that she can one day have access to resources like those we provide. And, my friends, through these experiences, I have a little confession to make—I have kind of fallen in love with microfinance.  It was pretty unexpected, but I suppose they do say opposites attract.  For now, our relationship is going strong, and we might even be looking at a long-term commitment.  I’ll keep you guys posted!
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