Giving Thanks in Oaxaca

By Kim Groves

We do not have the Thanksgiving tradition in Australia, and I’d never really had cause to think much about it. That is, until this past week, when I was included in my first such celebration here in Oaxaca.

You may accuse me of being sentimental (you’d be absolutely right), but this past week, as I went about my usual routine in Oaxaca, I took note of all that I valued. I was grateful for the little kids playing soccer in my street, and even for the music that spontaneously blasted from the churchyard; for the neighbours sweeping the footpaths, and for the men who refill the water in the park fountains. I was thankful for the mountains, and for the afternoon sun. Most of all, I was grateful for the opportunity to continue to work with the women of En Via.

It was the actual Thursday of Thanksgiving and I was out on a tour in Teotitlan, the main town in which we work. I was outside the church, in a small pocket of shade by the old gates with two of the borrowers; sisters Alicia and Elia Mendoza Pablo. Alicia had her baby boy in her arms and he was looking out adorably at all that was going on in the courtyard.

Suddenly I found myself talking about the unfamiliar tradition, and the idea of giving thanks. Asking them what they were grateful for in their lives, they both laughed a little, perhaps at how obvious was the answer. “Por la vida”, Alicia said. For life. “And that we have work”. Elia nodded with agreement as her older sister spoke, and then added, “Yes, for life, and for health. I am grateful for what we have. For the little we have”.

When I asked the same question to Lindsey Shilleh, a fellow volunteer with En Via, she spoke also of being grateful for the relationships in life: “the connections with people”. As she said this, she was struggling to cook a giant family size dish of sweet potatoes and leeks in what must have been the smallest couple of frying pans in Oaxaca. Later, I also saw Samantha Wattson, our very own Managing Director, standing attentively at her oven in the cutest purple embroidered apron made by Juana a borrower from Teotitlan. She was closely supervising the turkeys, which were also sourced from the town, to absolute perfection. 

Why was it so important to both of these women to cook these particular dishes? Simply answered, it was because they wanted to share their favourites with their friends. More than that, I felt it was a gesture that they felt at home here; that this tradition was just another layer to many others, from here and from afar, that have merged and grown in their hearts. They were grateful for those connections that they had made with the people here, and cooking was just a symbol of that creation. It may have appeared to a passer-by that the day was all about food, but I knew it was not the eating, but the company, that mattered most.

Like many national Holidays around the world, Thanksgiving can be historically problematic and politically contentious, and sometimes the message can get buried under mountains of food or excessive consumerism, but I believe there is something to this tradition that is worth remembering. Most importantly it is about sitting down to share, breaking bread with friends and family, and the act of being grateful, as Alicia and Elia reminded me, por la vida, and everything beautiful and challenging it entails.

Who would have thought that I would learn about Thanksgiving in Oaxaca, Mexico? It makes me, well, grateful, to be here, and to be amongst people who I know are constantly giving, and giving thanks, in so many different ways.

 

The Hidden Art of Candle Making

By Lindsey Shilleh

We enter into a dimly look room where, scattered around the floor are pots and pans, molds of wax, alongside a small fire. Fifteen to twenty velas (candles) hang from hooks overhead, waiting to be adorned, waiting to be brought to life. This is the workshop of Sofia Lorenzo, an En Vía borrower and candle maker in Têotitlan de Valle. More than a workshop, it is her sanctuary for her cherished pastime, a pastime that has merely morphed into “work” and a source of income.

Sofia begins her presentation explaining the process of candle making and its history. She is exuberant. Her eyes glow and you can feel her excitement to share her passion with us. She tells us that she would do this even if it didn’t produce an income. Attached to that is a strong sense of pride; she is preserving the tradition and secrets of the trade.

Sofia learned the art of candle making as a nineta, a little child. She learned from her paternal grandmother, who herself learned from her grandmother. Candle making is laborious work and only certain children are selected to learn its secrets. Out of 23 grandchildren, Sofia is the only one her grandmother taught. As she tells us, not even Sofia’s mother learned the trade; a mother will not teach her daughter in-law her trade but instead will wait to teach her grandchildren. 

At age nine, Sofia’s grandmother passed away and the responsibility to preserve the familial tradition fell on her. As Sofia spoke, the reverence for her grandmother became apparent. When her family started, is not exactly clear, but the history is long. Sofia suggests that her family began making candles before the Spanish arrived. She carries her family’s history as well as her grandmother’s love for velas on her sleeve. This has become her mission; to preserve the art of her ancestors.

The scent of bee’s wax fills the air. It hangs in there, thick, intimating that thousands of candles have passed hands, and the stories each purchase brought with it. The scent is not perceptible to Sofia, nor is the heat of the wax as she runs her calloused fingers along the still hardening wax. Not anymore at least.

When Sofia’s grandmother passed away, she had no choice but to jump right in, on her own. Her grandmother had outstanding velas that she owed within the town from prior Guelaguetzas. Guelaguetza, which hails from the Zapotec language, means an mutual offering or gift. Traditionally, the offering was made to a specific deity. For example, in exchange for rain needed for a harvest, an offering would be made. Over time this evolved into a ritualized exchange of gifts within your community. It is an act of reciprocity and a practice that benefits everyone. Whenever there is a major event, perhaps a house needs to be built for newly-weds, there is a birth or a death or a celebration of a saint, everyone chips in and shares the cost. The names are recorded so that at a future date, this courtesy can be repaid. For Sofia’s grandmother, she of course offered her candles but had also been the recipient of this exchange.  As there is no deadline on returning the favor, this form of social etiquette fell upon Sofia to fulfill. 

To make a Vela, Sofia starts with just a string. Kneeled over the fire and a cauldron of wax, she lets the wax come to a boil and then pours the wax over the string. After each pour, she must wait 15 minutes for it to dry.

Hundreds of pours go into each candle. Depending on the candle’s size it can take anywhere from fifteen days to eight months to complete a it; Eight months for a two meter tall candle!). In Teotitlán the larger candles are used during the ceremony of asking one’s hand in marriage. The tradition is that at four o’clock in the morning, the man must bring his entire family to his girlfriend’s house to ask permission. As a sign of both respect and an offering to the brides family, he must not only bring a two meter candle to his future mother in-law, but his entire family will carry candles of varying sizes.

Candles play a significant role in the Zapotec culture. No celebration is complete without them; from feast days at church to funerals, quinceaneras (Fifeteenth birthdays)to births, candles are a staple. Altars during Day of the Dead celebrations are decorated with candles, lit for each lost soul in order to guide them home once again. But perhaps most interesting is that no candle is adorned without purpose, and rarely purchased without reason. Each candle tells a story through its adornment. 

After the candles are dried and reach their desired size, Sofia’s decorations transform the candles into living stories and symbols of both life and death. Red wax flowers, died with the cochineal insect, line the center and symbolize the four phases of life: birth, growth, marriage and death. Wax pineapples, apples and birds accessorize the sides and are crafted through hand-made molds. At the base you will often find an angel, who is there to protect you, and look after you through all the elements of life.  The decorations vary in size and color but each added element has a meaning. Different colors are used for different celebrations. White and pink for weddings and births; purple, which represents ‘luto’ (mourning) is used for Day of the Dead in contrast to red, a living color, never used for Dîa de los Muertos candles..

As our time ran out, Sofia didn’t want her presentation to end. She had much more to share. I could sense a rich history lurking behind her eyes; a history ripe with stories and secrets begging to be shared. But these generational secrets must be preserved, after all, this is why Sofia is so dedicated to her work. We did manage to get one secret out of her, passed down from her grandmother, a special trick to make the wax not stick. But I cannot share it here. We made a promise. Perhaps you just need to come visit with En Vîa to find out yourself!

Discovering En Via (in Translation)!

By Tannia Carroz

*With our international group of volunteers as well as tourists who experience En Via, we wanted to take this opportunity to share what we do, but in French! Tania Carroz, a volunteer from Switzerland with a Swiss father and Mexican mother, is working with En Via over the next several months to run and teach our Business Classes. She comes to us after working in the Finance Industry in Switzerland for several years.

Je me présente, je m’appelle Tania. Je suis de mère mexicaine et de père suisse. Je travaille actuellement en tant que bénévole pour l’association non-lucrative En Via à Oaxaca.

En Via a pour but d'associer le tourisme au Mexique et le développement économique du pays, particulièrement dans la région de Oaxaca. Elle est spécialisée dans les micro-crédits.

La fondation a comme mécanisme de proposer des tours touristiques. Ces derniers offrent la possibilité de découvrir la région des vallées centrales de l’Etat de Oaxaca, où les villages ont conservé leurs traditions artisanales, et de partager un moment avec les communautés indigènes en visitant des femmes entrepreneurs. Avec l'argent récolté des touristes, 50 USD par personne par tour, En Via fournit des micro-crédits sans intérêt aux femmes qui participent à cette association.

Actuellement, En Via compte 130 femmes. En premier lieu, elles doivent suivre un cours de "comment gérer leur argent". Après la réussite du cours, elles reçoivent le premier prêt de 100 USD par personne. Afin de soumettre une demande pour de nouveaux prêts, elles doivent avoir remboursé la totalité des prêts reçus ainsi que présenter leur travail lors de 2 tours touristiques. Le deuxième prêt se monte à 150 USD et le troisième à 220 USD.

En Via a plusieurs missions qui la touche à cœur: en premier lieu elle a pour but d'éduquer les femmes en organisant des ateliers (cours d'anglais, cours de business et prochainement des cours d'internet). Le but est avant tout de faire découvrir aux femmes le monde de la finance en l'adaptant à leurs besoins. Les résultats ne sont pas forcément visibles le lendemain, mais il s'agit avant tout d'une éducation à long terme. Une manière d'apprendre à travailler qu'elles pourront elles-mêmes transmettre à leurs enfants pour le futur. Toutes les femmes font partie d'un groupe de 3. Elles sont étroitement liées entre elles. Si une des trois ne paie pas, tout le groupe a une amende à payer. C'est également une façon de leur faire prendre conscience de l’importance de la collectivité. En Via a également comme but de sensibiliser les touristes au monde de la micro-finance. Les guides des tours sont formés et connaissent bien le domaine.

En Via associe l’éducation, le développement économique et le tourisme. C’est une magnifique manière de découvrir ce coin du monde riche en culture, en nature et en relations humaines. Le contact direct avec la population locale ainsi que le support apporté donne une authenticité et une réelle satisfaction à un tel tour.

Au plaisir de vous voir prochainement et vivre cette enrichissante experience avec nous.

The Day of the Dead and the Celebration of Life in Oaxaca

By Kim Groves

I moved slowly in the deep shadows, trying to tread lightly and breathe softly. The candles warmed my ankles as I passed by the graves. There was a swell of tender yellow light all around me. The air was sweetly cold. Bright flowers glowed against the dark, roughly turned earth. Low murmurs mixed with distant music and quiet laughter. Silvery wisps came from the cups of hot atole that many clutched in their hands.

It was unbelievably intimate, there in the graveyard, but at the same time public. That is what fascinates me about this tradition of The Day of the Dead; the way the people of Mexico have taken what in many places has become the most private, or even unspeakable thing—death—and made it something vibrant, colourful, at times loud, and always revered.

I have never seen a graveyard as full of light and life as I have here in Oaxaca this week. Whole families sit together about the graves. Food and chatter pass between them easily. Some actually sleep, wrapped in great blankets, by the resting bones of their loved ones. At this special time, they are sending back the spirits of the visiting dead that have spent the past days among the living.

It is believed that during the first days of the festival the spirits of the dead return to the houses that they lived in. This is why many households make beautiful altars in their homes to welcome them. In smaller towns, the families will sometimes leave a trail of marigolds from the grave to the house, so the dead can find their way home. On the last days, the family guides them back to the grave and sits alongside them as their relatives leave them once again.

This time of year has many layers of spirituality and significance in human conscious and history. It is the time when the days are getting shorter, and the night colder. It is traditionally a time to reap harvest and to prepare for winter. It is a time to reflect, and to give thanks. At this time we remember that we are part of a natural cycle; that we are earth and to earth we will return.

I love the way the senses are nurtured and indulged in this festival. I have eaten the most delicious meals this week. I have licked dripping mole negro from my fingers, and dipped sweet bread in the most scrumptious chocolate. It delights me that the people of Mexico continue to eat even in death. Altars of food have appeared in all corners. Little cups of mezcal glitter seemingly untouched, beside gushes of flowers, oranges and apples. It is believed that the dead return to sample their favourites from life. Be that sweets, bananas or cigarettes, it is all laid out for them in welcome. 

It is said that the spirits of the dead do not return until a year has passed since their death. Around the more recent graves, the atmosphere is noticeably sadder and quieter. Cold little tears spring to my eyes when I see the photos of children, los angelitos, pinned to tombstones. I stood for a long time by one simple, small grave that someone had sprinkled sweets and chewing gum over. At other graves nearby, perhaps the ones at which the pain was less immediate, people seemed more inclined to be talking or even playing instruments. I could not always catch the words that were exchanged, but there was often a lot of quiet laughing. I imagined that they were telling stories to their lost loved ones.

Traditionally, they share with those lost everything that is happening in the world of the living. It is a time to remember, and to share family news and gossip. I realised that is exactly what I would want of my family and friends after I am gone; just for them to sit down together and chat with me every now and then. This tradition is a safe keeping of memory and love.

This week in Oaxaca, I have learnt of the courage to look at death in a different way. It can be sad, and often comes with pain, but it is also joyful and full of sweet mystery. In acknowledging death, we celebrate what we value of life: family, friends, food, drink, music, laughter. Yellow and deep pink, are the colours I will always associate with these last few days; the colours of the flowers that bloom just a short time, as well as the deep rich colour of the earth that goes on and on.

Lining up for Cheese: The Delights of Shopping outside the Supermarket

By Kim Groves

I had my orange market bag tucked under my arm, and a few 10 peso coins jingling ready in my hand. I think I was flicking idly through a newspaper that someone had left on the counter. A woman of about 40 years sidled up beside me and raised her eyebrows to me in question. I thought the question was “Are you in line?” and so I nodded a polite “Yes” with my eyes. She took a few quick steps and cut in front of me. At first I was annoyed— I think it was an old default response that flared up—but then I sighed, I actually smiled, and I settled back to waiting. After all, I was new to lining up for cheese, and this woman had years on me, I had to respect that. 

I learn a lot about people and local rhythms from hanging about in markets. Everyone knows that I am loyal to the organic market at Xochimilco, but I do have another faithful here in Oaxaca, the Sánchez Pascuas. Walk 7 blocks north of the Zócolo on Porfirio Diaz and when you run into a beautiful big laurel tree, you will have found this little market that was founded in 1972. Let me take you for a tour… 

Near the top entrance there is the mother and daughter duo who sell wonderful fruit and vegetables. Every time it is: “What can I get you, guerita?” I grin; everyone knows that the mother gives cheaper prices. Sometimes she will really indulge me by slipping in a new sort of fruit that she knows I’ve never tasted. I like lingering in the aisle. I love that sometimes the most challenging part of my morning is to pick the perfect rock melon (or as the Americans say “cantaloupe”) (by the way, this word makes me think of an animal with antlers).

Keep walking; there is a grinding noise coming from the left. Colourful fruit is flying in and out of blenders at a dizzying rate. I love this juice place. Who knew that throwing spinach in with pineapple and oranges would turn out to be so delicious? It is called Popeye, that combination, just so you know what to order.

What a treat, we have arrived early enough for tamales. They usually sell out by about 8:30 in the morning. Mole Negro, steaming hot; I burn my tongue. Tamales are perfect paired with atole de maiz; like a warm hug as you drink it down. It is served from an amazing terracotta jar that seems to hold the heat of some distant fire.

The women who sell tortillas set themselves up together in the lower walkway, and they call to us now. They are competing for business, but all seem to get along as if they were family. I love the way the warm pressed corn steams up the plastic bag that they give me. Across from the tortillas are the avocados. How delightful that the women categorises’ them by their ripeness - “eat today” and “eat tomorrow”. 

Are you hungry? I’ve been going to the comedores here since the first week I arrived in Oaxaca. You are guaranteed to find a nourishing plate of rice and beans, a spicy chile relleno, or a giant Tlayuda to suit your mood. It’s a constant in my life, a comfort, just like home cooking. 

There is the husband and wife team with the best melon flavoured water. They have a pet bird who sings out to me from its cage as I eat. It’s a lovebird, and sometimes the man talks and croons to it. I wonder if it’s the bird or the man who always insists on playing The Beatles on the stereo.

“Where are you from?” asked one of my companions at the big communal dining table one afternoon. He laughed with a tone of surprise at my answer; “I thought all people from Australia were fat”. That was definitely a new one. I’ve got the kangaroos, the sharks, and even the rugby, but the being fat? That had me pretty much choking on my entomatadas with delight.

As I leave by the back entrance the old woman who calls me Reina is busy stirring a great pot of soup. The woman, who once warned me to be careful with my things as a suspicious looking man passed me, is back at her spot with her herbs spread all about her like a great luscious lawn…

I dreaded grocery shopping, back at home. The supermarkets always made me anxious and tired. I tried to get in and out of them as quickly as possible. Here in Oaxaca, I hardly step foot in such places. Instead I have found little havens like the Sánchez Pascuas market where I go not just toshop, but to be. Go on, spend a morning or two there, build it into your routine, and you will see that shopping, even lining up for cheese, can be an absolute delight.

A Fusion of Past and Present

By Lindsey Shilleh

Telling people back home that I was moving to Mexico, usually led to glares, suggesting that I must be nuts for moving there, of all places! Of course, this is a reflection of how the US views Mexico nowadays. A perception dictated by the "War on Drugs", and the narcotrafficking that is present in the North of Mexico, and the stigma this has placed on all of Mexico. 

Take away the few vacation hot-spots that line the Mexican coast, and are largely isolated from Mexican culture, and much of Mexico is left unexplored. How sad to think that so many will miss out on the rich culture, delicious food, and incredible biodiversity that Mexico really has to offer travelers.

My first days in Oaxaca quickly reminded me of why I was always interested in coming to Oaxaca: this is a city of great juxtaposition; a city that somehow manages to keep one foot in the past, and one foot in the present.

Intriguing is this notion of holding onto one’s history without actively resisting the inevitable change of tomorrow. I’ve visited places that manage maintain the their culture.  Take Amizmiz, a small city in the foothills of the High Atlas Mountains of Morocco; the stillness of the city transports you backwards in time. Modern cities are plentiful, of course; but finding a delicate balance between the history of the past and the change of tomorrow is no easy feat.

There is something magical and unique about Oaxaca. With 16 different indigenous groups, deep-rooted traditions and culture abounds wherever you turn; yet, Oaxaca is still very actively a part of our globalized, connected, forward-thinking world. There is balance here. That balance hangs in the air like thick fog that on any given day hurtles you back in time 2000 years and then forward again to present day.

I love how I can visit the Rufino Tamayo Musuem of Pre-Columbian Art to marvel in awe of Mexico’s major ancient civilizations only to then find my way to the Museum of Contemporary Art of Oaxaca and catch the newest minimalist exhibit. As I wander the city streets and chat with the people, I can feel it; amidst the energy in the air, there is something that signals a natural fusion of past and present, and a refusal to let bygones be bygones.

 As I sit drinking café in the Zocalo, on a Sunday afternoon, I sit back and listen to the Oaxacan State band play or simply cross the square and launch myself into the modern political day with the never ceasing array of political demonstrations on display. The diversity of Oaxaca is at its finest in the many markets that scatter the city streets, where the pulse of the city is effervescent and there is no shortage of vibrant stimulation.

A couple Sundays back, I ventured out to Tlacolula, a nearby Zapotec village, which hosts the oldest and according to some, largest market in Central America. I was immediately submerged in the markets frenzied movement, where there is nothing you can't find as the stalls of the bustling market overflow with crafts, goods and basic necessities. Roosters for sale, next to a collection of old cell phone chargers; Pirated DVD’s alongside Tejate, a traditional Oaxacan drink. Women from the same village dress alike, in traditionally embroidered outfits and with hair of a particular style. All the while, Converse sneakers and cheesy bedazzled t-shirts are sold directly behind a stall selling freshly shelled cacao.

“Market and religion. These alone bring men, unarmed, together since time began. . . . to buy, to sell, to barter, to exchange. to exchange, above all things, human contact”. In Mornings in Mexico, D.H. Lawrence captures Oaxacan culture without even knowing it.  The markets are a place of excitement, bubbling over with exchanges- both material and the intangible.  

Old and new converge here in Oaxaca; and the people continue to merge the tradition and ideals of their past, with the technological progress and global interconnectedness of the future. Everything is rooted in tradition, and all that is new seems to be a variation of the past.  Family heirlooms, rich in sentimentality are passed down from generation to generation. Artisanal techniques from that of mezcal to the fine-tuned skill of making traditional Mexican instruments by hand, longstanding recipes, “disenos de la casa” (designs of the house) are all symbols of pride and identity. Here in Oaxaca, that generational history is ever-present. Here people’s refusal to let the past dissolve, has formed a collective memory that lingers and persists so that even to the traveler or outsider, Oaxaca makes herself known. 

 

Bendita Entre Todas las Mujeres: Living and Belonging in Xochimilco, Oaxaca.

By Kim Groves

I hardly notice the firecrackers anymore. This week, however, in my neighborhood of Xochimilco, they really stepped it up a few notches. If you know to listen out for it, the first warning you get is a faint whiz as the projectile is released from the churchyard, then BANG! You better not have been walking quietly from the kitchen with a cup of hot chocolate balanced on a plate of toast, because you might now be wearing the whole thing. The vibration of the explosion is so intense that all the car alarms in the street go off at once. This, in turn, sets every dog within a 3 kilometre radius barking.

This particular day, I decided to give up on my snack and go out into the noise to see what was happening. At the end of my street I literally stood stunned. I was seeing an apparition; the Virgin Mary was there above me. She looked just as I had expected her to look like; young, intangible, and slightly bored.

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There was a woman of maybe 18 years standing on a platform on the back of a great big truck. I was absolutely fascinated by her. I made my way through the thickening crowd to stand beside the float. I stared at her without reserve. I just couldn’t help myself. Perhaps nervously, she pulled at the blue silk dress and rearranged baby Jesus in her arms. Her crown was literally twinkling. There were electric lit candles sprinkled all about her feet. A forest of lilies, Mary’s favourite, trembled in their vases as if they too were feeling the cool of the night air. She looked so perfect. I kept spinning around to check if my own amazement was reflected in the faces of those around me. I struggled to gather my thoughts. I resolved to follow her to learn more.

We were walking through the streets behind her. My neighbors were hanging from their doorways and windows as she passed. I waved to a few, some fell into step with the group. A little boy brushed past me. He was all dark brown eyes; his tiny face obscured by his father’s big woollen scarf that had been wrapped maybe six times around him. He and his family held cellophane lanterns on tall sticks.

They were the shape of stars. I had never seen anything more beautiful. That was until we came to the corner and the traffic was casually diverted so we could pause where we stood to quietly recite the Hail Marys and pray together.

I love the way the people of the neighbourhood have gathered to celebrate and be together this week; the week of the Virgin del Rosario, the Virgin of Xochimilco’s church. There are parties every night at the houses of the Mayordomos; those respected members of the community that have been entrusted with keeping the images of the Virgins in their houses during the festival. Arcade type stalls have popped up overnight in the cobbled streets, and the smell of cooking hot cakes keeps me hungry all night. At this very moment, there is actually a full brass band playing in the front room of the house next door.

It is times like this that I am simultaneously reminded of how much I love living here in Oaxaca, Mexico, and how much I still have to learn about the people that have so kindly welcomed me to live among them. You know I’d love to write more, but there is a party going on here, and I don’t want to keep my neighbors waiting!