« July 2005 | Main | October 2005 »
September 26, 2005
Three Months In
posted by David
As we pulled out of town after our initial visit to Jaumave, I was full of a variety of emotions. On one hand, I was sorry to be leaving the community with which I had connected on so many levels—the quiet walled streets and the vendors that walked them, the wrinkled faces and hands that often reminded me of my dad's dad and uncles, the surrounding landscape that, like the sleepy dogs that roam it, grows and rests with such independence and always in the shadow of the surrounding Sierras. On the other hand, I was admittedly relieved to be returning to a land flowing with bookstores and coffeeshops where, at least for now, English is still the predominant language and where, if I stand out, it's for reasons I intend; where the bathrooms consistently have toilet paper and often even soap and paper towels. Over all this though, we felt like we'd be returning. In fact, I would say we hoped we'd be returning. In our deep parts, we knew that this could be our home.
Having been here now for three months—after three previous months of waiting and preparing—our loves and hates are still a varied mix, but we've only grown in our confidence that this is our home. Obviously one of the biggest factors in our relationship with the community is the language, of which we speak very little. Interestingly enough, the day before we got the initial call from Randy inviting us to consider joining him and his family in Mexico, Madeleine and I had decided that we were going to start studying Spanish because we felt that it was very important for our Jesse (then 9 months) to grow up bilingual. Once we made the prayerful decision to move to Mexico, I thought it would be great to study really hard for the remaining time in the 'States so I could impress everyone once we arrived. Not only did that not happen, but a few weeks after we did arrive I became so discouraged with the process that I stopped studying altogether. It wasn't until we took a trip to Guanajuato and the surrounding area that both Madeleine and I felt a renewed desire to know the language well. Since then our progress has been slow, but I would stay steady.
The language barrier is still the biggest obstacle on our road to being a part of this community and culture at large, but the Guanajuato trip also brought to light an obvious point that we had missed up till then: life in Jaumave is not necessarily fully representative of life in Mexico. More specifically, living in Jaumave means living in a small town with all that accompanies that. Even for our Spanish-speaking summer interns, "in" status was not something that was granted easily, if at all. In fact, Dustin, who spent most of his two-and-a-half months here interacting with the Mexican people, said that he usually needed a local "partner" to accompany him to gatherings in order for him to be even initially accepted. That's not to say that the locals are cold and dismissive, because they're not, but it does make it clear that we can't simply expect our good intentions to automatically gain us favor. Of course there are several men and women who have been very warm, and especially so in the church. Often, warm smiles and waves are returned in kind, and already simple relationships are developing despite our poor Spanish. At the same time, it is a joy to see the local community come together for celebrations or even just weekend walks around the plazas. I can even usually tolerate the loud speakers on wheels making announcements of local news or sales, knowing that this is a living community.
Besides speaking a "foreign" language and preferring their own, the locals also march to the beat of a different time clock, but like the other cultural differences we've faced, this too is a coin with two sides. In fact, this specific difference has proven to be a large and needed blessing to my family and my own spirit. For starters, we are able to leave our vehicle at home for all but highway trips and grocery shopping, choosing instead to walk or ride bike—rush hour is not in our Jaumave vocabulary in any language. Besides the aforementioned plazas, packed earth streets and open doorways also play host to neighbors as they meet to relax and share the evenings. Vendors often wander by the house during the day selling goods they've cooked or baked or built or picked: cornbread, tamales, headboards, tunas (cactus fruits)... For me this slowed pace and associated lack of ambition provide room for me to let go of a lot of my own ambitions, room to begin to recognize unhealthy patterns and time to adjust; time to read and talk and play and think. As a family, we've been faithful to keep days of rest and family dates, and as a couple, Madeleine and I are enjoying the lack of "important" options that have historically kept our minds full and our schedules busy, and subsequently limited the regularity and depth of our interactions. Of course, this slow approach can be a source of frustration when depending on others to get things done, a quality known around the office simply as "mañana." This approach also allows important things to remain disordered or undone around town: manhole covers missing, unmarked car killers (aka Mexican speed bumps), large scale water leaks, regular electricity outages, weeks waiting for the right people to talk so our shop transformer could be turned on, trash left on the sides of almost every street.
In the end, though, I'm not sure that I would too change much even if I could. The price would be too high; too much might be lost. So, it looks like it is I who will be the one to change. I'll continue to adjust, to struggle and be formed in this regularly occurring process called culture shock, and I'm confident that I and those around me will be much better for it.
September 16, 2005
Living in Jaumave
posted by Heather
It is morning. The sun has risen, but it is still hidden behind the ring of mountains that surrounds Jaumave, Mexico. Roosters are crowing from nearly every back yard. Somewhere a dog is barking and a donkey is braying. The sound of a horse's hooves ring out from the cobblestone street leading down to the river behind the little house I’m staying in.
Slowly the people begin to wake up. Old, rusting trucks rattle up the streets toward the plaza. Boys on bicycles, a few men on horses, and people walking like myself pass me on the road, wave, and call out “Adios” in greeting. Women stand in their doorways wetting the dust that covers the road. A little boy runs barefoot down the sidewalk to his neighbor’s house. The tortilla shop next to the Projecto Del Carpintero office is crowded, now. People are standing in line waiting for their packages of still-hot tortillas. School girls walk in pairs through the plaza. The bells on the old church ring out the hour: eight o’clock. Four or five men are waiting in front of the office door for someone to bring the key; I wait with them.
The sun is hot in Mexico. By noon, when I look for lunch, the streets are nearly empty. Clusters of people sit in the shade of the huge trees in the plaza. An old man pushes a wheelbarrow down the street. Dogs lie under cars, tongues lolling out of their mouths. People come and go from the little cafés around the plaza, looking out the open door and brushing away buzzing flies. Every table holds a bowl of a green chili sauce. Red chilies go on everything – even fruit. A toddler at the table next to me stops eating and stares while I wait for my tostadas. I guess he's never seen blonde hair before.
It is in the evening that Jaumave truly comes to life. When the sun is setting, and a cool breeze blows through the dusty streets, then everyone comes out of their houses and gathers in the three plazas in the heart of town. Children laugh and shout as they play on the playground. Young people play basketball or soccer, or walk the perimeter of the plazas together. Some people sit in the backs of their trucks, talking over the loud music coming from their radios. Couples kiss on the benches under the trees, unaware of the world around them.
Taco stands begin to open when the sun sets, and hamburger stands too. Sitting in the dim yellow light at a plastic white table, I squeeze fresh lime over my tacos, spoon on the green chili sauce, and watch the people pass. I see a face I recognize; it’s hard not to in this little town. She calls out my name, and I wave. That’s what the plaza is all about, really. Meeting friends, and passing on, and meeting them again.
It is late now, and I’m tired. I walk slowly up the dark, cobble stoned street, and turn in at a dirt driveway. I’m almost past Pastor Pepe's house when a voice calls out to me from the darkness. They're sitting on their front porch, enjoying the night. I stop to chat a few minutes with them before moving on.
Outside my door, I pause to look around. The stars above seem so close, so numerous, that I hate to go inside. A dog is barking, but other than that all is still. The shadows of the mountains loom up on the horizon. The breeze is soft and cool. This has been a good day in Jaumave.