i haven't been writing much lately, not only for the blog, but just in general. but this weekend, i graduated again. i finished grad school and in an effort to explore and document some of the things i'm thinking and feeling and wondering, i was able to get myself to write for a while tonight. as sometimes happens, it came out as a short dialogue. the writing's not great, but it means a lot to me. and as i read it over after, it reminded me of something i wrote about year ago. the format is the same, but the emotions and philosophies expressed are not, really.
although i'm not one to post creative writing on the blog, i feel compelled to do so for some reason. i would doubt that these short writings would mean anything to anyone else, so i'm not sure i care if anyone actually sees them or reads them. nonetheless, i feel like posting them. to me, they exemplify huge changes and prevailing insecurities. the first, titled dialogue #1, was written about a year ago, in march of 2009, as i was coming to the close of my undergraduate education and weighing my final decisions about grad school and other future plans. the second, dialogue #2, written completely separately of course, was written tonight, the night after graduating with my social work degree and facing a whole other world of uncertainty.
dialogue #1
“Why do you think I’m here?” she asked quickly with a voice attempting calm restraint, poorly masking the intensity with which she wanted an answer. She quickly moved her hand toward her face to take another drag of her cigarette, the other arm still folded tightly around her chest.
“I don’t know,” he said quietly.
“What do you need from me?”
“Nothing,” he whispered.
“But look at you!” Her voice was beginning to betray her. “You’re a mess! There’s almost nothing left of you! What do you mean ‘nothing?’” She was beginning to feel as if emotion, any emotion, only had one way to express itself. Perhaps any intense feeling, by the time it had forced its way through the psyche from wherever it began and reached the level of communication, could only express itself through this choppy language varying widely in volume and sentence length. Or perhaps she only ever felt one emotion anymore.
“What do you think you can do for me?” he offered. It seemed that while her voice was growing more intense, his was fading. It seemed further away to her. In reality, it did not change.
“Well, there obviously must be something I can do. That’s why I’m here, right? That’s what the point is? Look at you. And then look at me. There’s a reason we’re like this.”
“What do you think that reason is?”
“I don’t know! Why do you think I would know? If I did know, would I be asking you? This isn’t something you would know any better than me. But, does anybody really know? I mean, who should I ask? What should I read? People have ideas, I know, but I’ve never really bought those. How do they know so confidently? They can tell the whole world, but do they do it themselves? No way. They just end up as more fucking hypocrites.”
“You seem upset.”
“Of course I’m upset! I’m here, right? If I didn’t care, if it didn’t upset me, I wouldn’t be here!” A surprisingly comfortable, almost relief-bringing silence passed. “Sometimes I think that would be easier.” Her voice was moving into a more somber tone.
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t know. And I wish I did. It just seems right, you know? Like I should, because…I should. Because that’s the point of it all.”
“The point of what all?”
“Of this! Of why we’re here. Why you’re like that and I’m like this.”
“Is it about me? Or you?”
“It’s both. I think. I mean, there’s a reason we are the way we are, right? And I should do something, right? Right? It’s just…right.”
“Say’s who?”
“I don’t know,” she murmured with frustration. “I don’t know anymore. I’m not sure I ever knew.”
“What if you never know?”
“Is it possible? I’m not sure I’d make it. How would I know what to do? What should I do?”
“Listen.”
“To who? How will I know what’s right?”
“Listen.”
“To who?” Her varying levels of volume continued as she nearly shouted.
“Listen.”
dialogue #2
“what are you thinking about?” she asked sweetly, in a way that revealed genuine curiosity, and only a slight sense of naiveté.
“i don’t know,” she answered, in a way that revealed nothing.
a comfortable silence passed.
“well, that can’t be true, right? i mean, you must have been thinking about something, even if it was nothing. and you’re the only who would really know if it was something or nothing, or if the something was nothing, right?”
“i don’t know,” she repeated. “what are you thinking about?”
“i’m thinking about that movie i saw last week. it was so crazy violent, almost in a desensitizing way, you know? it really affected me. i’ve been having trouble sleeping, actually.”
“wow, really?” she asked sincerely.
“yeah. and it really made me think about all the violence in this city lately, too. and i just wonder how stuff like that is related, you know? and of course, i think about my students, and the situations they have to grow up in—the shit they have to see. it just seems like so much. they’re so young and already have so much to deal with. and on top of it all they have to worry about whether or not they’re going to make it to school and home again without being shot or beaten. and then they might have to take care of a parent or grandparent who is naturally or chemically ill. and they might not have a dinner to eat. and then they go to bed, knowing that they’ll wake up tomorrow and brave it again to go to a school that will almost assuredly leave them unprepared to achieve a basic level of living security in the future without putting forth an unbelievable level of effort--way more effort than i ever had to exert at their age. maybe more than i ever will. and at the same time, they know that just one misstep will make them a statistic, like everyone expects them to be, like most of the people around them will be. it just doesn’t seem fair, you know? it just doesn’t seem right.”
“wow. that’s a lot to be thinking about.”
another comfortable silence passed.
“now do you know what you’re thinking about?”
“that young girl that was sitting across from us on the train. did you notice her?”
“no. what about her?”
“she was sitting cross-legged next to a man who was probably her dad. she couldn’t have been more than 8, but was probably closer to 6. her hands were folded in her lap, and her thick, wavy brown hair was hanging just to the tops of her shoulders. she was cute, but without any really distinguishing features. she seemed a bit tired. and as i looked across at her, she smiled a very gentle smile. she slowly turned the edges of her mouth up, softened her eyes, and then inhaled and exhaled deeply. there was something about it that just made me feel so safe and peaceful. it was like she saw into me and said, ‘it’s okay. it’s going to be okay.’ and i believed her, you know? like, for a moment, we weren’t strangers on a train in the city, but we were everything—the two pieces of the whole, that have been friends and sisters forever. it was as if i had glimpsed the wisest being in the world in the smile of this little girl. and i thought about how sometimes i feel so unknown by the people around me, the people who seem to know me the best. and sometimes, which is scarier—terrifying to be honest--i feel like a complete stranger to myself. and yet in that moment i felt completely known and understood. and completely safe. and i knew that she wasn’t a stranger at all.”
“that’s a lot to be thinking about too.”
“yeah, and it just made me think about how rare those moments are and what that means. and if they can be manufactured. and if i can ever really know myself the way that girl knew me in that moment. and what it means if i know i can’t. and what it means if i don’t know.”
more silence passed, although it’s unclear for how long.
“so, what are you going to do?” she asked.
“what do you mean?”
“well, if you’re wondering what that moment means, what have you decided? what does it mean and what will you do about it? will you keep thinking about it? will you manufacture more? will you think about my students and the movie and the violence?”
“i guess i’ll just keep asking you what you’re thinking. i’ll keep trying to know you. and when those moments come i can rest in them. and maybe someday, when i’ve asked enough and i’ve seen enough, it won’t be so terrifying anymore. maybe then i can just be.”
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Sunday, April 25, 2010
as i've stated before, i love traveling. but sometimes, memories can pop up at the most random times. such as last night, when i was sitting in my apartment, trying to do homework (on a saturday night, yes. but it's my LAST WEEKEND of grad school.) i was sitting, writing a hypothetical social service program proposal, when i started thinking about this house party i went to in mexico city last summer. i don't know why i started thinking about it. we were at this house packed with people somewhere in the massive city that is DF, and we were there until about 5am. i won't go into more detail, but it was a crazy night. and i guess it's just weird to think about how memory and nostalgia works. of all memories to pop into my head, why that one?
anyway, i thought i'd put a picture up to relate. this was actually not at the house, but it's from the same weekend and it's all the people i was there with.
anyway, i thought i'd put a picture up to relate. this was actually not at the house, but it's from the same weekend and it's all the people i was there with.
festival of rain.
i'm sitting in my room working on a final. coffee next to me, sigur ros floating through the apartment. i've been fighting the urge to write on here all morning, in an attempt to be productive on the final.
but just now, for about 30 seconds, it started to pour outside. just for 30 seconds. it was so beautiful. i couldn't help but stop typing, grab my coffee cup, and just take in the sight and sound of the rain hitting the rooftops around me.
it made me think of the essay 'rain and the rhinoceros' by thomas merton, where he discusses the 'festival of rain' and how it cannot be stopped. especially in the city, where people try to shuffle away and hide. rather than enjoy it as the festival that it is.
i hope i'm never too 'busy' to enjoy the rain. i hope you aren't either.
but just now, for about 30 seconds, it started to pour outside. just for 30 seconds. it was so beautiful. i couldn't help but stop typing, grab my coffee cup, and just take in the sight and sound of the rain hitting the rooftops around me.
it made me think of the essay 'rain and the rhinoceros' by thomas merton, where he discusses the 'festival of rain' and how it cannot be stopped. especially in the city, where people try to shuffle away and hide. rather than enjoy it as the festival that it is.
i hope i'm never too 'busy' to enjoy the rain. i hope you aren't either.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
flamenco.
i went back to lessons on monday. incredible.
my teacher/the owner of the studio had a performance tonight of a modern flamenco piece she's working on about a book she read about the arctic and a trip she took to syria with her young daughter. unbelievably beautiful and inspiring.
and i just spent the last couple hours watching videos like the following, with antonio gades, one of the most incredible and famous flamenco dancers/choreographers of all time:
carlos saura's carmen
my teacher/the owner of the studio had a performance tonight of a modern flamenco piece she's working on about a book she read about the arctic and a trip she took to syria with her young daughter. unbelievably beautiful and inspiring.
and i just spent the last couple hours watching videos like the following, with antonio gades, one of the most incredible and famous flamenco dancers/choreographers of all time:
carlos saura's carmen
Sunday, April 4, 2010
don Francisco
last year, while i was living in mexico, i wrote on this blog a short narrative of a man i had met while working for the community foundation. recently, for one of my graduate courses, i was required to write a migration narrative using an interview with someone who had migrated. i used the information from my meetings with francisco to reconstruct this narrative, as well as including some observations about larger political forces which probably had an effect. i decided that since people seemed to be interested in the original profile i offered of him, they may be interested in this. if you have time/desire to read it, i would love your thoughts/responses. it is written in full, here:
Introduction
During the summer of 2009, I completed my second year MSW internship in the state of Guanajuato, México, working with a community foundation that focuses on local economic and educational development in the surrounding rural Mexican communities. Although I worked primarily in the areas of development, fundraising, and program development, I also had the chance to travel to most of the communities, meet the families, and see the work being done with the support of the foundation.
One of these small towns is Tamaula, a community of about 50 families, which is located on a large hill just outside the mid-sized city of Irapuato. On my first trip up to Tamaula (the altitude is actually quite high, as the drive consists of about 45 minutes of incline), the first person I met was Francisco. I assumed he was about 60 years old, and met his wife and one of his daughters at the same time. As we were introduced, since the other student and I were still very new to the area and the foundation, Francisco offered to give us a short summary of the community and the work the foundation has done over the past few years.
After hearing this brief overview of his story, including the founding of Tamaula, difficult times, and various migratory journeys to the United States, I asked Francisco if he had ever recorded his story in any way. He explained to me that he had actually attempted to write in various times, but each time it was destroyed in some way. Once, it was lost in a rapid and unexpected change of residence. Another time, a fire destroyed the memoir. And yet another time, although he gave only vague details, the pages were destroyed during some type of incident with local authorities. After learning this, I asked Francisco if he would be willing to give me more details about his story, specifically about the migratory process, so that I would be able to record it and pass it on to people who may benefit greatly from it. And although I had heard his story and recorded the details, I had not completed the narrative until now.
Background
When Francisco was about 17, he and his young wife packed up the few possessions they owned and left their hometown in central Mexico in order to find a new area where they might be able to do agricultural work in order to subsist. He did not offer many details about the various elements of this decision. Rather, he explained that he and a few other young couples set off together to start anew. Although the journey and arrival must have been extremely difficult, considering the altitude, lack of a path or road, and the fact that they were on foot, they discovered the area where Tamaula now exists, and decided to stay. They constructed their houses, organized themselves as well as possible, and began their lives.
The primary crop grown in Tamaula was corn, although they did have other crops and livestock as well. The families were able to survive, but life was still difficult. Although the town was extremely close to the city of Irapuato, its location on top of the large hill allowed it to stay very isolated. In fact, until about 12 years ago, the most efficient form of transportation to arrive to Tamaula from the road below was a two-hour burro ride.
In spite of this isolation, the agriculture allowed the families in Tamaula not only to survive, but also to live relatively comfortably. However, in the 1990s, the situation began to change. Although he was unsure of why, it became much more difficult to sell the crops that Francisco and his family were farming. In addition to these unforeseen economic issues, the weather began to change as well. As the rainy seasons seemed to get shorter and the dry seasons longer, it became apparent in Tamaula that the lack of a reliable water source, due to its location, would be an increasingly troubling issue.
Faced with all of these issues, Francisco began to talk to various people in Irapuato when he would travel down. He began to hear about a company in the state of Georgia in the United States that would hire workers from Mexico to do farming and sometimes construction work. Although he did not like the prospect of having to leave his wife and five children, he began to consider this as possibly the best option for the family’s future.
Pre-Migration
Although they knew it would be a very difficult situation for Francisco, his wife, and his kids, the family also knew that it was the only way they would be able to stay in their community and survive during such difficult times. In fact, the personal economic issues were not the only difficulty facing the family. Francisco explained that they began to realize the truly debilitating effects of Tamaula’s isolation, due in large part to the lack of reliable transport between the community and the city.
One related issue was the complete lack of educational opportunities in Tamaula. There was still no type of formal education in the 1990s. While this had never struck them as a great necessity, because they figured the children would all continue to do the same agricultural work they had always done, these increasingly notable changes highlighted the lack of opportunity for future success for the youngest members of Tamaula. Therefore, Francisco knew that if he were able to go to the United States to work and send money home, along with some other men from the community, they may be able to pool enough resources to build a school and hire teachers from the city.
Of course, this would be dependent upon the improvement of basic infrastructure in Tamaula. First in importance would be a path or road cleared of rocks leading up to the community, allowing access by means other than foot or animal. In addition, there was still no electricity or clean water source in the community. All of these elements, which again highlight the isolation of Tamaula from the modern city of nearly 500,000 people so nearby, were on the mind and heart of Francisco and a few other men of the community as they considered the difficulty of the journey ahead of them.
The decision and preparation for this first journey was by far the most difficult for Francisco and his family. There was a great amount of uncertainty about every aspect: the journey up to the United States, the border crossing, the place where he would be going, the work he would be doing, how long he would stay, and how he would return. The family did find some level of solace, however, in the idea that Francisco would be returning at some point. Clearly, the plan was never for him to migrate permanently to the United States. In fact, the ideal situation would be that he would work just long enough to send enough money back to secure that the family could create some type of new economic opportunity, allowing him to never migrate again.
Luckily, he had a few friends in another community in the general area that had already made the journey and were able to guide him in the preparations of travel. He knew would be able to take a bus to the border, but he knew very little after that. His friends informed him of where to go at the border and how to access a coyote, but little else was prepared. Francisco knew where in Arizona to be at a certain time, and was prepared to trust God for the rest.
Transit
Unlike some migrants, who are forced to hitchhike or ride on the tops of trains to reach the U.S. border, Francisco had the opportunity to take a bus from his home state of Guanajuato to the border at Nogales, where he would cross. This long bus ride, although incredibly easy compared to the rest of the journey ahead of him, was surprisingly difficult due to the recent separation from his family and the overwhelming sense of uncertainty about the near and distant future. He had no idea where exactly the coyote would take him or how he would get there.
When he arrived in Nogales, he was able to locate a coyote based on the guidance he had received in Guanajuato. Once the coyote was paid and preparations were finished, the next leg of the journey, arguably the most dangerous, began: crossing over the border through the desert. This portion was clearly the most difficult for Francisco to discuss. He gave very few details, explaining only that it was the most horrible thing he had experienced in his life, and he thought for sure he was going to die. He was not sure how long it actually took or where exactly they were, but after at least a few excruciating days, the coyote announced that they had made it through the desert and were “safely” in a United States town. He now guesses that they had arrived in Tucson, Arizona.
However, the danger and pain was not yet over. At this point, Francisco was put into the back of a truck that was completely packed with people. It was clearly difficult for him to describe this experience, in which he was again positive that he was going to suffocate and die. He explained that it quickly outweighed the desert as the most horrible experience of his life. However, he arrived at his next destination: Phoenix.
After arriving in Phoenix, he was quickly put on an airplane destined for Atlanta, Georgia. And as he reiterates, he had literally no idea where he was going. He was completely dependent upon the people whom he was following. In fact, he described the fact that on the airplane, when he and some of the other men he had been traveling with were given complimentary meals, they did not eat them because they spoke no English and therefore were not aware that the food was free. They had not eaten in over three days.
Once he and the other migrants arrived in Atlanta, they were picked up by representatives of the company and driven to the town of Athens, about 70 miles from Atlanta. Francisco expressed gratitude at the opportunity to have at least a few other Mexican men with him on this leg of the journey. Although he did not feel his life was quite as threatened as it had been in the desert or the truck ride to Phoenix, the fact that he knew no English left him feeling continually afraid and uneasy.
Resettlement
While in the United States, due to the community in which he settled and the nature of his work, Francisco was actually not forced to integrate much into mainstream United States culture. He worked primarily with other migrants from Mexico or Central America, and lived in a small town with many of these co-workers. Therefore, he was able to speak Spanish almost exclusively, and rarely had to leave this comfort zone for any reason.
However, the life of an undocumented immigrant in the United States, even within the context of a good work situation, is difficult. For instance, due to a lack of health insurance, Francisco was never able to go to a doctor when he was sick or injured. When an accident at work left him with a large cut on his left forearm, he was left to dress and care for it himself because he would not have been able to afford otherwise. The community of migrants with whom he worked and lived was extremely helpful and supportive, especially during these first few months of transition.
Another difficulty, especially at first, was the separation from his family. This was the first time Francisco had ever left his wife and children, and he was still unsure exactly how long this separation would last. He explained that he felt extremely lonely, even around his fellow migrants, because he knew his entire family was together, along with his community in Tamaula. However, he found it extremely comforting to know that the money he was beginning to send home was helping his family and community to live and plan for the future.
The work Francisco was doing was actually quite manageable, although demanding. He was primarily working in agriculture, tending to crops such as corn and tobacco, but would also work on construction projects occasionally when it was available. Through this combination, he was not only able to use the skills and knowledge about agriculture that he already possessed, but he was able to learn knew skills in building and construction that he predicted would be helpful when he returned to Tamaula. He was also able to develop a very good relationship with his employer, which again provided him with much-needed support.
Francisco ended up staying in Georgia, doing this combination of work, for about two years. As he continued to work hard and send the majority of the money to his family in Tamaula, he weighed the options to remain or return to Mexico. Although he was making much more money than he had ever had at home, the strain of being separated from the family was too difficult. He not only missed his wife, children, and community, but he missed the more tranquil lifestyle in his small, quiet community on top of the hill. Therefore, after discussing it on the phone with his wife, he decided to return to Mexico after two years of working in Georgia. They assumed that with his new experience, knowledge, and skills, they would undoubtedly be able to support themselves in Tamaula.
Return
Luckily, the journey home to Mexico was much easier than the arrival trip had been. Francisco was able to take a bus to the border, cross over without problems, and take another bus back down to Guanajuato state. After two years, he was joyfully reunited with his wife and children. He was also able observe the marked differences in his community since he had left. Like him, many of the men had left, and many were still in the United States or Canada, sending remittances back. In fact, he estimated that the majority of families in Tamaula had a family member who had migrated, usually the father and/or oldest son.
Although he was able to organize the construction of some new homes in the community, especially for his growing family, as his children grew older and began their own families, the economic situation for Francisco and his family did not improve. (They also pooled remittance money with a number of other families in order to construct a new, large church, which is opened once a month when a traveling priest comes to officiate mass.) The opportunities for agriculture did not increase, and the money saved up from remittances was quickly being exhausted. Therefore, over the next five to ten years, Francisco was forced to make the difficult decision to emigrate to the U.S. a few more times. He was unclear of how many times he actually made the journey or how exactly he did it, but he did explain that the return trips were at least made easier by the general knowledge of what to expect. In addition, his boss in Georgia had told him after the first departure that he could work for him whenever he wanted or needed to.
During the past decade, as Francisco has gotten older and therefore less able to handle the journey, his sons have begun migrating. In fact, when I completed this interview with him, one son was in the United States working, and one had just recently returned. This younger generation not only supports their own young families, but supports their parents as well. Also during this time period, however, the foundation with which I was interning began working with the community. This collaboration has led to the creation of an automobile-accessible road up to Tamaula (cleared of rocks but not paved), the installation of electricity and internet access, and the gradual construction of three small buildings for educational purposes. The current project on which the foundation and the community are working is the installation of a clean water source and the purchase of a large cistern in which to store it.
With these developments, the community has truly been opened up to the surrounding area and the nearby city of Irapuato. Although it is still difficult to access (a rocky 45-minute car ride), the increasing accessibility has allowed the community leaders to work with the foundation to advocate much more effectively for the needs of the community. Francisco and another elder in the community have also collaborated with another organization to obtain a large number of goats in order to reignite some of the economic prospects the community once enjoyed. While the men raise, breed, and sell the goats, the women use the milk to make cheese, which they hope to sell in the local markets soon.
However, even with these growing opportunities, migration continues to be a significant part of life in Tamaula. In fact, the characteristics of those who migrate is continually changing, now often starting around age 14 or 15, and including young women as well as men. This culture of course creates a large number of social problems, including an extremely low commitment to education and high rates of depression and alcoholism in those left behind.
Larger Implications and Conclusion
It is not difficult to understand how Francisco’s story of immigration fits in to the larger context of economic, agricultural, and immigration policy between Mexico and the United States. For instance, as Daniels (2002) explains in his book Coming to America: A History of Immigration and Ethnicity in American Life, “in the 1980s, for the first time since the mid-1920s, immigration took up a central position on the American social agenda” (p. 388). Along with the many rounds of reform measures and policies that were being drafted and debated in these years, such as the Immigration Reform Act of 1986, U.S. public opinion about migrants and immigration was being discussed, debated, and reevaluated as well. At the very least, I would point to this ideological discussion—if not battle—as a reason for the extremely dangerous nature of the journey itself that Francisco completed. Were it not such a hotly contested issue with such an immense history, he may not have been forced to risk his life or those of his children in order to earn a living.
In addition to these general immigration policies, it seems incredibly likely that economic policies, such as the 1993 North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA), also contributed significantly to Francisco’s choice to migrate. As Daniels (2002) mentions and others such as Flores-Macías (2006) discuss in detail, the trade policies of NAFTA nearly (if not completely) devastated the agricultural business of much of Mexico, especially central Mexico (where Guanajuato is located). Although the presidents of both nations claimed the policy would create more opportunities for work in both countries and therefore lower the rate of migration, it actually had the opposite effect, causing the levels of migration—especially illegally—from Mexico to the United States to skyrocket. It seems quite logical to include Francisco in this group.
Francisco’s story of migration, therefore, not only offers a great depiction of the stages of migration and the way this process can affect individuals, families, and whole communities, but it also exemplifies the way large national or international policies can affect these different levels of society as well. Nonetheless, Francisco continues. He continues to work hard, live with his wife in Tamaula, support his children as they migrate to and return from the north, and advocate for the community he founded nearly 50 years ago.
References
Daniels, R. (2002). Coming to America: A History of Immigration and Ethnicity in American Life.
Flores-Macías, G. A. (2008). NAFTA’s Unfulfilled Immigration Expectations. Peace Review, 20(4), pp. 435-441.
Introduction
During the summer of 2009, I completed my second year MSW internship in the state of Guanajuato, México, working with a community foundation that focuses on local economic and educational development in the surrounding rural Mexican communities. Although I worked primarily in the areas of development, fundraising, and program development, I also had the chance to travel to most of the communities, meet the families, and see the work being done with the support of the foundation.
One of these small towns is Tamaula, a community of about 50 families, which is located on a large hill just outside the mid-sized city of Irapuato. On my first trip up to Tamaula (the altitude is actually quite high, as the drive consists of about 45 minutes of incline), the first person I met was Francisco. I assumed he was about 60 years old, and met his wife and one of his daughters at the same time. As we were introduced, since the other student and I were still very new to the area and the foundation, Francisco offered to give us a short summary of the community and the work the foundation has done over the past few years.
After hearing this brief overview of his story, including the founding of Tamaula, difficult times, and various migratory journeys to the United States, I asked Francisco if he had ever recorded his story in any way. He explained to me that he had actually attempted to write in various times, but each time it was destroyed in some way. Once, it was lost in a rapid and unexpected change of residence. Another time, a fire destroyed the memoir. And yet another time, although he gave only vague details, the pages were destroyed during some type of incident with local authorities. After learning this, I asked Francisco if he would be willing to give me more details about his story, specifically about the migratory process, so that I would be able to record it and pass it on to people who may benefit greatly from it. And although I had heard his story and recorded the details, I had not completed the narrative until now.
Background
When Francisco was about 17, he and his young wife packed up the few possessions they owned and left their hometown in central Mexico in order to find a new area where they might be able to do agricultural work in order to subsist. He did not offer many details about the various elements of this decision. Rather, he explained that he and a few other young couples set off together to start anew. Although the journey and arrival must have been extremely difficult, considering the altitude, lack of a path or road, and the fact that they were on foot, they discovered the area where Tamaula now exists, and decided to stay. They constructed their houses, organized themselves as well as possible, and began their lives.
The primary crop grown in Tamaula was corn, although they did have other crops and livestock as well. The families were able to survive, but life was still difficult. Although the town was extremely close to the city of Irapuato, its location on top of the large hill allowed it to stay very isolated. In fact, until about 12 years ago, the most efficient form of transportation to arrive to Tamaula from the road below was a two-hour burro ride.
In spite of this isolation, the agriculture allowed the families in Tamaula not only to survive, but also to live relatively comfortably. However, in the 1990s, the situation began to change. Although he was unsure of why, it became much more difficult to sell the crops that Francisco and his family were farming. In addition to these unforeseen economic issues, the weather began to change as well. As the rainy seasons seemed to get shorter and the dry seasons longer, it became apparent in Tamaula that the lack of a reliable water source, due to its location, would be an increasingly troubling issue.
Faced with all of these issues, Francisco began to talk to various people in Irapuato when he would travel down. He began to hear about a company in the state of Georgia in the United States that would hire workers from Mexico to do farming and sometimes construction work. Although he did not like the prospect of having to leave his wife and five children, he began to consider this as possibly the best option for the family’s future.
Pre-Migration
Although they knew it would be a very difficult situation for Francisco, his wife, and his kids, the family also knew that it was the only way they would be able to stay in their community and survive during such difficult times. In fact, the personal economic issues were not the only difficulty facing the family. Francisco explained that they began to realize the truly debilitating effects of Tamaula’s isolation, due in large part to the lack of reliable transport between the community and the city.
One related issue was the complete lack of educational opportunities in Tamaula. There was still no type of formal education in the 1990s. While this had never struck them as a great necessity, because they figured the children would all continue to do the same agricultural work they had always done, these increasingly notable changes highlighted the lack of opportunity for future success for the youngest members of Tamaula. Therefore, Francisco knew that if he were able to go to the United States to work and send money home, along with some other men from the community, they may be able to pool enough resources to build a school and hire teachers from the city.
Of course, this would be dependent upon the improvement of basic infrastructure in Tamaula. First in importance would be a path or road cleared of rocks leading up to the community, allowing access by means other than foot or animal. In addition, there was still no electricity or clean water source in the community. All of these elements, which again highlight the isolation of Tamaula from the modern city of nearly 500,000 people so nearby, were on the mind and heart of Francisco and a few other men of the community as they considered the difficulty of the journey ahead of them.
The decision and preparation for this first journey was by far the most difficult for Francisco and his family. There was a great amount of uncertainty about every aspect: the journey up to the United States, the border crossing, the place where he would be going, the work he would be doing, how long he would stay, and how he would return. The family did find some level of solace, however, in the idea that Francisco would be returning at some point. Clearly, the plan was never for him to migrate permanently to the United States. In fact, the ideal situation would be that he would work just long enough to send enough money back to secure that the family could create some type of new economic opportunity, allowing him to never migrate again.
Luckily, he had a few friends in another community in the general area that had already made the journey and were able to guide him in the preparations of travel. He knew would be able to take a bus to the border, but he knew very little after that. His friends informed him of where to go at the border and how to access a coyote, but little else was prepared. Francisco knew where in Arizona to be at a certain time, and was prepared to trust God for the rest.
Transit
Unlike some migrants, who are forced to hitchhike or ride on the tops of trains to reach the U.S. border, Francisco had the opportunity to take a bus from his home state of Guanajuato to the border at Nogales, where he would cross. This long bus ride, although incredibly easy compared to the rest of the journey ahead of him, was surprisingly difficult due to the recent separation from his family and the overwhelming sense of uncertainty about the near and distant future. He had no idea where exactly the coyote would take him or how he would get there.
When he arrived in Nogales, he was able to locate a coyote based on the guidance he had received in Guanajuato. Once the coyote was paid and preparations were finished, the next leg of the journey, arguably the most dangerous, began: crossing over the border through the desert. This portion was clearly the most difficult for Francisco to discuss. He gave very few details, explaining only that it was the most horrible thing he had experienced in his life, and he thought for sure he was going to die. He was not sure how long it actually took or where exactly they were, but after at least a few excruciating days, the coyote announced that they had made it through the desert and were “safely” in a United States town. He now guesses that they had arrived in Tucson, Arizona.
However, the danger and pain was not yet over. At this point, Francisco was put into the back of a truck that was completely packed with people. It was clearly difficult for him to describe this experience, in which he was again positive that he was going to suffocate and die. He explained that it quickly outweighed the desert as the most horrible experience of his life. However, he arrived at his next destination: Phoenix.
After arriving in Phoenix, he was quickly put on an airplane destined for Atlanta, Georgia. And as he reiterates, he had literally no idea where he was going. He was completely dependent upon the people whom he was following. In fact, he described the fact that on the airplane, when he and some of the other men he had been traveling with were given complimentary meals, they did not eat them because they spoke no English and therefore were not aware that the food was free. They had not eaten in over three days.
Once he and the other migrants arrived in Atlanta, they were picked up by representatives of the company and driven to the town of Athens, about 70 miles from Atlanta. Francisco expressed gratitude at the opportunity to have at least a few other Mexican men with him on this leg of the journey. Although he did not feel his life was quite as threatened as it had been in the desert or the truck ride to Phoenix, the fact that he knew no English left him feeling continually afraid and uneasy.
Resettlement
While in the United States, due to the community in which he settled and the nature of his work, Francisco was actually not forced to integrate much into mainstream United States culture. He worked primarily with other migrants from Mexico or Central America, and lived in a small town with many of these co-workers. Therefore, he was able to speak Spanish almost exclusively, and rarely had to leave this comfort zone for any reason.
However, the life of an undocumented immigrant in the United States, even within the context of a good work situation, is difficult. For instance, due to a lack of health insurance, Francisco was never able to go to a doctor when he was sick or injured. When an accident at work left him with a large cut on his left forearm, he was left to dress and care for it himself because he would not have been able to afford otherwise. The community of migrants with whom he worked and lived was extremely helpful and supportive, especially during these first few months of transition.
Another difficulty, especially at first, was the separation from his family. This was the first time Francisco had ever left his wife and children, and he was still unsure exactly how long this separation would last. He explained that he felt extremely lonely, even around his fellow migrants, because he knew his entire family was together, along with his community in Tamaula. However, he found it extremely comforting to know that the money he was beginning to send home was helping his family and community to live and plan for the future.
The work Francisco was doing was actually quite manageable, although demanding. He was primarily working in agriculture, tending to crops such as corn and tobacco, but would also work on construction projects occasionally when it was available. Through this combination, he was not only able to use the skills and knowledge about agriculture that he already possessed, but he was able to learn knew skills in building and construction that he predicted would be helpful when he returned to Tamaula. He was also able to develop a very good relationship with his employer, which again provided him with much-needed support.
Francisco ended up staying in Georgia, doing this combination of work, for about two years. As he continued to work hard and send the majority of the money to his family in Tamaula, he weighed the options to remain or return to Mexico. Although he was making much more money than he had ever had at home, the strain of being separated from the family was too difficult. He not only missed his wife, children, and community, but he missed the more tranquil lifestyle in his small, quiet community on top of the hill. Therefore, after discussing it on the phone with his wife, he decided to return to Mexico after two years of working in Georgia. They assumed that with his new experience, knowledge, and skills, they would undoubtedly be able to support themselves in Tamaula.
Return
Luckily, the journey home to Mexico was much easier than the arrival trip had been. Francisco was able to take a bus to the border, cross over without problems, and take another bus back down to Guanajuato state. After two years, he was joyfully reunited with his wife and children. He was also able observe the marked differences in his community since he had left. Like him, many of the men had left, and many were still in the United States or Canada, sending remittances back. In fact, he estimated that the majority of families in Tamaula had a family member who had migrated, usually the father and/or oldest son.
Although he was able to organize the construction of some new homes in the community, especially for his growing family, as his children grew older and began their own families, the economic situation for Francisco and his family did not improve. (They also pooled remittance money with a number of other families in order to construct a new, large church, which is opened once a month when a traveling priest comes to officiate mass.) The opportunities for agriculture did not increase, and the money saved up from remittances was quickly being exhausted. Therefore, over the next five to ten years, Francisco was forced to make the difficult decision to emigrate to the U.S. a few more times. He was unclear of how many times he actually made the journey or how exactly he did it, but he did explain that the return trips were at least made easier by the general knowledge of what to expect. In addition, his boss in Georgia had told him after the first departure that he could work for him whenever he wanted or needed to.
During the past decade, as Francisco has gotten older and therefore less able to handle the journey, his sons have begun migrating. In fact, when I completed this interview with him, one son was in the United States working, and one had just recently returned. This younger generation not only supports their own young families, but supports their parents as well. Also during this time period, however, the foundation with which I was interning began working with the community. This collaboration has led to the creation of an automobile-accessible road up to Tamaula (cleared of rocks but not paved), the installation of electricity and internet access, and the gradual construction of three small buildings for educational purposes. The current project on which the foundation and the community are working is the installation of a clean water source and the purchase of a large cistern in which to store it.
With these developments, the community has truly been opened up to the surrounding area and the nearby city of Irapuato. Although it is still difficult to access (a rocky 45-minute car ride), the increasing accessibility has allowed the community leaders to work with the foundation to advocate much more effectively for the needs of the community. Francisco and another elder in the community have also collaborated with another organization to obtain a large number of goats in order to reignite some of the economic prospects the community once enjoyed. While the men raise, breed, and sell the goats, the women use the milk to make cheese, which they hope to sell in the local markets soon.
However, even with these growing opportunities, migration continues to be a significant part of life in Tamaula. In fact, the characteristics of those who migrate is continually changing, now often starting around age 14 or 15, and including young women as well as men. This culture of course creates a large number of social problems, including an extremely low commitment to education and high rates of depression and alcoholism in those left behind.
Larger Implications and Conclusion
It is not difficult to understand how Francisco’s story of immigration fits in to the larger context of economic, agricultural, and immigration policy between Mexico and the United States. For instance, as Daniels (2002) explains in his book Coming to America: A History of Immigration and Ethnicity in American Life, “in the 1980s, for the first time since the mid-1920s, immigration took up a central position on the American social agenda” (p. 388). Along with the many rounds of reform measures and policies that were being drafted and debated in these years, such as the Immigration Reform Act of 1986, U.S. public opinion about migrants and immigration was being discussed, debated, and reevaluated as well. At the very least, I would point to this ideological discussion—if not battle—as a reason for the extremely dangerous nature of the journey itself that Francisco completed. Were it not such a hotly contested issue with such an immense history, he may not have been forced to risk his life or those of his children in order to earn a living.
In addition to these general immigration policies, it seems incredibly likely that economic policies, such as the 1993 North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA), also contributed significantly to Francisco’s choice to migrate. As Daniels (2002) mentions and others such as Flores-Macías (2006) discuss in detail, the trade policies of NAFTA nearly (if not completely) devastated the agricultural business of much of Mexico, especially central Mexico (where Guanajuato is located). Although the presidents of both nations claimed the policy would create more opportunities for work in both countries and therefore lower the rate of migration, it actually had the opposite effect, causing the levels of migration—especially illegally—from Mexico to the United States to skyrocket. It seems quite logical to include Francisco in this group.
Francisco’s story of migration, therefore, not only offers a great depiction of the stages of migration and the way this process can affect individuals, families, and whole communities, but it also exemplifies the way large national or international policies can affect these different levels of society as well. Nonetheless, Francisco continues. He continues to work hard, live with his wife in Tamaula, support his children as they migrate to and return from the north, and advocate for the community he founded nearly 50 years ago.
References
Daniels, R. (2002). Coming to America: A History of Immigration and Ethnicity in American Life.
Flores-Macías, G. A. (2008). NAFTA’s Unfulfilled Immigration Expectations. Peace Review, 20(4), pp. 435-441.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
this is it.
i've decided it's time to start attempting to document my journey back to south america. for now, as i begin this odd process, i'll just pick out a few of the stories i feel like typing out for now. i'm sure more will come out as i feel like it/remember. i'll probably entitle some parts. that's what i do.
"the way latin american travel is supposed to begin"
as anyone reading this blog knows, i was pretty excited for this trip. not only to travel, but to travel to peru and chile, where so much of my heart remains. so, as i approached the counter to check in for my first flight at ohare, i was pretty much floating. until. i asked the woman if she would be able to connect my luggage through to lima because i would be changing airlines in new york. she did her rapid typing thing and said it shouldn't be a problem...except...how was i planning on getting from laguardia airport to kennedy airport in nyc? "you're shitting me," i said out loud. "um...no," she replied. i had a 2-hour layover in new york and i was going to have to get my luggage and get to a different airport. luckily, she got me on a slightly earlier flight. and even more luckily, i'm a very privileged person who can afford an unexpected $40 cab ride through new york. but, i made it! and it was kind of nice to get the FIRST unplanned happening out of the way. in fact, i was so relieved to realize that i would make the second flight easily that i started trying to chat up my cab driver in new york. but he was not having it. apparently he had just been accused of something by the guy at the airport and that was the only thing he was willing to discuss. so, i let him talk about it for a while and then i just took in the brief look at nyc.
after arriving in lima, i quickly jumped in a cab to a bus station and grabbed a bus for chimbote, about 7 hours north of lima. it was a lot of traveling, yes, but it was so worth it to see courtney. even 7 hours on a bus with no bathroom. i didn't drink anything and got a lot of reading done! and actually, ended up having a really nice conversation with the guy sitting next to me for the last couple hours.
it was so so so great to see courtney. and to see her life. she is someone that continually inspires and challenges me in the way she lives (not just because she lives in chimbote), so even a few days with her was incredibly huge for me. the title of this whole post, "this is it," comes from a conversation we had about life, and being present, and not living for some other time or place or person. but being here, now. like the quote under the title of this blog also. there is only one moment.
this was one beautiful part of that (and this) moment:
after a couple quick days with courtney, i bused it back to lima and got on a plane for santiago. and as we landed, i saw the huge tents where i would eventually pick up my bag, go through customs, and leave without ever entering the airport building, which had sustained significant damage. and as i saw the tents, i remembered the earthquake for the first time. i had that same rush of excitement/anxiety thinking about what the city would be like. and what i would be like there.
the city had changed a lot, but you almost couldn't tell that the earthquake had just hit. as far as santiago goes, it's very much back to normal. minus a few really old buildings, like this one:
in fact, i kept forgetting about the earthquake. until thursday, when i went for a long, great run in the sun. and, as i was coming back to the house, i noticed that everyone was out on the street. everyone was leaving buildings and standing in the parking lots/streets, trying to make phone calls. i honestly thought, "hm...lot's of fire drills going on right now. or people just really like to have their lunch breaks outside?" but, when i got back to the house and the nana and bernardita, my host sister, answered the door they asked, "did you feel the aftershock? it was really strong!" they both looked quite shaken up, actually. "no!" i yelled. "are you serious?! my first tremor and i missed it!" i guess if you're running when the ground moves, you don't feel it. or perhaps i'm just that fast that i was actually flying over the ground. well, i think we all know i'm a little too klipsch for that to be the case. in any event, i ended up feeling one of the tremors later in the day. it really is incredible the way the buildings sway. and reports said that the early one had actually been clocked at a 7.2, which is bigger than the haiti earthquake. pretty crazy stuff.
"distance is just another way to relate"
being with my family was absolutely incredible. as we all kept saying, especially my host mom and i, it was completely normal. completely comfortable. it felt as if i had simply been "away" in the states for a little while but now i was home and life could go back to normal. honestly, it was really weird. and it was part of the reason why i spontaneously started crying (which i don't do that often) when on a day trip with my host dad on the last day at cerro san cristobal:
i realized that i had been so comfortable all week being with them (and busy with wedding stuff) that i really hadn't made an effort to go to too many places or do many things in santiago. it just felt like i was "back" and had all the time in the world. and looking at this sunset, i realized i didn't:
it probably didn't help that i literally hadn't slept the night before because of the wedding. but regardless, it was really hard for me to accept the fact that i would be leaving the next day. but i did. i decided not to dwell on my upcoming departure, but rather to enjoy being there with one of my favorite people in the entire world, talking about peace, and connection, and the illusion of distance.
"it's just like the movies!"
and for the wedding. so many good things to say i don't even know where to start. the wedding and all other events were a beautiful mix of the two cultures, and therefore a beautiful representation of sarah and felipe's relationship. for instance, it was an extremely formal event, at a huge and beautiful catholic church. very chilean. but also, we had a rehearsal dinner and bridal party, which is not done in chile. so, as we (sarah and the bridesmaids) went around her neighborhood to take pictures before the wedding, people just kept saying, "it's just like the movies!" they were literally stopping their cars and getting out to take pictures of us. people eating al fresco at restaurants started applauding us. it was kind of awesome. i must admit. we did kind of feel like we had walked out of a movie or a bridal magazine or something. and, well, we kind of did. check out this photo, just one of the many amazing shots by the incredible photographer, a friend of sarah's:
check out her blog here.
the wedding was beautiful. and late, which is perfectly chilean. i mean late. it was scheduled to start at 8. it started around 9. cocktail hour started around 1030. dinner was served around midnight, with toasts thrown in here and there. dancing started around 1 and DID NOT STOP until 6am. it was FANTASTIC. as in, fantastic. exactly what i would want, except maybe a little earlier in the day. but the chileans did not stop dancing the entire time. it was more fun than i can explain. when i get some more pictures of the actual party, i will definitely post them.
and so, after all, i left. i said goodbye to santiago with a wonderful 45minute coffee date with my best friend in chile, alejandra. again, it was like no time had passed at all.
the journey home was long, but fine. a 12-hour layover in lima made for a bit of exhaustion, but it was my decision in order to save some money. so, it was definitely worth it. well, until i missed my connection in miami and started crying at the counter. but, i'm sure the woman has seen much worse (you know, like someone cursing when they find out they have to change airports in new york!). she was very nice and got me on the next flight. it was a good reminder to me of the illusion of time and the ridiculousness of trying to hurry.
ok, there's so much more i could write about, but that's it for now. there are more pictures on facebook. actually, i didn't take many, but i put them all up, with a few captions. so, if you're interested, check them out!
thanks for reading! peace and love and eternity to you.
"the way latin american travel is supposed to begin"
as anyone reading this blog knows, i was pretty excited for this trip. not only to travel, but to travel to peru and chile, where so much of my heart remains. so, as i approached the counter to check in for my first flight at ohare, i was pretty much floating. until. i asked the woman if she would be able to connect my luggage through to lima because i would be changing airlines in new york. she did her rapid typing thing and said it shouldn't be a problem...except...how was i planning on getting from laguardia airport to kennedy airport in nyc? "you're shitting me," i said out loud. "um...no," she replied. i had a 2-hour layover in new york and i was going to have to get my luggage and get to a different airport. luckily, she got me on a slightly earlier flight. and even more luckily, i'm a very privileged person who can afford an unexpected $40 cab ride through new york. but, i made it! and it was kind of nice to get the FIRST unplanned happening out of the way. in fact, i was so relieved to realize that i would make the second flight easily that i started trying to chat up my cab driver in new york. but he was not having it. apparently he had just been accused of something by the guy at the airport and that was the only thing he was willing to discuss. so, i let him talk about it for a while and then i just took in the brief look at nyc.
after arriving in lima, i quickly jumped in a cab to a bus station and grabbed a bus for chimbote, about 7 hours north of lima. it was a lot of traveling, yes, but it was so worth it to see courtney. even 7 hours on a bus with no bathroom. i didn't drink anything and got a lot of reading done! and actually, ended up having a really nice conversation with the guy sitting next to me for the last couple hours.
it was so so so great to see courtney. and to see her life. she is someone that continually inspires and challenges me in the way she lives (not just because she lives in chimbote), so even a few days with her was incredibly huge for me. the title of this whole post, "this is it," comes from a conversation we had about life, and being present, and not living for some other time or place or person. but being here, now. like the quote under the title of this blog also. there is only one moment.
this was one beautiful part of that (and this) moment:
after a couple quick days with courtney, i bused it back to lima and got on a plane for santiago. and as we landed, i saw the huge tents where i would eventually pick up my bag, go through customs, and leave without ever entering the airport building, which had sustained significant damage. and as i saw the tents, i remembered the earthquake for the first time. i had that same rush of excitement/anxiety thinking about what the city would be like. and what i would be like there.
the city had changed a lot, but you almost couldn't tell that the earthquake had just hit. as far as santiago goes, it's very much back to normal. minus a few really old buildings, like this one:
in fact, i kept forgetting about the earthquake. until thursday, when i went for a long, great run in the sun. and, as i was coming back to the house, i noticed that everyone was out on the street. everyone was leaving buildings and standing in the parking lots/streets, trying to make phone calls. i honestly thought, "hm...lot's of fire drills going on right now. or people just really like to have their lunch breaks outside?" but, when i got back to the house and the nana and bernardita, my host sister, answered the door they asked, "did you feel the aftershock? it was really strong!" they both looked quite shaken up, actually. "no!" i yelled. "are you serious?! my first tremor and i missed it!" i guess if you're running when the ground moves, you don't feel it. or perhaps i'm just that fast that i was actually flying over the ground. well, i think we all know i'm a little too klipsch for that to be the case. in any event, i ended up feeling one of the tremors later in the day. it really is incredible the way the buildings sway. and reports said that the early one had actually been clocked at a 7.2, which is bigger than the haiti earthquake. pretty crazy stuff.
"distance is just another way to relate"
being with my family was absolutely incredible. as we all kept saying, especially my host mom and i, it was completely normal. completely comfortable. it felt as if i had simply been "away" in the states for a little while but now i was home and life could go back to normal. honestly, it was really weird. and it was part of the reason why i spontaneously started crying (which i don't do that often) when on a day trip with my host dad on the last day at cerro san cristobal:
i realized that i had been so comfortable all week being with them (and busy with wedding stuff) that i really hadn't made an effort to go to too many places or do many things in santiago. it just felt like i was "back" and had all the time in the world. and looking at this sunset, i realized i didn't:
it probably didn't help that i literally hadn't slept the night before because of the wedding. but regardless, it was really hard for me to accept the fact that i would be leaving the next day. but i did. i decided not to dwell on my upcoming departure, but rather to enjoy being there with one of my favorite people in the entire world, talking about peace, and connection, and the illusion of distance.
"it's just like the movies!"
and for the wedding. so many good things to say i don't even know where to start. the wedding and all other events were a beautiful mix of the two cultures, and therefore a beautiful representation of sarah and felipe's relationship. for instance, it was an extremely formal event, at a huge and beautiful catholic church. very chilean. but also, we had a rehearsal dinner and bridal party, which is not done in chile. so, as we (sarah and the bridesmaids) went around her neighborhood to take pictures before the wedding, people just kept saying, "it's just like the movies!" they were literally stopping their cars and getting out to take pictures of us. people eating al fresco at restaurants started applauding us. it was kind of awesome. i must admit. we did kind of feel like we had walked out of a movie or a bridal magazine or something. and, well, we kind of did. check out this photo, just one of the many amazing shots by the incredible photographer, a friend of sarah's:
check out her blog here.
the wedding was beautiful. and late, which is perfectly chilean. i mean late. it was scheduled to start at 8. it started around 9. cocktail hour started around 1030. dinner was served around midnight, with toasts thrown in here and there. dancing started around 1 and DID NOT STOP until 6am. it was FANTASTIC. as in, fantastic. exactly what i would want, except maybe a little earlier in the day. but the chileans did not stop dancing the entire time. it was more fun than i can explain. when i get some more pictures of the actual party, i will definitely post them.
and so, after all, i left. i said goodbye to santiago with a wonderful 45minute coffee date with my best friend in chile, alejandra. again, it was like no time had passed at all.
the journey home was long, but fine. a 12-hour layover in lima made for a bit of exhaustion, but it was my decision in order to save some money. so, it was definitely worth it. well, until i missed my connection in miami and started crying at the counter. but, i'm sure the woman has seen much worse (you know, like someone cursing when they find out they have to change airports in new york!). she was very nice and got me on the next flight. it was a good reminder to me of the illusion of time and the ridiculousness of trying to hurry.
ok, there's so much more i could write about, but that's it for now. there are more pictures on facebook. actually, i didn't take many, but i put them all up, with a few captions. so, if you're interested, check them out!
thanks for reading! peace and love and eternity to you.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
volver. return.
today i leave to return to south america for the first time in almost two years. i can honestly say it is too much for me to fathom at this point. i almost feel like i did when i first went there OVER two years ago, literally having no idea what to expect. i feel like have worked so hard to build a perfect space in my mind and heart for my experience in south america, that this doesn't seem to fit in. i don't know where it'll go.
tomorrow, i will arrive in lima, peru. where this took place:
peru is also where the picture at the top of this page took place. it's a rather unforgettable place. i will spend a few days in peru with one of my best friends, courtney. i haven't seen her in almost two years as well, since she's been living and working there. i can't wait to hug her, and laugh with her, and sing and dance with her, and see her life there.
and then, i will go back to lima and fly to santiago (hopefully). where this happened:
and this:
it's truly impossible to imagine what it will be like to be in the city where i lived for 7 months and where, undoubtedly, so much has changed. to be in the house, to walk down the street. i wish it were under slightly different circumstances. in fact, my host family, with home i will be staying, has still not been able to return to santiago from the south, where they were vacationing during the earthquake. i'm still waiting to hear updates. so, not only am i struggling to imagine what it will be like to be in the same place, but to be in the same place and not know if the metro will be working, or if certain buildings are still standing or are covered in debris. to not know if i can contact certain people because they may have much bigger issues on their hands right now than a visiting gringa.
i changed so much during my time there. and i have changed so much since. i almost feel like when i'm there, i might run in to myself two-years-ago, walking home from the university or from the community center where i took a dance class. and then i think about the beautiful campus of the university and start wondering how much damage it sustained...it will be a strange trip indeed.
but nonetheless, it is under beautiful circumstances as well. i will also be standing up in the wedding of two of my good friends and favorite people, sarah and felipe. they have been through quite a lot in the past week or two, and it will be such a beautiful moment to watch them become wife and husband.
i will update when possible, but i may be busy trying to find a new space in my heart and mind where this trip will go as it fades from future, to present, to past without so much as consulting me.
thanks for reading, thanks for thinking, thanks for challenging, thanks for loving.
peace to you.
tomorrow, i will arrive in lima, peru. where this took place:
peru is also where the picture at the top of this page took place. it's a rather unforgettable place. i will spend a few days in peru with one of my best friends, courtney. i haven't seen her in almost two years as well, since she's been living and working there. i can't wait to hug her, and laugh with her, and sing and dance with her, and see her life there.
and then, i will go back to lima and fly to santiago (hopefully). where this happened:
and this:
it's truly impossible to imagine what it will be like to be in the city where i lived for 7 months and where, undoubtedly, so much has changed. to be in the house, to walk down the street. i wish it were under slightly different circumstances. in fact, my host family, with home i will be staying, has still not been able to return to santiago from the south, where they were vacationing during the earthquake. i'm still waiting to hear updates. so, not only am i struggling to imagine what it will be like to be in the same place, but to be in the same place and not know if the metro will be working, or if certain buildings are still standing or are covered in debris. to not know if i can contact certain people because they may have much bigger issues on their hands right now than a visiting gringa.
i changed so much during my time there. and i have changed so much since. i almost feel like when i'm there, i might run in to myself two-years-ago, walking home from the university or from the community center where i took a dance class. and then i think about the beautiful campus of the university and start wondering how much damage it sustained...it will be a strange trip indeed.
but nonetheless, it is under beautiful circumstances as well. i will also be standing up in the wedding of two of my good friends and favorite people, sarah and felipe. they have been through quite a lot in the past week or two, and it will be such a beautiful moment to watch them become wife and husband.
i will update when possible, but i may be busy trying to find a new space in my heart and mind where this trip will go as it fades from future, to present, to past without so much as consulting me.
thanks for reading, thanks for thinking, thanks for challenging, thanks for loving.
peace to you.
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