IDEALS

By Matthew Kilby

Feb. 21, 2009
I woke up and got ready for the morning walk with Gary. I was feeling moderately well rested. We walked up and down the streets of the subdivision by the monastery. The sun was just coming up so it made for some good pictures. We headed up the hill outside the monastery and then down one of the side streets. On the hill, wedged in a large ditch between the road and the monastery wall was a small farm. There were some cages made out of various scrap and a building that perhaps was a home, or maybe just a storage shed. There were some goats, a cow, a chicken and a dog. On our way down the side street we passed some workers mixing concrete, which Gary said they would later carry in buckets up a makeshift wooden ramp to pour on the rebar of the upper level.
We passed a house with five dogs in the yard. They all barked at us and the golden lab came right down to the entrance to bark. As we passed the house he started to come out into the street after us. I raised my camera to take a picture and he bolted away. Maybe he thought it was a gun. The dogs here pretty much run wild in the streets. They aren’t traditional pets and aren’t used to people wanting to pet them. When Sister Alejandra was showing us the monk’s chapel and the orchard, she would always stop when there was a dog in the street so she could make sure it was safe for the rest of us. It was an odd sight, seeing a four foot nun in Crocs approaching a three foot high dog to make sure it was safe. I felt as though it should be the other way around. That I should be making sure it was safe for this small and soft-spoken nun. The nuns have a dog named Sabrina, who I don’t think is used to people because she tends to keep her distance. After a few days she let the girls get close but she growls whenever I get too close. It’s weird because I’ve never met a dog that didn’t like me. We think maybe Sabrina used to belong to a man who beat her and that’s why she is so afraid of men.
Down the road we met a man and his wife with their cows in the street tied up to random utility poles. The man was milking one cow by hand with a metal bucket. These were not your typical North American milk cows. They were definitely of a different breed.
I’ve become very adept at doing my teeth with bottled water, which can be tricky with no counter space, and checking my shoes for scorpions. I’ve still got to get the hang of keeping my mouth closed in the shower and checking my bed for scorpions.
We went to a squatter settlement called La Estacion. It used to be a rail line until it was decommissioned and now it is government owned land filled with 70,000 squatters. Walking into the settlement you have to cross a hill that was built by the government to hide the settlement from the sight of Cuernavaca. Walking in, you are in a different world with dirt or gravel roads (if you can call them roads) and no infrastructure. There are a few concrete structures and most of the ground is littered in trash. The homes are made out of concrete, rocks, old tin, corrugated metal, wood and cardboard. The lanes are narrow and wide enough for maybe one person to pass.
The first family we visited lived in a cinder block home with a corrugated tin roof. The roof used to be made out of tar paper but too much rain came in the previous season so they replaced it. They couldn’t get a loan from the bank so they got one from a credit agency, which they have to pay off within the year at 50% interest. If they can’t make the payments then the creditors will come in and take what few items of value they have. The husband works seven days in the market for 150 pesos a day ($15). Three days a week he works two shifts and can earn an extra 200 pesos ($20), but he physically cannot work that long every day of the week. The children go to school, but the family has to pay expenses for the upkeep of the school, the janitor, books, uniforms, extra classes, etc. The mother hopes that they will be able to complete school.
The second family had seven children, five boys and two girls. Getting to their house was difficult since I am 6’2” and there was a web of electric wires about four feet off the ground. Add to that an uphill climb in a tiny enclosure with unsure footing and it was a surprise that I only hit my head on the wires twice. The family had two large rooms and was on their own hydro and water contract, not a shared contract like many of the residents. The meter was 500m away from their home and they had to run their own wiring from the meter to the house, which would get frequently tapped and stolen by other homes. They were on a few government assistance programs so they could help send their children to school, but it wasn’t enough to get by on. We asked what the children want to be when they grow up and the mother replied that she’d never asked them. I found it odd that a mother didn’t know what their own child wanted to be. Perhaps it was so that she wouldn’t get their hopes up. Perhaps she didn’t want to tell them that they couldn’t do something. More likely, though, was that those kinds of dreams are a luxury that she didn’t have time to entertain.
Michelle pulled out a camera and the children jumped up and grouped all together for their picture. Then they rushed over and surrounded Michelle so they could look at the picture. There was one girl in a pink dress named Margarita who loved being in front of the camera. Every time a camera came out she would jump in front of it and strike a regal pose. None of the children seemed to notice my camera as they were pre-occupied with Michelle, so I got some good candid pictures.
It seems that a lot of women in La Estation get married when they are 14. Perhaps it is to get out of a crowded parent’s house. Married is a loose term as most of the families cannot afford a ceremony. Women have few rights and in this machismo society it is manly to have many children (it also proves you’re not gay). For women, the general attitude is that they will have as many children as god will give them. Even if they wanted to practice Planned Parenthood, they have neither the social status, nor the money, to use birth control.
Children, like the dogs, are much more independent here than in North America. The preschoolers walk themselves to school. Everyone in the community knows each other’s children, so there is little need to know where ones child is. When we left, a child of about six led us back to the community centre. We felt odd just leaving him there in the street, but he just sat down and went about his own business.
At the monastery we got a lesson in Mexican history by Dr. Ross Gandy, a professor who used to teach in the United States until a group of his students bombed a building in the night. Ross maintains that he had no involvement, but he was blacklisted by the American universities so he’s taught in Mexico since. Ross gave us a lot of startling facts and figures. He is under constant surveillance and always has a mole from the government placed in his class. He only half jokingly said that when he’s outside he never looks up because as long as he doesn’t look up the satellites can’t see who he is.
He finished his last point and said, “So these are the problems of Mexico. If you think of a solution, let me know and I’ll write a book about it that no one will read.”
He picked up his bag and his umbrella, and walked out the door, without so much as a thank you or a goodbye. We sat there for a minute with blank stares and a sense of bewilderment.
Today it poured rain, in the middle of the dry season, much to everyone’s surprise. To my own surprise, Sabrina let me pet her.