Beautiful People

Let me catch you up on the people we’ve met here. I’m changing the names to protect their privacy, even though I’ve spoken of some of them before. 

First of all, there’s Rico, who is the coordinator I work with at my university. Rico is a person who believes very much in doing things the official way. He generally appears to be very serious, and takes his responsibilities seriously as well. He likes official events and likes to make speeches to kick them off. At the same time, he has a not-so-secret passion for hard rock music. When he doesn't have people in his office, he has his Spotify playing exclusively American rock, from Nirvana to Muse and everything in between. Rico doesn’t laugh easily, but when he does, it’s a big, booming laugh that issues from his heart. There’s nothing more satisfying than cracking him up and hearing that great guffaw. He has taken extraordinary care of me, and Jon too, whom he seems to deeply admire. 

Then there’s Marco, our landlord. He’s a young-ish guy, not quite 40—big and burly and with a heart of gold. Though he’d rather let us do the fixing up of the house, which we enjoy anyway, he’s there for anything we need, and even invited us to his birthday party, which his parents threw for him and several of his friends and family members. There, I had a long talk about politics with his dad, who leans toward the conservative. That’s okay. I learned a lot about politics in Mexico, which is something I’m very interested in, though have no intention of getting involved with it (in fact, my grant forbids it). Marco’s mother is the real gem though. A lady of about my age, she is a talented baker, and creates cakes for various restaurants around town, including, of course, the hip little café that Marco owns. For the birthday party, she made pork with mole (pronounced mo-lay), and a kind of chicken in sauce, steamed in foil. It was all exquisite—the meat falling off the bone and the sauces complex and rich with just the right amount of spiciness. Marco’s parents both insisted that from now on we think of their house as ours and that we pop in whenever we want—which we clearly won’t do without an invitation. Still, the sentiment was lovely.

"Without Gold You Live, Without Air You Die"

A recent friend I’ve made—a young man who is a teacher and administrator at the university—is Arlo. He came to one of the workshops I offer for the teachers and employees at the school to have conversation in English. On our second meeting he casually let me know he was gay by mentioning his boyfriend. I had already suspected, but was surprised he was so open about it, assuming this area of the country, being very rural, would might be hostile to LGBT+ folx. I was dead wrong. He and his boyfriend took Jon and I to a baptism party for the baby of one of his friends, a huge event at this beautiful hacienda, in which we were fed more mole, as well as barbacoa tacos. As we were chatting, I asked him how it was he and his boyfriend were so comfortable with being out. He told me that Tepatepec is a totally inclusive place, open and accepting of gay and trans people, and that even the priest of the local church is trans, and occasionally likes to dress up like the Virgin Mary! Arlo is dedicated to taking Jon and I to various places and events so we can really get to know this town intimately, and I consider him a good friend now. The only way in which he let me down is by telling me to dress really casually for the party—which we didn't know was for a baptism. I took his word for it, against my better instincts, and got there, dressed in jeans and my Prince t-shirt, to find everyone in glittering dresses and suits! If I can’t rely on my gay friend to tell me what to wear, who can I?  

Sweeping with Palm Branches

Other delightful people we’ve met include the traffic cop who stops what he’s doing, letting the traffic fly in all directions, to chat with us; the lady who owns the health food store in town who plies us with all kinds of yummy treats; the bubbly beautician who figured out how to cut my curly hair to perfection even though she had no experience with the technique and was willing to let me guide her; and the adorable young woman who sells natural beauty products, all hand made in Tepa, with her bright smile and excellent English. Beyond that, there are the ladies in the shops that call me m’hija (my daughter) even though they’re not much older than me, and guerrita (fair one); the people in the marketplace who smile at us with recognition every time we stop by their booths; the beautiful old woman who sells tamales; and my sweet students who call me Teacher Gina, and vie for my attention in class. 

I adore that every time I, or anyone, get on the Combi (the van that shuttles constantly between the university and the town) everyone unfailingly says buenos dias, or buenas tardes (good morning and good afternoon) depending on the time of day; that the man who sweeps the plaza every morning with a big palm branch always tries out his “Good Morning” on us in English; and that, just generally, everyone is so kind. If we are ever met with a suspicious glance, a quick greeting in Spanish and a smile melts away the frown. 

And let's not forget Pompón and Nacha, the two dogs that live in the patio we share with our neighbor. They're both dumb as dirt and sweet as can be, though Pompón, an Akita, has a bark and a mug that would scare the most intrepid intruder. We've become extremely fond of them.

Pompón and Nacha

Finally, as part of my writing project, so far I’m working with a writer in CDMX who is developing a short story into a play; a mushroom expert in Oaxaca who wants to create a blog and ultimately a manual on edible mushrooms in her region; and a young woman in Puebla whose mother recently died, and for whom she is creating tributes via her writing—all by zoom. I’m working on setting up an in person workshop for women here in Tepa, but so far it’s slow going. I think it will take off eventually though. 

We, and the people we meet, are spreading goodwill and understanding to each other. This is essentially my job here. The people of Tepa do it effortlessly.