Heat, Fear, Loneliness and Life-- Marques de Comillas

Along the Route

 This time the car ride was a breeze.  We left K'inal for Marques de Comillas--approximately 8 hours away close to the Guatemala border. This time, I was going to be prepared. I brought my passport, lots of water, dramamine and bug spray. My only anxiety was that I would be without my companions--without anyone who speaks my language.

 I was tired before beginning this trip and slightly worried that I was developing a slight cold but I knew this experience would be unforgettable.  One of K'inal's most important programs is a scholarship program for young women.  After and application and interview process, young women from various communities can come to K'inal to live and go to school in the area.  Many people within rural communities have to make the financial choice of which children to continue on in their education....most often young girls lose out.   Though this program is small(9 youth currently), the support of K'inal has had an incredible impact on the lives of these young women.  

An important element of the scholarship agreement is that the young women will use their education to support and improve their communities in some way.  This trip was a chance to witness the power that these young women have discovered within themselves and to observe their continued sense of responsibility to their communities of origin.   The youth had prepared a workshop on the topic of violence and the various forms that violence takes specifically, against women.   My role was to entertain the children with the help from another women, Leira, who was volunteering from the Basque Country in Spain. 

We made our way to our first stop in the village of San Jose. As soon as we arrived, I started feeling nauseated and dizzy. We entered the home of Ambro's family(one of the youth whom I work with daily at K'inal). I told Ambro that I was feeling pretty awful.   Immediately, I was told to lay with my feet up in a hammock that stretched across the front room of the house.   Ambro's abuela patted my chest and forehead with a wet towel.  Everyone was standing over me laying there---pale and groaning--saying that it would pass. 

Beyond the apparent heat exhaustion setting in-- I was feeling incredibly alone.  The last time this sort of heat exhaustion hit me I was able to leave the heat at the end of the day on an air conditioned bus.   In this moment I knew that I was far away from anyone I love and that we would not be going anywhere for 2 days.  I was afraid and angry. Afraid, because in my delirium I had all the worst thoughts that I would not survive, that I would never see my friends or family again.  All I could think about was how I would not have to go through this if I was back home and I became angry at myself for living such a comfortable life.  I cried like a baby, pitying myself and feeling ashamed. Leira, who happened to be a nurse, stayed with me as the young women began their evening workshop.   

Frog Race!

By the following morning, I was feeling much better, still nervous that the day's heat would bring back my delirium.   My body had acclimated and I survived the rest of the trip without anymore heat troubles.  I was able to play with the children as planned, eat candy, make origami frogs, blow up balloons --laugh, smile.  Each morning I watched as breakfast was being prepared. Handmade tortillas, quesadillas from fresh-picked mushrooms, corn-based hot chocolate drink, chicken soup and tamales made with plantain leaves.  I observed as the women worked and laughed in the kitchen catching up with their daughters from the last 6 months apart.  It was a trip filled with such beautiful and joyful moments yet, my feelings of loneliness persisted.  

I was so happy that I was invited and welcomed on this trip and I was incredibly grateful for the care I received from these women in my time of need.  However, after confronting death(no matter how unlikely it actually is) there is nothing like being able to speak your own language and hold the hand of someone you know and love.    At the time, I was hardly grateful for the important life lessons that I was gaining. I didn't really care that my struggle was giving me a chance to more deeply understand the isolation and pain that migrants often experience. I just wanted to be back with my companions in San Cristobal, in the comfort and safety of familiarity.

When we finally made our way back to San Cristobal, I thought about taking a hot shower and sleeping in a bed without mosquitoes hovering.   I felt shame for my attachment to comfort and ease. The feeling of frustration with my "manufactured needs" persisted as I thought about the many things that people find ways to live without.  I thought about the way I've learned that quicker is better, that I should seek whatever is more convenient--more time-saving.  I realized that on this trip I had lost track of time. In the midst of my self-pity and frustration, I was able to savor each moment, good and bad, in a way that I hadn't done since I was a child.  I am still trying to figure out what to do with all this.

  

Community & Smores

 Welcome to Pueblo Nuevo Sitala!

After a 5 hour ride, crammed in the backseat of a pick-up truck, up the winding and rocky mountain road we made it to our second community visit with the wonderful people from K'inal.

Main Street

Pueblo Nuevo Sitala is a rural, indigenous community almost a mile high in the Sierra del Madre mountain range of Southern Mexico in the state of Chiapas.  The women from the Jolom Mayaetik Cooperative who are from Pueblo Nuevo Sitala have a new center where they meet, eat, work and welcome guests.    My job during this trip was to observe, take photos and present my design for a mural that will eventually cover a wall in their new center.  

Mural Design Draft

I briefly shared the mural design and observed the women plan and discuss the development of the cooperative-- while the rest of our two days in Pueblo Nuevo was spent struggling to stay "entertained" as we did not have anything familiar to do or anywhere to go on our downtime.   Without our usual electronic devices and distractions we were ended up picking fruit, examining bugs and throwing rocks down the mountainside with the children who were also unoccupied and waiting for their mothers.  Still, I felt stuck as I was forced to face my acquired need to be entertained, despite standing in the midst of beautiful people and breathtaking landscape.

I knew that I was far outside of my usual comforts and conveniences of daily life. I wanted to check my email, take a shower when I felt like it, eat what I wanted. In the midst of my frustration, I thought to myself "why do I complicate my life so much with so many distractions and manufactured needs?"    I have not found an answer for this question and I am still aggravated by the grip that modern conveniences have on my life.

Back to what was happening in the backdrop of my existential dilemma... During the day, the women were presented with a skirt which a textiles student from Mexico City designed for the women to use.   Several women tried the skirt on and modeled it for the others, discussing how they could replicate the skirt with their traditional design and embellishments.  In the evening, the center filled up with husbands and sons of the women of Pueblo Nuevo.  Cesar, our driver, who we thought was just a skilled conductor, was also there to assist the men in the promotion and maintenance of their coffee production.

Community Elders-First Smore

First Roasted Marsmallow!

While he spoke with the men, we anxiously waited for dinner with the 3 other Mexican students and the children.  Despite the fact that this sounds like a very United States American idea, I swear that the students from Mexico city, Camila, Pepe and Sofi, suggested that we make smores while we wait. So we made our way through the woods to the small convenience store on the main street of Pueblo Nuevo.    We bought a the only bag of marshmallows they had, 2 rolls of Maria cookies, and the last of their chocolate.    Though, making smores did not ease the sting of my earlier frustration with myself, the sugar renewed my energy and I definitely wouldn't trade anything for this chance to see the community elders eating the strange treat which we presented them.

The Center

The next day, as we made our way down the rocky road and listened to Abba, I felt grateful for the beautiful people who shared their community and lives with us, for our coworkers at K'inal for bringing us so far to observe, and for the opportunity to be here in Chiapas.

Kinal Antsetik - The Community of Yochib

Garden at K'inal

I began my internship at Kinal Antsetik (www.kinalantsetik.com) in San Cristobal de las Casas last week. I will be working at K'inal 5 days a week, while my roommate, Nilsa, will be there 2 days a week. During our initial meeting, we learned about the history of K'inal and its work with the indigenous women of Chiapas.  K'inal is nestled outside the city center surrounded by wooded hills. K'inal maintains a weaving and embroidery workshop, handmade-textile store, a beautiful little garden and chickens. I will be working on a variety of projects which will include community visits, photography, translating promotional materials, designing and painting a mural with a community, leading support workshops with young women who live at K'inal and other tasks as assigned.

Weaving Loom at K'inal

K'inal Antsetik, meaning Land of Women in theTzeltal language, focuses its work in several different areas, such as product development(weaving and embroidering), health, leadership, education and human rights.

Since its beginning in 1992, K'inal Antsetik has worked with the philosophy of transforming the role of indigenous women and encouraging their participation in all aspects of community life. Through the pursuit of equity, these women are able to occupy a leading role in the development of their communities.

Jolom Mayaetik is a branch of K'inal that operates as a textile cooperative for the women of various indigenous communities in Chiapas.  Aside from receiving a fair price for their products, the women of Jolom are maintaining an ancient cultural tradition.  The women understand the weaving process not simply as economic empowerment but as form of cultural preservation and connection to their ancestors.

One of the main projects that Yolanda, co-founder of K'inal, is assigning is the creation and development of a diagnostic assessment tool that would be used to gain insight into the needs and issues within the various indigenous women's communities.  The first stage of this project is simply visiting with the various communities and getting to know some of the women with whom K'inal works.

Yesterday was our first community visit. We met at K'inal at 8 am in order to meet our driver and two of the women who live at K'inal, Celia and Rosalinda . Celia and Rosalinda accompanied Nilsa and I to Yochib because they are fluent in Spanish, Tzeltal and Tzotzil and many of the women we were to encounter only speak Tzeltal. After the usual driver did not arrive, we decided to take a taxi for the 1.5 hour journey up the mountains. 

I slept for most of the drive because of the dramomine but I will say that when I woke up briefly near the end of our drive, the mountain view was breathtaking. We were dropped off across from a small home/convenience store as Celia and Rosalinda directed and we walked up a small muddy path towards our destination.  

La Cocina

When we arrived at the small compound there were several women cooking, cleaning and/or breastfeeding children. We were immediately welcomed into the kitchen centered around the wood stove where Rosa was preparing breakfast. We sat around a small table with small wooden chairs and were served a steaming bowl of dried beef and potato soup.  It was delicious.   The other women appeared to have already eaten and were completing their morning duties.   

Shortly after we took our last sip of soup, the meeting began. All the women gathered around the small table with their recently made products: hand-woven and embroidered scarves, bibs and blouses. Along with being wonderful translators and guides, Celia and Rosalinda, turned out also to be savvy businesswomen as they carefully priced and inspected the quality of the products.  Despite the obvious importance of this meeting, the women laughed, joked and smiled throughout.

Jobian morning coffee and nap

Another beautiful element of this unexpected business meeting was the way multiple generations were at the table. Several women had babies strapped to their backs or toddlers tugging at their skirts-- the eldest of the women was spinning thread in the corner during the entire gathering. 

Since we were given little information before making this trip and neither Nilsa or I speak Tzeltal, we asked a lot of questions on the trip back. Celia and Rosalinda explained that they make this trip once every 3 months in order to gather the products that the women create and sell them at the K'inal store for a better price.  These visits also give the women a chance to stay connected with K'inal, along with workshops that some of the community leaders(like Rosa) attend and bring back to the women at Yochib. 

Yesterday, was a beautiful, impressive and empowering glimpse into the lives of some of the amazing women of Yochib. I look forward to more community visits and my continued work with K'inal.

By the way, I survived

As you can probably tell, I recuperated from my heat exhaustion—slowly but surely and with the nurturing of some wonderful group mates (it is truly a gift to be surrounded by social workers through all this).  However, I mostly wanted to note that the young men who shared their stories with us made it safely to Mexico City.  The next leg of the train journey from Las Patronas is typically one of the most dangerous with its narrow tunnels and increased gang activity and violence.   The young men requested a ride back with our group and we were able to securely transport them to a migrant shelter in Mexico City.

La bestia dentro de mi cabeza

 I have been thinking about Las Patronas since we left on Monday evening. I hope I never lose the steady thumping sensation of the rushing freight train that I still feel each time my heart beats.  As I move about my days, slight motion sickness disturbs the remnants of nausea that I felt in the high altitude and glaring sun. I know the nausea I felt that day was not just a physical response to the heat but an emotional torrent pushing and pulling and grasping at my gut—still stirring in the pit of my stomach.

Cordoba is a small pueblo approximately 3 hours by bus from Mexico City and home to Las Patronas, a group of local women who offer food, water and shelter to people migrating by train.  Unsure what we might experience during our encounter with ‘la bestia’ (the beast) or “el tren de muerte” (the train of death as it is called by many people who ride the trains), we arrived in the blazing Veracruz sun, unprepared both physically and emotionally for what was to come.

We started the day being introduced to Las Patronas.  This small group of women grew up watching increasing numbers of people traveling from Central America and southern Mexico on the freight trains that pass through Cordoba multiple times a day.  Central Americans are often scapegoats for the increased violence and economic issues in Mexico; yet, despite limited resources and the risk that comes with helping migrant persons, Las Patronas continue offer what they can and to stand in solidarity with the people who pass by in search of….well, many things…

Next, we met 6 young men who arrived to Las Patronas just days before from El Salvador. They described to us parts of their recent journey, having left El Salvador just 10 days before. The terror of la bestia we had read and talked about became more real as we listened reverently to unfathomable stories of violence and fear experienced by men younger than I. These young men all expressed a desire to find employment in order to improve their lives and the lives of their families. They expressed a strong belief that this journey was their only way to a better future.  Mexico City was their next destination with hopes of eventually heading to the United States where each of the men already had some family. 

After hearing first-hand accounts of the violence, death and fear that the train carries, we awaited the afternoon train. As we prepared bags of food and bottles of water to distribute as the train passed we heard the first alert, “the train is coming!” Quickly, we gathered our provisions and carried them to the tracks. The women and regular volunteers warned us of the dangers of the train and showed us how to hold the bags of food and bottles of water in order to be most effective and efficient. I was in a daze. My heart began to thump as the train came into view.  The small group of people on the train was given food as the train passed—maybe 5 or 6.   We returned to preparing food bags—slightly disappointed, my heart still pounding. 

The second alert “the train is coming!”  We ran to the tracks and watched as English spackled barrels carrying petroleum and a few armed guards raced north. False alarm.  Return to work.

At this point, the thumping of the rushing freight trains pounded in my head and nausea set in. I decided that I needed to rest and focus on rehydrating because I was not in good shape. The reality of what was likely a combination of heat exhaustion and altitude sickness began to set in. The thumping in my head persisted. “The train is here!”  I ran to carry food and water to the tracks without a thought.  As the train approached, my heart and head were pounding.   I slung bottles of water tied together over my shoulders and brought as many bags of food as I could near my spot by the tracks.  I got my footing near the tracks, making sure not to stand too close.  This was it.   Car after car flew by as the freight train seemed to be another disappointment and then we saw them: hundreds of people riding the train, others leaning off the side of the speeding train and gathering up our offering.  I managed to hand off most of my supply of food and water before the last car had past. We waved as the people shouted “gracias!” in the distance.

“Este es que es ser vivo!” “This is what it means to be alive!”  said one of the regular volunteers at Las Patronas. I smiled still in shock and realizing slowly that I had just used the last of my energy on the adrenaline rush.   We returned the remaining supplies back to the shelter in disbelief of what we had just experienced. Tears began to flow from nearly everyone in our group. We were speechless. Javier, a professor who regularly brings groups from Ibero University in Mexico City, stepped in to support us as we debriefed.   He told us to remember that amidst the great tragedy that we witnessed so closely, there is something good in what we were able to do. He asked us to bring word to our friends and families in the U.S. that Mexico is not just filled with violence and corruption but with vibrant people who are working for justice and human rights.  He said that what was happening on the trains was “not simply a tragedy, but genocide.”

I had reached my limit.  I walked dizzily to our bus to sit down out of the sun and try to stay hydrated.  I felt sicker and sicker as the group shared a beautiful meal that I could hear was filled with laughter and true gratefulness. I couldn’t eat. I sat on the bus slowly drinking water and waiting for the sweltering heat to break for the day.  Since the train had passed I had felt my entire body inside and out begin to boil. I closed my eyes and began thinking about the way the dehydration can make a person delirious. I imagined the heat of the metal and unsheltered freight cars in the scorching sun. I thought of what it must take to drive a person to leave behind everything and everyone they know and love.  I thought of how so many people are forced to take such risks in hope of a better future for their families. I thought of Drew, my family, my friends and how I would likely never have to make such a journey.  I breathed in and out slowly to the beat of the freight car still thumping in my head.

Mutual Aid

Technically, I am here in Mexico City for classes and academic learning…right?  My first few days here have been an emotional detox.  I spend so much time as a social worker and a social work student trying to solve and resolve the “problems” that my clients and professors put in front of me.  I address and analyze the systemic issues, the diagnosis and the barriers with my professional super powers that I received upon beginning in the social work field.  My anger against unjust systems and stigma builds and builds with nowhere to go. Today, I was reminded yet again that these super powers are powers to which everyone has some access—it’s called emotional connection or human relationships.  

Jaquelin is a Psychologist who utilizes a popular education model for the work she does in groups with women who are ‘left behind’ when their sons and husbands migrate from Mexico.  After recent decades of increased migration from Mexico to the United States, many of these rural communities are now comprised of mainly women, children and los abuelos. This has strained many families who survive without the presence of their spouses or sons whom often must leave in order to find work. Many women with whom Jaquelin works experience depression, anxiety, sexual, physical and emotional abuse, and difficulty adjusting to new roles in the absence of their spouse. 

Eneida, Clemencia and Gely are three women from rural towns in the state of Veracruz, Mexico.  These women spoke from their experiences and involvement in Jaquelin's groups and facilitated activities with us surrounding some of the themes that are covered during their own group experiences. The topics we went through as a group were: emotional management, grief, violence and assertiveness. 

Much of the practical information we discussed was nothing new to a group of master’s level social work students--- the 5 stages of grief… check!  Forms of violence….check!  Effective communication and assertiveness….check! Check!   However, it is here is where I the tears begin to flow. Eneida, Clemencia and Gely had all began these groups as participants, not facilitators. They had experienced extreme forms of abuse, violence and grief throughout their relationships. They lived missing their children and husbands who left in search of a better life with no pills to numb the pain or diagnosis to name their experience.    It was their powerful testimonies that grip my heart. Each had felt worthless, incapable and powerless, and each had overcome these lies not by means of isolated and individualized therapy but by the “apoyo mutual” or mutual aid in which they were essential to the care of each other. 

The idea of mutual-aid is nothing new but has been largely over shadowed by professionalized and hierarchical methods of clinician-client relationships.  I am the clinician/expert and you are the client/problem to be solved.   What I experienced today has affirmed me in my struggle to not lose the human connection in my work. It is so easy to begin putting up emotional walls, or as we in the biz like to say “boundaries,” when we constantly encounter people who have experienced great trauma or struggles.  We say that these boundaries protect us and in some ways I agree.  However, today I am feeling more human as I begin uncovering the emotions which I have learned very well to stuff deep down as a defense…against what?  The human being and connection right in front of me. 

Preparing for a journey

In about a week, I will be leaving Chicago for Mexico with a group of 14 other graduate social work students and two wonderful professors, Marta Lundy and Maria Vidal de Haymes.

I have been pointing towards this trip for a long time now.  Since I was young I have asked to myself "what if I was born in Mexico?"   "What if I had grown up speaking Spanish?"  I have truly longed to spend more extended time in Mexico exploring these among many identity-related questions and I am so grateful for the chance to take this trip. 

Though the questions I have been pondering since childhood are still present in my mind, I have started also asking bigger picture questions like "why am I so free to come and go from Mexico when so many people risk their lives to make such a journey?" and "what will it take to make U.S. immigration policies humane and just?" 

 I have visited family several times in Reynosa, Mexico and Texas and participated in a "border immersion" trip in Ciudad Juarez/El Paso, Texas.  Each visit to Mexico has given me insight --about myself, my heritage, my mother, my family--and each visit uncovers more questions.  It seems that the longing I have is not as much for answers but for better questions.   

In my social work program at Loyola, I am pursuing a sub-specialization in Migration Studies. It is my hope that in the future I will be able to use my counseling and social work training to work with the many Spanish-speaking people who live in the United States. 

This trip will begin in Mexico City on May 12th. We will be staying in a convent in Colonia Roma and completing 2 classes: Migration Policy and Therapy with Mexican Families. These classes will be taught by Marta and Maria as well as through many guest lecturers and hands on experiences in and around Mexico City. 


On May 25th, I will be heading to San Cristobal de las Casas with my companeras, Nilsa and Erin, to complete two months of fieldwork for the social work program.   My placement is at Kinal Antsetik working with indigenous women and teenage girls from Chiapas.  (http://www.kinalantsetik.com/quienes.html) More on this after I get a better sense of my work there.  

  Before we leave, we were assigned the book "Enrique's Journey." This is about a young man's experiences and multiple attempts at making the treacherous journey from Honduras to the United States. Enrique leaves his home to find his mother who left to find work in the U.S. when Enrique was just a boy.  

Enrique's story helps to paint a more realistic albeit gruesome picture of what migrants go through in search of a 'better life.'  My group and I will be volunteering with an organization of women(mentioned in this book) who provide humanitarian aid to migrants who are riding the trains through Mexico.

I hope to offer reflections on my own journey to Mexico City and Chiapas throughout my trip. I would appreciate any feedback and reflections!  

Peace,

Cassie

“The treatment of migrants challenges the consciences of elected officials, policymakers, enforcement officers, residents of border communities and providers of legal aid and social services...Our nations have a singular opportunity to act as true neighbors and to work together to build a more just and generous immigration system.”

Strangers No Longer: Together on the Journey of Hope

A Pastoral Letter Concerning Migration from the Catholic Bishops of Mexico and the United States

http://www.nccbuscc.org/issues-and-action/human-life-and-dignity/immigration/strangers-no-longer-together-on-the-journey-of-hope.cfm