A visitor’s lesson in a tiny village

I’m sitting on the floor of an old Volkswagen bus, bouncing along increasingly crumbly streets through the outskirts of Morelia, Mexico. Half a dozen other women and I are crowded into the back of the bus, bantering in Spanish and talking with big hand gestures. I met them just half an hour ago, yet they already treat me like a friend. We are bound for San Pedro, a small village just outside of Morelia.

These women are part of Ayuda Mutua (Mutual Help), a group dedicated to promoting women’s rights, rural literacy and the preservation of the indigenous Purh?pecha culture. No sooner had I met with Anna, the group’s director, to volunteer myself as an English tutor, than I found myself immediately thrust into the thick of the organization’s activity. We are going to San Pedro to celebrate their saint’s day festival – St. Peter’s Day – a celebration on par with Christmas. The group is going to the festival to put on a play about how to prevent domestic violence in rural areas, and I am along for the ride.

San Pedro, like many of the villages in the rural highlands of Michoac?n, has a strong population of indigenous Purh?pecha people. Many such villages are bilingual, speaking both the native Purh?pecha and Spanish. While these villages are some of the poorest in Mexico, they are also some of the most culturally rich. And, because of the economic conditions, they are very much at-risk communities.

Today, though, San Pedro is ready for celebration. The main street is lined with stalls and strung with yellow and white paper decorations. Everyone has come out, dressed in their best. Shawls drape over the women’s shoulders, and their embroidered shirts are tucked into skirts with aprons, while the men are dressed in cowboy hats and boots with Western-style shirts tucked into pants held up with big belt buckles. There is a rodeo in the late afternoon. A band starts playing Spanish music with guitars, brass and accordion.

I eat lunch with the women from Ayuda Mutua in a house on the main street, a family home that is serving the entire town today. We pass out little styrofoam trays filled with beans, pork, salsa and fresh tortillas. And of course, there is plenty of Coca-Cola.

Back in the street, the band is going full force. The littlest kids – many dressed as smaller versions of their parents, complete with a few small cowboy hats – run around, kicking up dust and laughing.

“What’s your name?” I ask one of the youngest girls who has come to poke at my sandals.

She gives me all four of them. “Maria Patricia Castillo Garcia.” In Spanish-speaking countries, everyone takes a first and middle name, and then both of their parents’ last names. Coming from this small girl, the recitation of her name sounds like a veritable speech.

The women put on their play about preventing domestic violence. Despite the fact that they compete with the rodeo, it is moving. Mexico is in the middle of an era in which women’s rights have the opportunity to make great strides. The courage of the Morelian actresses is poignant.

I ride home with the women of Ayuda Mutua. Before we are back in Morelia, we have decided that I should teach English in tiny villages like this one.

Few foreigners have the opportunity to experience these small, indigenous villages. And yet these villagers often interact with foreigners – once or twice a week, many travel to larger centers, such as the tourist center Patzcuaro, to sell their wares. This is one of their only sources of income; the Purh?pecha artisans of the rural Mexican highlands gather in collectives to send their art and their wares to these larger markets in nearby towns.

If I can teach them enough English and literacy for them to gain the communication skills that will give them a leg up in these markets, it could be the difference between 5 and 10 pesos a day.

Back in Morelia, I celebrate my plans with fellow ESL-Maine tutors Kacie and Candace. We find a cafe table right underneath Morelia’s huge cathedral, and we order three servings of tres leches, which is quickly becoming my favorite dessert. “This is going to be your last week to do things like order tres leches here in the city, living and teaching in Morelia,” Candace said to us. “Then you’re off to live in the pueblitos!”

Meg Adams, who grew up in Holden and graduated from John Bapst Memorial High School in Bangor, shares her experiences with readers each Friday. For more about her adventures and to e-mail questions to her, go to bangordailynews.com