Mexican Hospitality
By Courtney Costello
27 Jun 2008
"Alto" Confused, I took another step forward. "Alto!" I stopped. I had just stepped off a plane in Mexico, and already I wished I had taken the time to learn Spanish instead of Latin. Four hours later our group - 20 high school juniors & seniors, led by one librarian and a guidance counselor - had made it through airport security, baggage claim, a lot of waiting and a long bus ride. It was roughly 3 A.M. when three other classmates and myself crammed into a small taxi in Cholula, Mexico. Twenty minutes later we stepped out of the car - feeling as if we had narrowly escaped death. We unloaded our bags and were lead into what would be "home" for the next week and a half. A short time after that I climbed up a bunk bed and retired in my sleeping bag.
The next day I woke up early to the hot Mexican sun beating through the windows. I made my way downstairs for breakfast - wincing at each step as I felt the rough concrete against my feet. All 22 of us plus Miguel - one of our guides - crowded on a small city bus, switched to another one, then walked to Capulli de los Ninos and met a wonderful woman named Patti.
Patti and her husband would become well known to us through the week. She runs a program for the indigenous children of Tlaxcalancingo - a small town outside Cholula. Her farm was our "home-base." Every morning we packed our sun lotioned selves into a van, were dropped off in front of the bright blue walls then walked through the florescent orange gate. After the first day I felt as if this was my second home. The way the children's faces lit up when we walked through the gates after a hard days work assured me that we were welcomed here.
When you want to water your lawn, or vegetable garden what do you do? You probably get out the hose and attach a nifty little nozzle to the front - allowing you to easily spray the water in the area you would like. This is not how it was done in Mexico. Everyday we gathered big five gallon buckets, and a thick rope, then walked down dirt roads to a small cactus patch with a well nearby. We tied one bucket to the rope and lowered it into the well. We then pulled it up by hand - usually needing two people just to get the container back within reach. We each took turns carrying the heavy buckets down the rows and pouring the water over the small plants. Two or three Mexican men do what took us the entire morning with 20 strong teenagers every single day.
Later in the week we broke off into pairs and went to stay with a local family for two nights. I learned more about myself in these two nights than I ever thought I would. I was paired off with another senior girl named Kait, luckily for both of us she spoke near fluent Spanish. Our family was small compared to most of the others. They had two daughters, Alejandra (14) and Flaviola (17). Since they spoke no English and I spoke no Spanish Kait had to translate everything. On the second night the two girls repeatedly asked if I liked basketball. Well after dark I heard a truck honk outside....Alejandra grabbed my arm with a huge grin on her face and pulled me toward the door with her sister. They motioned for me to get into the back of the truck. Although I had no idea where we were going, and since I had no way to ask, I got in. We rode through the streets of the town, where I saw the Mexican people acting completely naturally - a way I had not been able to see them when traveling with the entire group. We pulled up to a small park. They got out a basketball and we jumped into a pick up game with their uncle and a few other locals. The game brought me closer with the two sisters. Until this point I had relied on Kait to be there and help me with every conversation, but now I was forced to interact with them on my own. We used gestures and tried to say what we could in the other's language. Most conversations were misunderstood - and we ended up laughing hysterically.
When it came time for us to depart from the families the mother we stayed with walked us back to Capulli de los Ninos. Our entire group and each of our families gathered together to reflect on the time spent with each other. Most of the families talked about the stereotypes they had of Americans prior to our stay, and how we had broken these. Our mother, however, had something else to say. "When your group comes down here, it helps us to remember we are not forgotten..." she continued, "now I have four daughters, and you both have two homes. A home in America, and a home here." She looked at each of us separately and said "usted tendrá siempre un lugar en mi corazón" which translates to 'you will always have a place in my heart.' This statement nearly brought me to tears.
The most important gift we gave to these people was not a break from watering their fields. It was not the gift basket full of food we presented to each family. It was not the time we spent playing with the children that gave the mothers a break to chat with each other. It was merely our presence. It was reassuring them that somewhere in the world there is someone who knows they exist. Knowing that I made a difference in someone's life is rewarding to me. It was hard to come back to my home in Massachusetts and see my friends and family being so wasteful. In Mexico every bit of food was like gold, every drop of water conserved, every peso turned over twice before being spent. Only those who were on the trip could understand what I mean when I say I miss it there and that I wish to go back. The experiences we shared could not have happened anywhere else. Spending nine days working harder than I ever imagined, being so tired and hungry at the end of the day that you cannot even move probably does not seem like a dream vacation. We had sun burns, got stuck in ditches, pulled cactus needles from all parts of our body, picked up diapers that had been buried for who knows how long, and had to wait for everything. It was the best nine days of my life.
Ever since my freshman year of high school I have loved doing service. Before I got to Mexico my motives for going were photography-drawn. I wanted to go just to take pictures. But once I got down there and I met the people the pictures were no longer important to me. My goal became to take in as much as I could, learn as much as I could, and help as much as I could. I feel that I reached that goal, but part of it is continuing to remember the people of Mexico and to keep them in my thoughts daily.
I found peace while in Mexico. Being completely removed from everything I know and all the technology which I thought I needed. Being thrown into a different country, a different culture, almost an entirely different world....these things all calmed me. I was able to see that I don't need all the things I thought I did, and all the extra decorations, clothing, and food that I have is not as important as it once seemed.
The experiences I encountered while in Mexico will stay with me forever, and the smiles and words of the family with which I lived will affect me for the rest of my life. Even when I don't realize it.
