Blog Entry Week 1: “Welcome Back, Gueras!!”

By Rachel Wickland

Coming back to Ziquitaro was like coming back to an entirely different place.  Everything about our little town, the sights, the sounds, the smells, and the atmosphere transformed a dusty, slow-paced speck on the map to a lively, colorful, exciting town, throbbing with energy.  We found ourselves in the midst of festivals and celebrations, tamales and bunuelos, carnival rides and fireworks, and most of all, a renewed energy and vigor that we had otherwise not experienced. The whole of Ziquitaro was engulfed in celebration when we arrived on the 8^th of January, two days after the Dia de los Reyes Magos, and leading up to the town’s biggest celebration on January 12^th.  (They celebrate a month later on January 12^th instead of the more traditional December 12^th for the Day of the Virgin of Guadalupe)

            Not an hour after putting our overweight suitcases in our rooms, we headed off to mass, the most heavily attended mass I had been to until that point.  It was great to see so many familiar faces.  I told Katherine I had made out a list of all of my favorite people that I couldn’t wait to see, and I was thrilled to have seen them all the very first night we arrived.  I saw Mago, the mother of one of my students, who makes the best enchiladas in Ziquitaro, and our number one cheerleader in the constant uphill battle we face with the teachers at the Junior High.  I saw Pina, our Mexican Mom, who constantly fills the air with her infectious laughter and works tirelessly caring for those around her.  I saw one of Katherine’s students, Juan de Dios as we call him, who never ceases to crack me up with his exclamations in English, my favorite being, “Hey you lady! Let’s go to the house!” I saw the Priest, our number one man to go to if we ever need advice or just want to have some pancakes and watch novellas together.  And I saw Alejo, the young man that I have been striving to assist with continuing his education in the United States, who was overwhelmed with emotion as I showed him a church bulletin from my church in California where we have his name printed on our prayer list.  It warmed my heart to receive so many big hugs, and smiles from all our loved ones here in Ziquitaro.  It was a great joy to feel so welcome to our home in Ziqui, especially after only spending a short time with my family back in California, and still feeling the pang of sadness in having to leave them so soon.

            In the next couple of days we continued to see the town transformed into a place I hardly recognized.  As bands played all day long – constantly interrupted by the crack of fireworks - I began to notice another change: everywhere we went we started to hear little snippets of English being spoken.  One of the reasons for the great surge in population was that many families had come back to visit their hometown from the United States.  What a fantastic example of how closely the people of Ziquitaro are tied to life in the United States, and how we are constantly diminishing the distance between our two countries as our cultures, people, politics, and economies intertwine.  But I digress. The 12^th and 13^th of January were nearly upon us, the two most important days of our celebrations in Ziqui.  On the 12^th, our little, seemingly insignificant town was to be graced by the presence of the Bishop from Zamora, and on the 13^th we awaited the excitement of the Jarripeo (rodeo) and the much anticipated concert to be put on by Tierra Cali, a very famous Mexican Banda group.

            Katherine and I felt extremely honored when the Priest requested if we could please set the table that would be used for a luncheon with the Bishop and several other local Fathers.  However small the task, we were very happy to be involved in such a momentous occasion.  We also got to help the priest plan the menu for the luncheon, and I wrote out a recipe he wanted for Chicken Cordon Bleu, which happens to be one of my specialties.  On the day of the 12^th, Katherine and I were aware of the sense of heightened importance to the day.  After changing our outfits for mass from the usual jeans and a nice shirt to skirts and sweaters, we were awed when even after arriving ten minutes early, there was still no sitting room in the sanctuary.  We stood at the back of the church, craning our necks to see the distant altar.  Our most unexpected surprise was in the midst of mass, when Teresa, a woman who cooks for the Priest and has become a friend of ours, motioned to us to come over to where offerings and the communion chalice and host were displayed.  A little uncertain, Katherine and I timidly walked over, and Teresa instructed us to take up the communion articles and lead the procession down the center aisle of the church, to bring the offerings to the Bishop, seated on the altar.  I cannot even explain the surprise, nervousness, and excitement that was racing through my mind.  In my head I was screaming, “But I’m not even Catholic!!” We had no idea what we were supposed to do, I with the chalice and Katherine with the host.  As we ascended the altar, the Priest must have noted our uncertainty as he smoothly walked up to us and instructed us to give the items to the Bishop to bless, and then place them on the altar.  Once again, the Priest was there just when we needed him the most.  I was so honored to be involved in such an amazing event, and even more honored to have the blessing of the Bishop.  The luncheon went seamlessly and I was so proud that my table setting looked so beautiful with my napkins folded nicely (Thanks, Girl Scouts!), and the Chicken Cordon Bleu cooked perfectly. 

            The following day, Katherine and I prepped for the Jarripeo (like a rodeo in the US) and looked very authentic with our cowboy boots and braids.  To the best of my knowledge, all but one of the bull riders left the arena unscathed.  The concert by Tierra Cali later in the evening was a real treat.  Katherine ad I didn’t go in because the tickets were so expensive, but from what we could see peeking over the fence with Mago, it was a full-fledged party.  There were pyrotechnics, lights, big screens showing the artists up close, and a GIANT stage.  What struck me the most, however, was the fact that the emcee would ask questions like, “How many of you pretty girls have boyfriends in the US?” and announce songs saying, “This is for all the guys who are working in the United States!” Again, I was incredibly aware of how intimately our two countries are intertwined. Even yesterday, Katherine and I attended a mass and luncheon to send off the immigrants who had come back to visit their hometown, and bless their journey back to the US.  These, and so many more scenes that I cannot recount for the sake of brevity were a fantastic start to our upcoming semester.

            Our time here so far, however, has not been without incident.  In an endeavor to get the ball rolling on our classes, Katherine and I walked over to the Secundaria the day after we arrived to meet with the teachers and let them know that we were prepared to begin English classes.  Much to our chagrin, the teachers had already left for the day, even though we arrived fifteen minutes until two o’clock, the time that school is supposed to be over. Because it was a Friday, this meant that we would not be able to meet with them until the following Monday.  Thankfully, the Primaria was still open, so our purpose was not completely lost.  Our sense of another semester of impending hardship with the Secundaria increased when we were later informed that classes would not resume until the 19^th of January.  This news came on the heels of our last meeting with the teachers, as they stated with conviction that the classes would resume on schedule on the 7^th of January, notwithstanding the commotion of the festivals.  Needless to say, Katherine and I were infuriated that the teachers saw fit to take an entire extra week of vacation for a festival in a town where they do not live, much less participate.  Not to mention that Katherine and I could have spent another week at home enjoying the company of our families if we had not planned to begin classes around the word of the teachers at the Secundaria.  In a way, it was the characteristic “welcome back” from the teachers and administration of the Secundaria. 

            Never one to let a little bump in the road throw me off course, I am still determined as ever, and enthusiastic as ever to begin classes.  We have had the greatest experience being back in Ziquitaro so far, and I hope to maintain the sense of energy and exuberance that we have received in our first week here.  And whether it be the fantastic welcome we have had from the community, aglow with the light of a new year, or the disappointing and character-revealing welcome we received in the absence of the teachers at the Secundaria, the message rings clear: Welcome Back Gueras!