Working with Immigrants in Arriaga, Chiapas

Where to begin, where to begin?

Well, I guess I´ll begin with the fact that I have always wanted to visit Mexico´s southern most state, Chiapas. The Zapatista movement takes place here, and has long been the epicenter for indigenous rights here in Mexico, as 1 in 4 of the population here is indigenous of some kind. Mayan making up the majority I believe. In the interest in saving time, you can read about the Zapatista movement here...
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ezln
Anyways, I´ve longed to come to this state for some time. So when we left from Salina Cruz (where we had stayed the night since the haul from San Jose del Pacifico began to take a toll on our energy)and entered Chiapas I felt a thrill of excitement, a recognition that a dream of mine had become reality. We were on our way to Arriaga. A small town of around 40,000 about four hours a way from the Guatemalan border. What brought me here was a desire to volunteer. Here in Arriaga, cargo trains pass though from Guatemala to the north. It is the route of immigrants from all over central and south america. No matter where you come from, or where you are going, if you go ¨al norte¨ you will pass through Arriaga.

While in Guadalajara, one of my student´s father approached me after class. He asked if I could translate a document for him, in which I gladly did. I found that this research report pertained to human rights for immigrants passing through Mexico. I had studied this topic in depth, and had even wrote a thesis on it while in college. So when I met with Lalo again, I asked him how I could get in touch with someone in order to do some sort of volunteer work. Lalo, who is a professor at the University of Gaudalajara, gave me some great contacts. One of which was an immigrant shelter in a small town in southern Chiapas called ¨Arriaga.¨ From there on I planned to make my way to Arriaga to see if I could be a volunteer.

When we arrived to Arriaga (with heat to what I imagine to be a Georgia summer) we made our way to Casa Migrante. The experience there was a little weird. The padre was not there and we were welcomed, sort of, but two guys who seemed to be in charge. A couple of strange individuals I must say. They left us for a couple of hours and told us to wait for the Padre. Well, we then met a local guy named Santiago. He sensed our impatience and sympathized by taking us around Arriaga in his car, then to dinner. He offered us his house to sleep in. Which, as travelers on a budget, is a hard bargain to pass up. We were not contacted by the shelter, as they told us they already had a volunteer and wouldn´t need us. Though I find it strange that a ´volunteer´ be turned away. But, whatever. Just being there was a surreal experience, seeing 300 immigrants from all over Latin America sleeping under the train and finding any sort of shade to pass the time until the train departed.

We decided to be proactive and continue following our desire to help, and actually turned the experience into something unforgettable, one that probably would have been better than cleaning toilets and washing dishes at the casa migrante.

We stayed with Salvador for three or four days. During the day, despite the heat, Tama and I made several trips to the market where for around 50 (about $4 USD) pesos we would buy 15 or so small waters or juice, as well as two or three kilos of bananas. We spent our afternoons walking the traintracks of Arriaga handing out the supplies and talking with the immigrants. Now, I often comment on our incredible an experience was yada yada yada. But seriously, this is one that will forever be lodged in my memory as one of the most unforgettable experiences of my life. We talked with people from El Salvador, Nicaragua, Honduras, Cuba, Guatemala, etc. about what they had been through, their experiences, and what their hopes were for the future. We talked with people who were making their first trip, with people who were making there 14th and 15th trip. People who had been robbed, beaten up, people who had walked for 11 days shirtless to get to the traintracks. The first day, we met a group of guys from all over who were traveling together for protection. They told us about the scariest leg of their journey, which was from Tapachula (the border town to Guatemala) to just south of Arriaga. This area is heavily occupied by Mara Salvatrucha and Zeta gang members who board the train with intentions to rob rape and hurt people. They were a genuine group, buenas personas looking for a better life for themselves and their family. One 14 year old boy, making his second or third trip, told us about a teenage girl who had fallen off the train a few years earlier. She had fallen between the cargos and the train had cut her in half. The journey had taken her life, as well as the life of her unborn baby. His eyes held the terror and sorrow he felt at that particular moment.

In summary, working with these immigrants was a gift. A gift that I will never forget. Likewise for them, since many of them had wondered what the hell a gringo and a norteña was doing in Arriaga helping immigrants. I wonder if they will tell our story, as I am telling theirs.

It filled my heart was happiness to be with these people, to assist them, to listen to them. It got my mind brainstorming of all the possibilities of charity and or other opportunities I could establish for a permanent assistance to these people. I will never forget their faces, nor their appreciation of what we were doing. It was truly a dream come true for me. Watching over 300 immigrants from all across the continent sitting atop a cargo train with hopes of a better future is surely a sight I´ll never forget. Waving at us as they get ready to leave is more of a motivation than anything. Now, I need to figure out how to make my assitance more powerful and more permanent.

(the pictures are not so good as we had only taken photos the last day, in which most immigrants had left on the departing train, my apologies.)

San Jose del Pacifico, Oaxaca

I spent my birthday on top of the world. Well, maybe not on top of the world but at the highest point of the Sierra in southern Oaxaca. It was a nice change of temperature from the beach towns we had been in the two or so weeks previously, and it was a sweet reminder of home to be in the woods again surrounded by pine trees and giant rock formations. San Jose del Pacifico is a small town of around 500 people I would guess. It serves as a stopping point for many people who make the trip from Oaxaca City to Pachutla, on the other side of the Sierra. The day we got there we rented a cabin for 100 pesos (around $8 USD) and star gazed until our eyes and our minds could stretch no further. The next day, Tama and I spent the morning and afternoon hiking the surrounding mountains. It was absolutely incredible. First, we ascended into the forest along the trail, unaware of what or where we were trying to reach. After about three hours we were immersed into the clouds and came upon a flat aread of about 300 sq yards on top of this mountain. It was an Alice in Wonderland feeling. The only souls for miles, we walked through one of the most impressive displays of nature I had ever seen. The forest was majestic, and with the addition of the clouds, it really added to the experience. We spent a few hours exploring this mini valley and soaking up the experience. I commented to Tama while on top of the mountain that although I would love to see my friends and family, a birthday on top of this mountain, in the middle of the Oaxacan Sierra, sure beats a night out at the bar.

The planned two day visit in San Jose del Pacifico turned into five days of reading, hiking, and star gazing. At 100 pesos a night, its hard to leave a comfortable cabin with a patio and a view of the Sierra. San Jose del Pacifico is an awesome place, a majestic mountain town with nice people and great scenery. Every evening the clouds rolled in a passed directly in fron of us, and we spent some sunsets sipping hot chocolate (Oaxaca is famouse for chocolate) and eating tlayudas.

Zipolite, Oaxaca

Zipolite is a well known beach community of hippies, nudest, and freedom seekers alike. Situated about an hour south of Puerto Escondido, I guess Zipolite has been a well known spot for ¨amor y paz¨ for quite some time. We got there later on in the evening and we´re kind of stumped on where to find a cheap place to stay. We walked down the beach a little ways until we met a young guy setting up his beach front reggae bar for the oncoming party. He invited us to stay in his hammocks he had about 30 meters of the beach. The stars were not as impressive as Chacagua, but the fire dancers on the beach equally invigorated the night. With flaming balls called Poi attached to chains, this woman spent the better part of two hours dancing and twirling these balls around, over, under, between, behind, and every which way around her body. This was the first time I had seen this although supposedly its rather popular. Pretty damn cool though. You can check out an example of this through this youtube link
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2IjdnMvBW_A

The next day we decided to pack up and move camp as a result of Tama getting bitten about 200 times by mosquitos. That and the fact that our bathroom was a scene even the devil himself would refuse. So we moved ourselves down the beach a little beat to a cheaper and more accomodating place, an 8 x 8 beachfront hut with a hammock out front. We spent the day reading, exploring the beach, and playing in the waves. Every once in a while we get a kick out of nude spectating. Though most of the nudes were old and rather unpleasant to look at, it was quite an experience since I had never really been to a nude beach myself. And no, I did not go nude, I gather that it takes years of being a Zipolite beach bum to reveal the jewels. Something I could not get use to. The experience was good though, and the food was cheap too, we never ate for more than 30 or 40 pesos. We left that night as Kyle, my friend who had been visiting, needed to catch a bus back to Mexico City where is outbound flight was to leave. The bad thing is, we lost track of our days, easy to do while on a hippie beach, and sent him back a day early.

Though more well known, easier to access, and more built up than Chicagua, Zipolite still has the draw and charm it has always possessed. Just be warned, you will see a lot of pot, old wrinkly nudes, and smelly life loving hippies.

Chacagua, Oaxaca

A true paradise, Chacagua is one of those untouched places that I will always long to return to. The tiresome journey to this place ironically is a blessing as it keeps its purity and desolation virgin. To give you an idea of how how one might find themselves in Chacagua, I will document here the ¨camino¨ to the beautiful beach community of Chacagua.

Backpack in hand (We had left our bags in our hostal´s supervision for ten pesos a day) we lathargically walked to the center of Puerto Escondido to take our mini camioneta to the town of Rio Grande, about an hour and a half away. Mind you, Chacagua was just an image in our minds and we were only going the route that had been detailed to us by locals. We arrived in Rio Grande, a bit confused on where to go next but we were immediately hailed by a truck with a canopy over the bed, the standard means of transportation for rural communities in Southern Mexico. ¨?Van a Zipotelito?¨ asked the driver. We complied and for twenty pesos we climbed in the back of the truck playing tunes from Kyle´s ukelele. The three of us, about five chickens, and countless other materials made our way to a small community on the edge of a lake about an hour later. We waited at the dock with a few others, entertaining ourselves with a family´s pet racoon and taking pictures of this laguna that seemed to go on for days.

After about an hour and many stomach growels later, we got into the boat with the chickens, groceries, and about ten other locals. We made our way across the laguna, keeping an eye out for crocodiles, in awe of the beauty this area possessed. Shortly after, we merged our way into a small channel of water housed by branches above. We encountered a small dock where another pick up truck was waiting for our arrival. The bugs started biting, mucho. We all rode in the back of the truck for another 30 to 40 minutes before we arrived in Chacagua. And to be quite honest, I had no idea we had arrived anywhere for it was just a few palapas and sand that stretched across the road and into the unknown. We all go off and were guided by a fellow rider to his cabañas that were situated nicely on the beach. The first gaze at the beach was the most memorable. Never had I ever seen a place so beautiful, so pure, and so majestic. The experience was surreal.

We spent the first night in our buddy´s cabaña before finding out that the restaurants on the beach, which provided great seafood and breakfast alike, allowed visitors to sleep in their hammocks for free as long as you ate at their restaurant. We of course went the cheaper option even though the cabañas were only 150 pesos a night (around 12 dollars).

We spent our time in Chacagua surfing, marveling at the star show the heavens put on nightly, and hanging out with our new best friend ¨Salchicha¨ who could be argued as the happiest dog in the world. Chacagua was great, just a small community of maybe 100-200 people who enjoyed the simple life. Cuban music and happiness filled the air and I had begun to wonder, not just because of the music but also of the complexion of the people (who seemed to resemble peoples of African descent), what were the origins of these people. Were they Cuban immigrants, native people from the area who´s direct heat had affected the skin and hair of these people, or perhaps they were descendents of slaves in Mexico. Whatever the cause, it was sure an interesting and beautiful place.

Chacagua is a place that I could bring a tent and a surf board and be happy for months.

Adios Guadalajara, hello Oaxaca!

Friday the 26th of February seemed a blur. I had spent the previous 48 hours saying good-bye to my friends, packing my things, and cleaning my apartment. I departed the Guadalajara bus terminal around 3:00 pm on Friday after a hasty ¨throw everything is the bag and figure it out later¨ exit from my life in Guadalajara. Tama and I arrived in the Mexico City bus terminal eight hours later to meet my friend Kyle, who I had provided me with much laughter during our Semester at Sea and countless other instances. We found him strumming his ukelele in fron of the ticket purchase moments later. We were relieved to spare the time of finding him since our bus to Oaxaca was leaving momentarily. Six hours later, during the wee hours of the morning, we arrived in the city that gave birth to Benito Jaurez, the famed Mexican president who resisted the French occupation, overthrew the empire, and restored the Republic. Not to mention he was a Zapotec native and was the only indeginous Mexican president. My first time in Oaxaca, I was excited.

Instead of getting on another ten hour bus ride to Puerto Escondido, we decided to spend the day in Oaxaca city. We visited the famous pyramids of Monte Alban, built by the Zapotecs around 500BC. The day was hot, and Kyle fell ill from the sun, or perhaps the garlic prepared crickets we sampled in the market later in the evening. Thankfully, he was better after a nap and a sessions of vomitting. At 9:00 pm, we boarded our bus. We were exausted from the day so the ten hours seemed fewer during the night of undisrupted sleep. I did wake up at one point at see snow outside on the ground forgetting that Oaxaca sat almost 7,000 feet above sea level and we were climbing higher to cross the Sierra.

Puerto Escondido´s vibe is uncomparable. It still remains a small port town, though the tourist´s mark continues to construct its way southward down the beach (where the best waves are). Puerto Escondido is considered one of the 10 best locations for big surf waves and though we didn´t experience any while there, thank God, we did have a good time doing our best to shred the waves. We stayed in a couple different hostals, not the cleanest nor best smelling, but were shielded from the blood suckers with our provided mosquito nets.

We spend a few days in Puerto Escondido, surfing, burning our skin, and lounging in hammocks until we we´re ready to head to our next spot, Chacagua. This was a ¨mythical¨ place we had only heard of by word of mouth but we were ready to find it.