I'm doing what??? part II

Monday morning, 7:30 a.m.  The campus is oddly quiet.  I find out why: classes have been cancelled, and the primeros (first year prepa students) are taking a beginning-of-the-year diagnostic test while everyone else gets the day off.  A chosen few - 13 - of us are going to be in a workshop all day to learn how to run tutorías.  I guess the exam prep and oral exams I had planned will have to wait.  Here is some data from my workshop today (yes, my math friends, I crunch numbers when I'm looking for something to occupy myself!)

Complaints (in the first hour): 17

% of people complaining (in the first hour): 53%

# of responses to complaints (in first hour): 3

       Avg. minutes people complained/commented: 2.87  

Longest complaint: 6 minutes

# of hours we were supposed to be in the workshop: 7.5 

   # of actual hours: 6.5

Oh yes, and by the way - we start tomorrow.  

¡Viva México!

El 15 de septiembre is the big night for celebrating Mexican Independence Day.  Fortunately for us, it was also the birthday of a colleague, and he took us out to celebrate both occasions.  Unfortunately, the teachers on strike have completely taken over the downtown zócalo (more power to them!), so the "grito," or re-enactment of Miguel Hidalgo's yell that began the fight for Independence against Spain in 1810, was cancelled.  Instead of doing it in Cuernavaca (the capital of Morelos), the governor went to another city nearby, Cuautla.   We ended up being in a club at midnight, which is when the President rings the actual bell Hidalgo rang to alert the town, and shouts out over the crowd in the zócalo a series of "viva _(insert name/ideals)_" that the crowd repeats.  You can watch what we missed at: 

www.youtube.com/watch?v=1524htZMVOM&feature=related

    We hada lot of fun dancing salsa and watching the waiters, who were all dressed up as girls.  I couldn't figure out a reason beyond giving them an excuse to dance with the singers of the live band.  I've always loved how willing to cross-dress Latin American men can be!  

    We were also treated to an appearance of  the famous Morelos chinelo dancers, who impressed me with their ability to keep dancing for hours under the weight and heat of a heavy costume. In fact, everyone's dancing ability was impressive - every single person here could get a job in the US teaching others how to move their hips.  My years of dancing here and there paid off, and I was able to hold my own on the dance floor, which basically means I didn't step on anyone's feet.  

Tepotzlán

Last weekend we went to Tepotzlán, a town known for its sacred energy and a pyramid that has survived over 500 years.  The town is beautiful.  It's small, surrounded by oddly shaped mountains, and has the best tianguis (market) I've seen yet.  It also is known for the wild variety of nieves, or sorbets, you can buy, although they were a bit too icy for my taste.  However, the flavors are exotic - avocado, tequila with lime, burnt sugar,  cactus, carrot, lettuce... It's quite a list.  

   We hiked up to the pyramid the second day we were in town - us and a crowd of day trippers from Mexcio D.F., who flood Tepotzlán on the weekends, looking for respite from D.F.'s smog.  The hike was a steep 2 km, and wound its way through thick forests and trickling streams to finally break through the trees, climb up a metal stairwa

y, climb some more stone steps, and reach the pyramid, where you have to pay 35 pesos to actually get on the pyramid. But it was worth it!  The view is beautiful, and although the sacredness of the spot is a bit muddied by the young couples making out on the side of the 

pyramid, the recent offerings left by believers made me feel like we were part of something bigger than ourselves.  The trail we climbed was the part of the original path the priests and their devotees climbed in the 1500's.  Wow. 

  

    Tepotzlán is also known for the elaborate entryway to the main church.  The arch that forms  

the entrance is redone every year with a seed mural.  Seeds of all kind -rice, peas, black beans, lima beans, you name it - are used to

create a religious motif showing the conversion of Tepoztecatl, the leader of the native group converted by the Dominicans, Christ's ascension, the Holy Family, and other stories.  

       Although we did not get photos of our auras taken

or a massage, or a tarot reading, or a henna tattoo, we did  met a lovely woman named Carmen from Oaxaca whose family owns a Tepoz business selling rugs  - and we are now the happy owners of two beautifully made wool rugs. This is definitely a town I'd bring visitors to!

Mug shot, multa

¡Éxito!  I was able to file my paperwork yesterday with the Instituto Migratorio.  The only hang-up: I was supposed to have registered with them before the 12th. The multa (fine) is about 450 pesos.  "But," I countered, "I was told to come back today." 

     "Who told you that?" the woman with my paperwork asked me.  

      "Er.... the woman who was working here that day. I could have come of Friday, which was the 12th, but she told me to come back here today, Thursday." I was using all my negotiation skills.  

      "What did she look like?" she narrowed her eyes at me.  

       "Um... she was tall..." I started.  

        "Tall?!"  she repeated, looking confused.  Oh, drat.  What does tall mean here? I thought.

        "Well, kind of tall," I said.  "With brown hair."

         Now the girl looked really perplexed, and a little suspicious.  "Brown hair?" she asked. 

        "Um, yes, pelo café," I said, using a different word for brown.  What does brown hair mean HERE? I thought desperately.  Obviously, our two cultures were at odds with physical descriptions.  

     "Momento," she said, disappearing into a back room.  A woman poked her head out of the door, looked at me, and disappeared again.  Moments later, the woman with my paperwork came back and started stamping things again.  

    "Is everything ok?"  I asked.

    "Oh yes, you're fine," she said.  "Sign here."

     Whew.  

     

    

Mug shot

    I wanted to register myself with the Mexican government, I wanted to get my mug shot, fingerprints, house address, and passport details safely filed away in some file cabinet. I really did.  

     Instead, my paperwork was turned away for a number of reasons:

     1. They want ALL the pages of my passport copied.  Yep, every single one.  Same thing for the FM-3 visa I have.   

   2. The paperwork I had printed out, although it was on legal sized paper, didn't quite match the margins they were looking for.  They gave me the form again, and I paid 25 pesos to a nice lady with a typewriter who does steady business next door the the Migration Institute.  (It had to be typed).  

             3. The other document I had dutifully filled out and printed from their website they didn't like the look of either, so I have to re-do that one, although I can fill it in by hand but must use BLOCK LETTERS.  

                                4. The woman behind the counter didn't want the receipt for the 606 pesos I had been told I had to pay. "You didn't need to pay that," she stated flatly.   I gaped at her, dumbstruck.  You could feed yourself for a month on 606 pesos.  

The one thing she wasn't too worried about was the timeline, and so next week I'll go back and try again.  

                              Betcha anything next week I'll be asked for that receipt.

                                

 

Feria de Tlaltenango

    The Tlaltenango Festival has come to a close, and the only sign that a full half mile of street was for days a huge, vibrant conglomeration of smells, colors, and people are the freshly trimmed tree branches along the road and the brillant facade of flowers covering the church that sat at the center of the festivities.  

    This year was the 288th year since the miracle sighting of "Nuestra Señora de los Milagros."  Stalls selling everything from staplers to finely embroidered Chiapas blouses

lined the street in a double row. When it rained, tarps mostly kept the rain off people's heads, but the street ran with water, in some places a half-inch deep.  Regina and I were both fascinated with the sweet breads, but leery about the freshness of them.  our doubts were confirmed when we saw the number of flies trapped under the plastic put over the food to keep the rain off.  The word "swarming" came to mind.  No thanks! 

     We now have two new mugs (we can now host 4 for breakfast and coffee!) and I met a woman from Otovalo, Ecuador.  I was able to dredge up a little of my Quichua and we both had fun speaking a language not usually spoken outside of Ecuador (and Peru, if you count Quechua).   My one regret is that I didn't buy a bottle of the potent yellow-hued "rumpope" that we tried - you can get it in the stores, but it's always more fun buying something like that from somebody who made it!  

I'm doing WHAT???

"Teacher," one of my students said to me as I was walking out to the parking lot to meet my carpool.  "Teacher, do we have a meeting today?" 

    "A meeting?"  I stopped.  It was 1:30, the end of my day on Tuesdays, and I couldn't think of any meetings I had been told about.  Which didn't mean much.

    "You're our asesora.  Are we meeting today?"

     By now I was surrounded by several eager faces, all looking at me expectantly.  

     "I'm your .... what?" I tried to smile back at them, but I had a bad feelings about this asesora business.  

     "You're our asesora. Do you want to meet with us today?" They looked like they wouldn't mind a free period,  I thought, and besides, I had no idea what an asesora's job was or why I was supposed to be one.

    "I'm going to need to get some more information," I said, "So no, we won't meet today."  

     My students didn't look too unhappy to have more free time, and as I met up with my mentor/carpool buddy Delfina, I sputtered the story out.  She just smiled.

   "I always try to get out of being an asesora.  The kids pick you, and they ask you, but I always say I'm too busy." 

    "What does an assesora do?"  I asked. 

    She launched into a description that began with the always-infamous "They just..."   By the time she told me about the parade I would be helping organize next Tuesday on Independence day (a non-work day) I wasn't so sure the honor of being selected by the class was quite worth it.  Organize part of a parade?  Keep track of 37 student's grades and behaviors in their 6 classes in the two 50 minute periods I have free during my teaching week?  Be a counselor to them without neglecting my other 175 students?  Help them file complaints against other teachers, if need be?  Meet with the group once a week during my off hours?  Hmmmm....... 

     (to be continued)  

School, Week Three

Classroom: Some of my students have begun to "sacar las uñas," or bare their teeth, as we might say in English.  However, armed with my glare (which needs no translation) and my favorite phrase this week: "We have 6 problems.  We have 4 problems.  Now we only have one problem,"  we have managed to get along alright.  As usual, there is always one class that gives me the opportunity to run through all my tricks, and I trust eventually we will gel.  Wednesdays are my long days- 8 to 3 with just the 9:40 "breakfast" break, but I get a chance to perfect the lesson.  I got a few new students this week, we worked with numbers, the alphabe, and role-played "useful phrases" in the level one classes and finished the "I used to" presentations in the 3rd year class (whew!)  This weekend I am tackling the job of entering all of my 200-plus students into my grading program.  Since everyone has 4-6 names, I'll have to be creative in my entry method (or spend 2 days typing!)

         Strike: The strike came home to roost on Monday when classes were cancelled for 3 hours, starting at 9 am, for a union meeting.  I was surprised the kids stuck around, but when we finally got out, most of my students showed up for the classes I had left.  The meeting began with a presentation by the union representatives about the current situation with the Alianza document, but then (after about an hour) transitioned into complaints about union transparency, union hypocrisy, retirement issues, and the main concern, which is how and when people get placed in vacancies or are advanced within the system.  Most teachers are paid by the hour, and the system for being able to get more hours is perceived to be one of favoritism.  Like most meetings that get a little out-of-control, there was the constant vocal critic, the constant wisecracker, the measured critic, and the people who walked out.   It was really only part-way into the second hour that my mind started to drift into how I would like to be in my classroom teaching the verb "to be."

        The third hour was dedicated to deciding whether we were going to strike or not.  The union representative was very clear: I cannot make the decision for you.  I can only carry the message of what you decided to the union.  You need to do this on your own.  

    Final decision: we will make a sign to be carried during the marches by people on their non-teaching hours.  We have all paid 20 pesos to be used for the materials.  

    It was also decided to not cancel classes for the rest of the day (which, as I was told, is normal to do after union meetings), because the local town is having a feria, and there was concern the students would leave school and go drinking.  

    The next day classes were cancelled at 2 for another meeting dealing with administrative issues.  

        Social:  A colleague had Reg and I over to his house for lunch this afternoon (I forgot to warn her that lunch meant we wouldn't get home until 9 pm!) and we had an amazing meal and got to spend time with the best-behaved 1st and 6th graders in all of Cuernavaca!  We were sent home home with apple tamales and a salsa so spicy it probably makes your hair grow faster as it tries to distance itself from your mouth.  

D.F., home to 23 million

D.F., or México,  as many call it, emerges from the greenery that separates it from Cuernavaca to stretch out in an endless roll of white buildings shrouded in smog.  Blue sky peeks through each day, but even at the ground level one can see how the air thickens into a brownish hue.  We went into D.F. to get a box of teaching materials I had mailed to myself at the COMEXUS office, and stayed 2 nights to take advantage of all the city has to offer. There is enough to see and do to last a year of mail pick-ups!

     The Bosque de Chapultepec offers a welcome respite from the busy roads and hoards of people. Formerly a bathing spot for Aztec royalty, the park covers a 4 km square area and contains the current presidential palace (Los Pinos) as well as the former residence of conquitadores, French royalty, and Mexican presidents: el Castillo de Chapultepec.  

                The Castillo sits at about 7,000 feet above sea level, so it's a bit of a climb 

to get to the top.  Inside, however, the reward is an amazing museum of Mexican history, including the popular story of the 6 "Niños Héreos," military cadets who defended the Castillo against the American invasion of the capital in 1847.  All six boys died, and are now national heros.  

        El 16 de septiembre is coming up, so the streets are full of stands where you can buy all the Independence Day decorations you would ever want.  It's a huge celebration here, with 2 days off from school and a midnight celebration the 15th.

       We spent the second night with a co-Fulbrighter and her fam

ily, who have become friends of ours.  She is also a high school teacher, but is teaching middle school, which is run very differently from the high 

school level.  Her husband, armed with the Lonely Planet and a Mexico 

City guidebook, served as our tour guide of their area, and we spent the day exploring Coyoacán (Frida Kahlo's neighborhood)

 and shopping in artisan markets.  They are the only Fulbright family with kids to have come this year - we're looking forward to visiting them again and getting our "auntie" fix!

     

  

A few lessons learned...

1. If the woman at the ticket counter says she doesn't have a credit card machine, even though she's looking at you like you're stupid, it may mean that someone else at the same counter with the same company has a machine for credit cards.  

2. If someone says the bus passes by a certain street, it may mean just that (not that the bus actually stops)

3. Don't stress out about your students missing a few hours of your class because you were pulled out for a meeting; nobody else worries about it!