Puerto Escondido, Oax. Mex.
I departed in the late afternoon from Manzanillo Beach (Man-zah-nee-yoe), up the stone steps and stopped under a dense tree on the side of the staircase, with small, five-petaled white flowers. I paused to listen to the high-pitched ´Pow-touu-eees´ of hummingbirds who at first were obscured by the vegetation. Gradually, twenty, then thirty birds, some larger ones with red throats, others small and fawn colored, and blue ones could be spotted perched or sampling the nectar. Then on up the hill, past an up-scale ´costeno-spanish´styled gringo development. Farther, an electric orange flowered African Tulip tree held garlands of rusty-orange bougenvilla. Past vacant lots, one with the carcass of an abandoned car on blocks. At another lot the owner lined her fence with pots of Kalanchoes, Cannas and tropical plants, and strange chickens pecked about with bald necks yet feathered-Hedda-Hopper-hat-heads. Small, red-wattled turkeys and bright Chinese roosters. An unconscience or dead mixed-breed dog lay in the concrete street in the shade of a car. Down the steps by the ravine, a chained dog barked half-heartedly. A tin, lamina, and slatted hovel housed a fat women chatting with her neighbor, and large two-story stuccoed modern and colonial style houses were just a few lots away. Mini-restaraunts, no more than a narrow break between buildings, a dirt floor, and a lone convex metal ´comal´with puffed-up and brown tortillas steaming and a chubby, aproned ´morena costena´( dark-skinned local) patting them gingerly with her fingers. Then up and down another hill, past vacant restaraunts. Buildings and walls started, and stopped, abandoned, bricked or concrete blocked. Stuccoed or not. Painted or not. Graffitied or not. Rusted re-bar-rods sprouted like optomistic antennae above old concrete columns and buildings, days, weeks, or years old. Orange flowered shrubs trimmed in the shapes of baskets or swans. Money-changing windows with shadowy figures. An ancient weathered ´abuelita siega´ ( blind woman) sat in plastic chair on the narrow sidewalk in the shade of the large glossy-leaved coastal ´Almond´tree. Handshakes and introductions were made, she with as many names as decades to her life. We held hands while drunken nephew chattered. And down the hill to the `adoquin´- the old tourist plaza` with few tourists about, the flare and blaze of the afternoon sun having chased them away to their respective rooms, pools or beaches.
I passed three ´public utility workers` on the street installing a light post. Their employment status and objectives were unclear, as they were without uniform, shirts, shoes, and perhaps salaries. Were these former PRI workers and laborers, day laborers, hirees of the new `coalition government`? Certainly not volunteers. Like all newly elected governments throughout the world, the new Oaxacan coalition government of 2010 has been appointing, hiring and firing, in a system that had been embalmed and sucked dry by seventy years of the single party PRI rule. This newly elected coalition government is a quite extraordinary achievement for Oaxaca and Mexico! It would be like the Democratic Party winning and controlling in the solidly conservative, reddest-state-in-the-union, essentially one-party-Republican Idaho! This is an odd and politically contradictary coalition of the seventy-year ruling PRI ( traditional socialist-military or `State`party) , the PRD ( Leftist) PAN ( right wing) PT ( Workers, union) and PRM ( Party of Mexican Revolution) and informed and impacted by other political groups such as the Section 22- Teachers Union. It has altered the political landscape beyond recogniton to many, yet suspiciously familiar to others. Some former PRI appointees and officials maintain the new government has been firing and hiring and expressing traditional ( PRI) nepotism and corruption . Perhaps a partial truth, although one must keep in mind the new state coalition government is talking, and convening forums and discussion groups with formerly ostrasized, criminalized and politically disenfranchized groups like teachers- a revoluntionary change for Oaxaca! Especially without FIRST tear-gassing a crowd or collective , another remarkable achievement in former one-party terrain.
Political corruption here in Mexico is generally- unlike in America- very upfront and ´transparent´, if I may use that hackneyed term. In Puerto can or has seen up on the hill in town, the immense hotel, or in the bay in the past the giant cruize ship purchased by the former governor with squandered public funds. This is concrete and three dimensional and obvious corruption, not some abstact figure, a disappeared real-estate value or investment portfolio . U.S. corruption such as the former Enron crisis , and the current Bernard Madoff inspired financial melt-down, are arguably more like an opaque economic logrthym and therfore more pernicious: too complex , and sophisticated to be understood intitially by the general public,and too seductive and profitable for the powerful few to be checked and controlled. To quote an Irish phrase: ´Banksters´( pranksters + bankers) have been busy at the publics expense. Eventually even in America the public becomes aware of the debth of corruption within the system but are confused on how to respond. We Americans see the ship, as Mexicans do, but only after, it seems , it is already sinking and we know not what to do!
I digress. So, here are these three uniformless, shirtless, shoeless young guys in simple shorts, and `sandalias`or `changlas` ( sandels or rubber-soled- leather thongs), sitting in the street by the lamp post . One had a hack saw in hand, and was sawing away on one of four bolts that either did hold, or was to hold the new light post. I stopped, and looked up and the new traditionally-designed light post and noticed that it canted noticeably to the west and Manzanillo Beach, almost as if it preferred the beach to the street. The square metal foot lay level on its small square concrete pad, indicating that shims of some sort were needed.
``Esta´Cheuko, verdad?!`` ( It`s crooked, is`t it'!?) I ask of the three workers.
`` No.`` replyed one of the young men, and he giggled.
I paused, looked up again, back at him, and back at the post, then leaned by body to Manzanillo Beach.
``Si.``, I reply. ´´Chueka.´´
He passed the saw to his friend. ``No.``, and another giggle.
I started walking down the street,my head tilted to Manzanillo Beach, my left hip to east.
´´ Si.´´ I reply
Then two of them chirped,``Nooooo.`` and more giggles.
I made a mental note to take this route again in a few days, to check and see if the post was installed, or `removed`, and ruminated on the good humor of the costeno ( coast-ten-yoe) workers and people- No matter how hot, or hard the work, a smile not far from their faces. Almost without exception, their sweet temperments and great senses of humor are evident. Perhaps this is the lesson that Americans must learn as individuals and as a collective from these humble workers. Be in the present moment, and find a way to infuse it with humor and maybe even joy. The future will manifest as it will.
At the bottom of the hill, I lifted my hand and gave a backwards wave and cast a ``Si!`` over my shoulder.
A fainter``No``, and laughter could be heard up the hill and below the post.
One can almost hear the plaintive call of former `tenured` state workers-like the lonesome, forlorn cry of street venders .
´´Chamba y suuueeeldooes!!?? ( Work and salaries???!!) Crys the former state workers.
´´Plattaannoooose. Plaaatanose´´ ( Banananas) calls the street vendor
´´Helaaaahhh-dosssse´´ ( Ice cream) calls the street vendor.
And from the near-bankrupt states in the far north, Californina and New Jersey, and perhaps even more, that same plaintive cry for employment. We have much in common.
Abrazos
Esteban
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