Color, Glorious Color!

Original patio at the  Posada Del Rio Sonora hotel

When we first happened upon Banámichi, my eyes were immediately captivated by the wild colors of the Posada Del Rio Sonora Hotel. The outside colors were wild, the inside was filled with crazy color combinations and a riot of plant life, and the talavera tiles...well, WOW! I was instantly in love. Color speaks to me. It uplifts me and makes me happy. Lack of color is, well....dullsville.

Beautiful standard white Banámichi home

Back in Tucson, where the colors are more subdued, if we happen to pass a brightly colored house we  always joke that it belongs to a Mexican family.  However, our  friend Irma tells us that  the bright house colors are  characteristic of southern Mexico, and that it is more usual to find white homes in the north.

Pink and yellow in Aconchi

Peacock blue in Aconchi

That said, as we cruise around Banámichi and some of the other pueblos along the Rio Sonora, we see some amazing and beautiful house
colors. Perhaps the owners are transplants from the south? Or are they just expressing a wild exuberance for life? Wouldn't you feel happy living in a glorious color like  one of these?

Hot pink in Aconchi

Pale pink in Banámichi

Orange in Aconchi

 

Green in Aconchi

The tasteful  yellow and brick  colored Los Arcos Hotel in Banámichi

 Our friend Rogelio in Banámichi recently raise the bar for a mind-blowing house color. His wife passed on several years ago, and he has been in obvious mourning ever since. One day recently though, he upped and painted his house radioactive green. It is so bright, so phosphorescent, that it actually hurts my eyes when the sun shines on it. And, ever since he painted the house, he has been flirting with the ladies across the street at the pharmacy. Apparently, the color tells the world of  his emergence from mourning and re-entry into life and happiness!

Rogelio's radioactive green

Drab US color samples

Who ever told us that houses have to be dull colors? Recently, the complex where we have our Tucson home approved a new group of house colors. Somehow, though, they still all look like mud, or as our handyman called it, "calf-caca brown." For some reason, US culture has evolved in direction of sedate colors, and ever the consummate capitalists, of course the paint companies supply that demand. You CAN get brighter colors, but few do. Mostly folks just go with the drab muddy flow.

Color evokes emotions, excitement, movement. Color can excite or soothe. Color can speak to joy, and drabness can speak of depression. Much has been written about this. For example:

"Orange combines the energy of red and the happiness of yellow. It is associated with joy, sunshine, and the tropics. Orange represents enthusiasm, fascination, happiness, creativity, determination, attraction, success, encouragement, and stimulation."

"Green is the color of nature. It symbolizes growth, harmony, freshness, and fertility. Green has strong emotional correspondence with safety. Dark green is also commonly associated with money."

To me, the color chosen for a house says something about the owner, and maybe even their predominant emotion. It is an expression of the owner's enthusiasm for life and their pleasure in beauty. It most likely also shows  an appreciation for the vibrant colors of nature - the cobalt sky, riotous flowers, brilliant birds, lush trees, glorious sunsets.

 I also think the differences in home colors points to a deeper difference in national character between Mexico and the US. I think of the US as a serious country...people with their ears or thumbs plastered to cell phones, constantly communicating serious, important things. Gotta make that sale, solve that problem, tell X about Y. There is no time to hang out and just be, or to stop in just to visit a friend. Gotta keep moving, lest the demons of non-doing catch up with us! People are guarded and suspicious. What do you want? Why are you approaching me? What are you trying to pull? All business. Brown, beige, gray. Dull, drab.

In rural Mexico, people seem more relaxed and seem to take pleasure in relationships. Sure, they all have cell phones and their busy lives. But they are genuinely friendly. Drivers passing on the streets wave at one another in acknowledgement. People sit on their front porches in the evening and greet passersby.  There is always time for a chat, or simply to exchange pleasantries. Someone might drop by in the middle of the day just to say hello. Or if you stop by their home for any reason, you are invited in and offered some coffee, tequila, sometimes even cake and hot chocolate, or at least some water. They seem offended if you don't stay at least an hour. People are happy to see you and to take time to visit.

Maybe it is all the result of climate. Mexicans live in a warm, sunny place. Flowers bloom year around. They have happy music. They enjoy flavorful, spicy food. They live from their hearts. Since I first visited Mexico in 1966, I have been drawn to its colors, flavors and warmth.  I like the way the Spanish language rolls around on my tongue. I sense that somehow I was born into the wrong culture. Could be that June-Elena thing again.

 Perhaps it is no coincidence that a popular folk song in Mexico is "De Colores," some of which goes:
((Translation from Wikipedia)

     De colores, de colores                                                 In colors, in colors
Se visten los campos en la primavera.                            The fields are dressed in the spring.
     De colores, de colores                                                 In colors, in colors
Son los pajaritos que vienen de afuera.                          Are the little birds that come from outside.
     De colores, de colores                                                 In colors, in colors
Es el arco iris que vemos lucir.                                        Is the rainbow that we see shining.

  
     Y por eso los grandes amores                                     And that is why I love
De muchos colores me gustan a mí.                                The great loves of many colors
     Y por eso los grandes amores                                     And that is why I love
De muchos colores me gustan a mí.                                The great loves of many colors

     De colores, de colores                                                 In colors, in colors
Brillantes y finos se viste la aurora.                                 Brilliant and delicate is dressed the dawn.
     De colores, de colores                                                 In colors, in colors
Son los mil reflejos que el sol atesora.                             Are the thousand gleams the sun treasures.
     De colores, de colores                                                 In colors, in colors
Se viste el diamante que vemos lucir.                              Is dressed the diamond we see shining.

Dawn in Banámichi

   Y por eso los grandes amores                                     And that is why I love
De muchos colores me gustan a mí.                               The great loves of many colors
     Y por eso los grandes amores                                    And that is why I love
De muchos colores me gustan a mí.                               The great loves of many colors











    

Water Lines, A Disaster Area, and Cultural Differences

Back in October we got some exciting news about Banámichi's water situation. New water lines were to be put in to alleviate the lack of pressure and frequent outages.When the water problems were at their worst, the explanation that filtered down from the city government was that the whole distribution system was antiquated and not up to the current level of usage. The government was silent about overuse by ranchers, farmers, the mine and 24/7 watering habits of the townspeople.

Smashed Street

We all thought that perhaps our pueblo would actually enter the modern age! Then the heavy equipment moved in. First came a sort of slicer that was used to make cuts in the pavement where the trenches for the new system would be dug. More ominous was a concrete smasher with a large metal poker that repeatedly hammered into the pavement between the trench lines. It looked and sounded like a weapon of mass destruction. Our peaceful little town filled with noise and dust as it progressed around town fulfilling it's purpose in life.

The guys in our tiny expatriate community became critical--after all, that is the way of the American intellectual. "I criticize, therefore I am." They said that the RIGHT way to do this would have been to plow up perhaps one block at a time, get the pipe in quickly and close up the holes before going on to the next section so the hassle to the population would be minimized. But here, noooo. It soon became evident that the crew intended to dig up the entire town and only then begin to lay the pipe.

Trench and Pile Outside Our House

Soon there were 3-4 foot deep trenches and huge piles of dirt on all the avenidas (avenues) and calles (streets) of the city. It became impossible to move around town with a vehicle. People parked whichever way they could, adding to the congestion. There was dirt piled haphazardly in front of doorways, driveways and access points. Elderly people with canes were seen climbing the dirt hills to enter their homes. Our friend Tracy had to be lifted in her wheelchair across a mound of rubble to get in. People had to shovel their own paths to their front doors.

What Front Door?

Worst of all, the work moved at a glacial pace. There were maybe 10 guys working, scattered here and there throughout the town. We saw one poor guy all on his own, sweating profusely as he filled in a trench that ran the entire length of town by hand on Calle Obregon. Every now and then the mechanical poker was seen digging up yet more small streets and alleys.

The work started in October, and when we arrived in November, it seemed that not much progress had been made. We stayed a couple of weeks during which minimal progress occurred, although the workers did sort of clear the parade route for the Día de Revolución on November 17th. 

Our Perky Blue Water Line

One half inch blue plastic tubes pointed skyward in front of each house. Each was carefully tied off at the top with baling wire. Trenches ran crosswise from the main line to each house. In frustration, our neighbor Chuchico and another man filled in some of the trenches themselves, piling large rocks and concrete rubble on top of the thin plastic line. Was the line squashed or even broken? Who cared? There was access to the houses! In some places, people had driven over the blue line in an attempt to park their cars, shearing it off completely.

When we arrived in December, we were again greeted by mountains of dirt and rock piled across from our house and blocking the nearby intersection of  Obregon and Galo Trevino. The blue plastic lines still stand proudly at attention. No one seems to know how they will be connected to the house lines. For ours, someone will have to cut through 4 feet of elevated concrete sidewalk and a couple of feet of faux brick walkway. At Dan and Tracy's house next door, the blue pipe was lined up with the sewer instead of the water line, and someone will have to cut through a wheelchair ramp to attach it. Who will that someone be? There has been speculation that each property owner will be responsible for the connection themselves. No one knows how or when we will be connected to the new system. When they turn on the new system will the pressure blow the baling wire off the house pipes, leading to geysers all over town? Quién sabe (who knows?)

Our American friends have repeatedly complained to the Mayor. That's what we would do in the US. The Mayor has maintained that the construction is the project of the State of Sonora. It is not a city project and so he has refused to get involved.  His term expires next summer. Complaints go nowhere.

This is where the story takes a turn toward the collision between inconvenience and cultural and social norms. In the US, complaints are taken seriously. More often than not, complaints are acted upon and make a difference. When they are not, lawsuits quickly ensue! But complaints do not seem to be part of the Mexican approach to problems. That seems to run more toward solving the problem for yourself - like Chuchico did! If you don't like the trench, just fill 'er in! Confrontation and loss of politeness are not part of the society here.

It is astounding to me that the locals do not rise up in protest. Generally they just shake their heads, perhaps grumble a bit about how ugly and inconvenient the torn up streets are, and then go their way, The most they might do is individually shovel a path or fill in a trench to make their immediate lives easier. They would rather lift baby strollers across the trenches than to complain to someone who could do something. There seems to be no understanding of the possibilities of collective action.

We also noticed this when the mine first came to town. Some of the Americans here at the time tried to hold protest meetings to discuss the evils the mine might inflict on Banamichi and the Rio Sonora Valley. The locals did not participate. Grassroots action is not their way.

While the Occupy Wall Street Movement has been happening in New York and other cities in the Western world, it is almost inconceivable here. Yet there is great economic disparity - Mexico is the home to Carlos Slim, the richest person in the world, yet we know someone who ekes out a living for her family by baking pastries and selling them door to door.  She is not alone in her poverty. Just drive around Hermosillo and note the disparity in housing. Even here in Banamichi there is a  home that looks like a beachfront mansion, and a whole lot of one room basic cement block houses on the "wrong" side of the main street. There is ample reason for the Occupy Movement to take hold here, but that has not happened. It just does not seem to be part of the Mexican collective consciousness to protest in that way.

Back at the construction site, access to our friends Tom and Lynn's hotel was already closed  off on two streets. When the poker arrived and began chopping up the pavement on the third and last possible access street, Tom's frustration reached a limit.  Guests were arriving in a few days and not only could they not park anywhere near the hotel, they would have to climb the dirt heaps with their luggage. The situation was in fact truly outrageous. In the US, the contractors would long since have been sued.

Tom demanded to see "el jefe" (the boss) for the job. Neighbors gaped slack jawed at the unaccustomed confrontation. No one knew what to do. Someone called the police.Vicky (our friend and the city accountant) was called to interpret and intervene. Finally, Tom was promised that the streets would be open by Thursday, in time for his guests to arrive and park. Tom got what he needed - the street was indeed (sort of) open by Thursday. Breaching the norm  worked, if only for the people on Tom's block!

If a Mexican had behaved like Tom, he would be laughed at (behind his back because Mexicans are always polite), and perhaps little by little lose his social standing  if this behavior continued. People who disobey group norms always pay a  price. They make the group uncomfortable, and it seems to be part of human nature to push away of the source of discomfort rather than to analyze and change the norm. I can just imagine the locals gossiping about Tom's success.They probably attribute the outcome to his being an American.

What is the right way and the wrong way to approach something like this? I don't think there is a universal answer. Culture is a set of social behaviors that is deeply imbedded and mostly unconscious. Observable behavior is only the tip of the "cultural iceberg*." Cultural attitudes are an undeniable and inescapable part of each person's identity. They are not easily changed. The Mexican passiveness in the face of all this disruption is hard for me as an American to understand. But then that is precisely why I enjoying living here - to experience the differences and thereby become more conscious of my own cultural conditioning. Every interaction becomes a challenge to see simple everyday things with new eyes. Every interaction is an opportunity to examine my assumptions about life and human nature. Every day brings new awareness and understanding. Viva la differencia!

* Do check out this link! There is a great diagram that shows very clearly what I am saying.
 

Hyenas Ate My Soap

Spotted Hyena - no it's not a cute puppy dog!

Hyenas in Mexico?? Noooo I don't think so..... We were in a tent camp in the Serengeti a few weeks ago. When we arrived, there was a bucket of water and several of those small boxed hotel soaps on a table outside the tent. The next morning, the boxes were on the ground, but the soap was gone. The same was true for our travel companions and their soap. At breakfast we all talked about what had happened to the soap. A few nights later the mystery was solved... someone was awake and saw a hyena nab the soap and eat it! Weird!

Grazing Cape Buffalo

A few nights later I woke from a sound sleep to hear loud chomping right next to my head. I sat up and peeked out the window of the tent. EEEEK! There was a huge cape buffalo eating grass right out from under the tent just under my bed. These are seriously dangerous animals built like a tank with the brain power of an ant. What to do? I went back to sleep.

Animal adventures aside, what impressed me the most about Africa were the people. I went there expecting to feel a sense of separation from the people...that the lifestyles and concerns would be so different from my own that any real connection would be a challenge. I was immediately surprised by the warmth, kindness and generosity that surrounded me. True, the simplicity of lifestyle and poverty were striking, but the connection was warm and immediate.

Maasai women welcome us

In Tanzania we visited a village of the Maasai tribe. The men welcomed us in their traditional colorful dress with sparkles in their eyes and a warm handshake. Then the women appeared from between two mud huts. They came in a line, with their flat beaded collars bouncing up and down as they chanted. One of them took my hand, smiled at me with her eyes and pulled me into the chanting and dancing circle. Soon we were all laughing and moving and conversing with smiles and gestures.

In the Maasai tribe the women do all the work while the men take care of the cattle and lounge about. So I was invited to climb a ladder to the roof of one of the huts to help distribute new thatch over the top in anticipation of the rainy season. Afterwards, as I stepped down onto the ground from the ladder, the woman standing closest to me blew me a kiss. I blew it right back at her and felt a deep connection with this woman who was so outwardly totally different from me, but who shared a feeling of love and connection..

Me and Betty

In Rwanda we visited a womens' basket making cooperative. Once again, I was grabbed be the hand and led to a space on a straw mat next to a diminutive but very pretty and ebullient young woman. Her name was Betty...actually it was something unpronounceably African, but Betty was her English name. She cuddled right up to me and started showing me the technique of coiling and stitching a basket. Then she handed it to me and it was my turn. I clumsily and self consciously tried to do what she had shown me. Meanwhile, she literally wrapped herself around me getting as close as possible and protecting me from sticking myself with the sharp needle. There it was again. Her eyes smiled and held me and soon I was also pressing against her as we viewed the progress on the basket as if with one heart and one set of eyes.

Then the sky opened and it began to pour. We all hurried into the basket shop - the only available shelter. I found one of her baskets and bought it. She shouted and jumped up and down with joy. As we were leaving, she brought out a small basket she had made which she gave me as a gift. Such a touching gesture from someone who has so little to someone who has so much! I accepted the offering with gratitude.

So what does all of this have to do with Banámichi? Nothing and everything. Banámcihi is a world away from East Africa and yet the heart of the people is just the same. I love that about Banámichi...the warmth, generosity and genuine kindness of the people. Once again, they have so little, but give so much of themselves. The relationships with them have touched me deeply and warm my heart.

Beautiful Claudia

Yesterday I heard that Victor, the plant vendor was in town with his truckload of garden goodies. I hurried down to where he was and there I also found Roger and Claudia, and Tichi. I always feel such happiness when I see these people I know in Banamichi...somehow they always elicit that same joy of connection that I felt in Africa.

I can think of so many other people who I am delighted to know here. There are Ramon and Reyna...our construction guy and his wife. Such dear, good people! Then there are Beto and Vicky and their children...Ana Victoria and Betito.  There is a purity of intent about all of them...they offered friendship and assistance when we were new in town and knew no one. They are warm, kind, and generous with their time and their hearts.

Ramon, Reyna, Vicky and Beto

 And there are Raphael and Theresita....they vacillate between seeming American and seeming Mexican. They have that edge of that caution that you find in Norteamericanos, but ultimately they have the hearts of Mexicans. They graciously welcome newcomers into their homes, cook fabulous meals for them and invite them to their "country house" in the even smaller village of Jojobal. They offer gifts of plants from their garden and comfortable, easy friendship.

I am also thinking of Loyda, of the beautiful smile and generosity of spirit. A social worker by profession, she currently works at the school and is bothered by matters of ethics. She served a short stint as chief of police in Banamichi, during which time she excelled at settling disputes between neighbors and families.

More recently there is Iris the teacher who loves kids and loves to hold little Betito. There is Isabel the doctor intern, who looks too young to be a doctor, and who speaks Spanish so fast that I can't possibly follow her words. There are Rene the intelligent and Jesus Romo who is a US lawyer as well as a Banamichi mover and shaker.

And there are so many more that I have not gotten to know very well. There was the sweet man selling cajeta hearts on Valentines Day at the immigration post 21 kilometers south of Nogales. He had been deported from the US as an illegal, and was struggling to make a living for his family in his own country. There are the toll collectors on highway 15 heading south into Sonora, who always say "Qué les Vayan bien."..."may you travel well." This sentiment is uttered to every passing car...wishing each group and safe and happy trip. I always get the feeling it is more than just empty words.

There is little Gladys next door - 11 years old now - who when she was younger would rush out to help us carry stuff in from our truck every time we arrived. There is her mom, also Gladys, who presented us with home made tortillas and tacos over the garden fence. Even Chuchico next door on the other side, who seemed cool to us at first has come around and now is gracious and friendly.

And last but not least by any means are our US expat community in Banámichi...Tom and Lynn, Dan and Tracy, Darrin and Cheri. All of them have opened their hearts and lives to us.

A Big Thank You!!

As Thanksgiving approaches, I am so grateful for all the beautiful people with whom I share my life... those in Africa, those in Mexico, and those in the US as well.  I feel so fortunate to have had so many great connections with people all over the world. This is what it means to me to be blessed. A heartfelt thank you  to everyone for enriching my life in so many ways!

Sometimes I think that in all of our affluence in the United States we have forgotten what really matters. Many of us have become so concerned with money and material possessions that we forget to simply open our hearts to one another. This seems especially true in this time of economic downturn and election hoo-hah! In the end, when we are on our deathbeds, what will matter? The "stuff" we have acquired, the opinions we have held, or the kindness and love we have shared with our fellow human beings, even if they are different from ourselves?