Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros, Life is Hard

Delicate, streams of liquid travel from the tank through thin, black, metal tubes of the solar heater that warms the water collected from last year (there has not been enough to collect anything so far this 2017). It reaches our bodies that shiver as we shower under open spaces. None of us brought our cherished brands of shampoo or soap, all of what's used here are biodegradable and provided by the center. We brush our teeth and try to close the water faucet as quickly as possible,  as if we were stealing it from our neighbor, as if it were some precious metal, flowing out of the center of the Earth.

Breakfast is served by Bonanza's cook, Vicky at 8 on the dot. Her kitchen is one of the cleanest and prettiest I’ve seen in a long time. These four days we are served breakfast, lunch and dinner with delicious lemon tea and fresh fruit, eggs and some tortilla based dish: enchiladas, entomatadas, enfrijoladas, potato fried tacos, tlayudas, quesadillas, sincronizadas…

We all walk by the end of the kitchen where several sinks are waiting for us under the gleaming sun. On the first sink, biodegradable liquid soap is poured on a sponge and each of us washes their dishes and cutlery. The second sink is used to rinse the soap off the plates and the third to get any excess off anything that could be left on them. The water is freezing and after we wash them, we try to keep our hands on the sun for a bit. “Hormiga” (Ant) the center's dog is a yellow, thick haired quadruped that eats everything we leave on our plates. Nothing gets wasted here and some lucky ones, get the side benefit of the sustainable chain.

After we use these now, grey waters, they go through a natural sifting process where the food and the grease get to the bottom of tanks and the water is poured on plants that conclude with the cleansing cycle. They grow happy in a sun salutation asana.

We leave the center towards Ejutla de Crespo, a 15 minute ride where the Thursday Market awaits us. As usual, the market is bursting with sights and sounds, flavors and delicacies of Zapotec emperors. Boiled yuca and sweet potato, fried dough with melted brown sugar, fresh chunks of blood sausage, fried crickets, flowers all sizes and colors, home-made bread and cookies, fresh cheese, tlayudas, sweet fruits and ripe vegetables, baby Jesus and huge bowls of tejate.

A woman inside the church is... surprisingly, getting a call on her cell phone. As I walk by, I ask her if it's Jesus, she quickly replies that she is waiting for an important call, that she needed to take. I know she didn't hear me, I nod, smile and walk away, laughing on my own.

I start stressing up a bit as we leave the market and drive towards Coatecas Altas, on our first meeting with the community. These are always tense events where social encounters are thin and delicate. A bit too much and people can get insulted, a bit serious and people can be driven away.

We finally get to the Telesecundaria [rotate your view to the left on the Google Map View] and all the women are already waiting for us. It's inexcusable we are late, we're sorry, and try to move on from there. We set up teams for the students to work with. Coatecas, to the other teacher's surprise, is divided in 4 zones, "very much like The Hunger Games" she says. I smile and cringe to the irony of the words in this context.

While everyone is working, I get to talk to Doña Judith. She's in charge of getting all the women together but also, she cooks for and feeds the students from the Telesecundaria. She is tough, like a strong tree, pride in her eyes gleam when she speaks of moving forward, of making the most of what they have. Her two daughters come every now and then and as they introduce themselves, I ask them what do they want to become when they grow up. The small one answers, "dentist", the eldest blows my mind "magistrate".

Doña Judith looks tired. She cries with me. I want to cry with her too but I hold back. She wants to keep improving things in her district, "but it's so hard", she says, "nobody wants to do anything unless there's some money involved". "Nobody understands common goals and if they do, they [men] expect it to be done by us [women], which is fine, we're strong, we do it but it's really hard".

These meetings usually drain me but this one is specially hard. Oaxaca is a place of warriors, great writers and unique artists. I couldn't expect less of their women. As we ride back on the bumpy road to Bonanza, my head hurts. I hate this government, and the one before, and the one before... My blood beats faster with a rage I did not know I had. I want to tell Gabino Cué (the former governor of Oaxaca) how much I despise him and the current government that let him leave Oaxaca in such a heart-broken, spirit-bankrupt state.

How can stealing happen in such states, where there is nothing else to take from these men, women and children? This is where school uniforms are missing, where even water has abandoned them, where dreams were ripped off their bodies, tossed to the side of the road and confined to stay there, aside a decaying, plastic Coca-Cola bottle.

There is no Purgatory or Hell for the people in power. It seems like such a small price to pay for the flaky, dry faces of these kids that though they show signs of malnutrition, still smile. Hear me well rotten politicians: May your balls fall off to the ground, may the wrath of justice transform those lobsters you ate into monsters that chase your sleepless nights, and for the yachts you navigate, I hope they get devoured by a thousand waves, sinking them to the bottom of the ocean.

I look at the starry sky while we gather around a bonfire at Bonanza. I realize we are here, we are all moved. We are together, worried about the tasks that lay ahead, not because of their hardship, but of their plausible, open weed path we must trace in the reality of this Mexican state.