Hello everyone, hard to believe it has almost been a year since I last wrote on this blog. I’ve still been involved in the blogosphere, blogging over at The Afterword, but this one has been neglected. However, I’ve decided to return here, for a number of reasons. One being that I have caught the blogging bug, and just want to blog and blog and blog. Secondly, I have been thinking about Zinacantan a lot, and Dan’s comments have convinced me that I should write more about it. Thanks, Dan!
This is just the beginning of what I hope will be a
long series of posts. I realized recently that one way to combat the sadness that I still feel is to write. I want to share my love for Zinacantan, and its people, and to savor all the good (and bad) memories I have of my 4.5 months there. I have also been reflecting a lot on my dual-nationality, and how much I miss my English relatives. Speaking to my great-aunt and uncle a few days ago I realized that my next trip abroad will probably be to England. As much as I would love to go back to the village, it is really important for me to spend as much time with my family as I can. I wish flights weren’t so expensive! So interspered with my Zinacantan posts, will probably be other posts about being British-American. And who knows, some feminist theory from my classes might sneak in too. We’ll see!
It will soon be a year since I left the village. I still dream in Tzotzil at times, and weeks will go by where every night I dream myself back there. My friend’s baby will now be over a year old. I wonder if they have saved enough money for his baptism yet? Who will his padrinos (godparents) be? Is Dona Juana’s* mother still going up the mountain every day with the sheep? What is her daughter planning on doing after she graduates high school?
Most of all I wonder about the group of children who befriended me. A group of about 10 or more of them, aged 18 mos to 12 years old, and I would play together, chasing each other in a game of tag or making tortillas out of mud. Are the girls still in school? Or do they have to stay home and watch their younger siblings? Do they remember me?
At least with Dona Juana’s family I have the opportunity to check in with them every now and then. They have a phone in the house (which I can call through Skype), and Micaela, the oldest daughter, has a job at the computer lab in the center of the village and has access to the internet and facebook. But there is no way of contacting the children that I played with, and I can only hope that they are doing well, and that I will get to see them again one day.
*All names have been changed to protect my friends/contacts anonymity.