day at casa hogar

Blurbs of the gringo perdido

I recall vividly waking up once at 5am, while I was volunteering at an orphanage in Oaxaca and being full of energy as at the time I was consuming about 10lbs of vegetables from one of the worlds’ outstanding indigenous markets.

The Orphanage laid at the foothills of the Oaxaca valley, my goal was to walk up the mountain until I could find a patch of uncut forest. I remember 5 years earlier when I we were there as a family working at the orphanage that Mark Lohner took us for a hike beyond the valley into a pine forest with some non-native eucalyptus trees. After remembering the picture of a valley surrounding by pine forest I now noticed a desert like landscape expanding into the mountains as loggers and campesinos turned city folk chop down fire wood for the wives to bake tortillas on. The landscape now is barren in almost all places within gunshot of the city and foothills only the hardiest of the nasty thorn shrubs left remain, even the campesinos didn’t want fire wood.
I remember walking with the 2 families, picnic supplies in hand, through a smaller desert landscape into arroyos that looked like handmade brick drainage, the soil had desertified, turned into an adobe like wall, in which water could longer be absorbed. Theses arroyos carry water from an occasional flood that wreaks havoc on the city since much of the hills have cement like structure, so all the water goes straight into the city and ends up in someones house. I remember we found many parts of old carved clay pots left behind by the ancient Zapotec during hundreds of years with fighting and finally civilized settlement more or less between the some of the 16 indigenous groups and the mighty Spaniards. I still have some in my house somewhere. After a few hours we found a nice shady forest, which was nice after getting burned in the hot, dry desert sun. We sat overlooking a stunning picture of the mountains surrounding the city and the growing city itself with only the towering catholic churches being recognizable and a big local park now next to the airport. It was an amazing and fun walk being 13 at the time, less than a year before I started out in my lawn care business with Rob Jacobs.
Wow, back at 5am, January of 2000 some time. I chugged down some good coffee, pounded some oatmeal, bananas, carrots, and a chunk of papaya and ran out the door with nothing in hand but my trusty pocket knife, which I always slept with, because I never knew when hell would break loose and prided my self by being ready for anything that the desert or crime riddled city could offer.
It was a crisp cool 55degree morning with the sun still sitting behind the mountains to the east, I went by the pastors house which used to be the last house before the hills, but now I had to go through a few more dusty dirt streets and by lots of mangy dogs until I got into the country. I was astounded at the mule and walking trails heading to nowhere, I took the one the looked the fastest over the ridge to the trees that I knew were once there.
I didn’t take water and after a couple of hours it was still desertified, I noticed a small patch of oak trees and few scrubby pines, that’s where I headed. After battling thorns and keeping my machete ready to defend myself against a snake, thorn bush, or other enemies I might encounter.
I finally arrived at the small patch of trees and felt like I was alone with God and no one could be near, at the moment an old hunchback Indian walked by with a load of oak firewood tied to forehead by a piece of rope walking bent over as usual. I said Buenas Dias when he walked by and he put the firewood down and I asked him why he was getting wood 3 hours from his house and here is what he told me..
Work is hard to come by, it pays little and he is old and a campesino. He told me he could work all day for $4 dollars(40 pesos) and he loved the mountains said it was free to walk into woods and collect wood and a tank of gas costs 10$. Besides, he didn’t like the way tortillas tasted on gas, nothing compares to fresh hand make tortilla off a wood fires COMAL. I asked him about the forest, he says lots of campesinos still collect wood so every year he has to go an extra hour to find trees now. After hearing that, I was a little sad the forest was disappearing but was completely satisfied with his answer and understood this is a man who happened to live in the country and city grew around him. He was content doing his thing, ignoring the fast paced life style of the Oaxacaquenos who moved to the city looking for a better life..
At this point I saw the tiny patch of forest and miles of desert scrub, was completely dehydrated and still had to go back which was a few hours away. So, I decided I would have to come back later and find the forest, one that I have never seen or yet found as you will find out why I have not gone back.
Burnt and dehydrated I thought it would be easier to jog back through the hazardous rocky terrain at a speed in which my body would gravitate down, so all I had to do was keep my foot in front of me and machete to the side.
After an hour, I was on a different path, which went through an old corn field, I didn’t want to go through it, but saw no one around and appeared to be well-trodden. After a couple of minutes I heard some yelling. A Mexican man was sitting in his field and started to yell at me, my Spanish was still not very good and didn’t understand but did understand he was now flailing his machete at me and running pretty fast for an old campesino.. I immediately started to run also, dehydrated, nervous, tires, scared ,and still recovering from a VSD, heart explosion more or less and some bruised ribs. He was gaining ground. After 15 minutes with a view of the city now in sight, I was not going to win.. I stopped shaking and waited for my death, or atleast ready to defend my life.. He caught up, I stood motionless, dropped the machete and threw up a quick prayer.. He dropped his machete and gave me a big bear-hug laughing hard, I was still shaking. He asked me to come to his house and have a tortilla and cup of cowboy coffee.. I told him in my pathetic Spanish that I was going for a walk and it was 10am and church was going to start and didn’t want to be late and am extremely sorry for walking threw his corn field and asked him a few questions about rain and how good his crop was. .I don’t remember his answer and I said Adios and still shaking ran back the orphanage, threw on some clothes and headed to church.
I never did tell anyone there about that day, I just thanked God for not dying that day and have never returned until 2007 because the desertification is now larger and didn’t think anthing was up there to see except a new tin shack development surrounded by mangiy dogs, then the next day a now 40 something Mark Lohner wanted to go for a mountain run, I tried running for 10 minutes and almost died from being out of mountain running shape, I sat by a little natural sulfur spring with bees buzzing around for 40 minutes until Mark still jogging non-stop came back.. This guy was incredible and an incredible missionary. The orphanage is no longer 12 kids but 70 something, the yard was no longer dirt but beautiful bricks everywhere, new painted buildings and 2 still remaining shade ficus trees that have survived the constant playing on by the kids and a couple lemon trees that our family planted 13 years ago.
Now 08, my Spanish is better, my English grammar is far worse, my fingers are arthritic due to lymes disease and various other forest born illnesses which have dappened my ability to type for more than 5 minutes at a time, so excuse my English.
J. Baca