History

Saturday, August 6, 2011

This forced vacation has taught me so much about myself, my family, my culture and my roots.  There is a saying I’ve heard that says “how do you know where you are going if you don’t know where you come from”.  I find that to be truer now than ever.  A friend suggested I get a hold of a medal with St. Jude and wear it for protection, when I suggest it to my aunts they are quick to take me straight to him.  My aunts and I awoke early before the sunrise to get on the bus to go to Nuevo Leon, Zacatecas home of “San Judas Tadeo” otherwise known as St. Jude the saint of all lost and difficult things.  I am hesitant to ask someone I don’t believe in for something that seems so impossible.  I struggle everyday to believe that god exists, that these saints can act in my favor to help me with the things that god cant.  But as usual I am filled with more questions than answers.  Aren’t there war going on the world? Why would god or these saints listen to my requests when there are people actually dieing?  I arrive at yet another church built on the backs of the poor.  It is elaborate and beautiful and in the middle of the altar a beautiful saint behind glass waiting for me to arrive.  I kneel and I pray with my aunts, because although I still find it hard to believe I like to honor those who do and the traditions of this place.  The part of me that doesn’t loose hope prays and hopes that I can get back to my husband and family and that my brother find peace and gets out of the mess he got himself in.  More than anything I wish for all this to go away, for me to be the last person who has to go through this, the last person who has to be removed from her family and home and transplanted in a foreign country.  Because at the end of the day that’s what this is to me, a distant and far-off “foreign country”. 

After we leave St. Jude my aunts decide to take me on a detour to “La Quemada” an archeological site from somewhere around 500 BC.  There are ruins of primitive pyramids and cities.  The people here were farmers, chemist and astronomers like many of our Aztec, Mayan and Zapotec ancestors.  Only these people we know very little about.  The excavation site has only been 5% unearthed and there is so much still left to learn.  What we do know is that they believed in human sacrifice, played a game of “soccer” that could last for up to 12 hours, traded good and services with others in the region and from afar.  There are unique things that separate these people from others in our history, for example, their pyramids were centered on the compass so rather than have the main entrance face the north it was the corners of the pyramid that aligned with the sun.  The people in this region were also taller than our previous ancestors; the average woman here was 5’7.   It wasn’t until the Spaniards started to mix with these people that their heights started to drop.  I’d like to think that we could have take over the NBA and have our own Jordan’s.  The place us absolutely magnificent and there is beauty at every turn, standing on top of a mountain the city overlooks the plains and the people it protected.  “La Quemada” stands for the burn, archeologists have found that at some point in the history of the place there was a great fire and most the place burned down.   However, according to the history of the place it was first called “The Place of the Seven Caves” in their native language.  However, they have yet to find out why they place was called that since they have not found any caves in the area.  But considering so little has been uncovered it is possible that in the mountains lay caves with more stories to tell.  There are five levels to the city and I manage to make it to level 3, I look around and wonder how we managed to complicate such a beautiful world.

The day is not over because today distant relatives have decided to put long time family feuds aside to gather at a family ranch for a party.  All I know is that grandpa’s family has been feuding through out the years over land and money.  As always, it is the children, grandchildren and great grandchildren who suffer the consequences of those feuds.  I don’t care though because to day I am in a place filled with people who carry my last name.  For so long I have grown up with people mispronouncing my last name and being the only anywhere around with my last name and today no one asks how to pronounce it because they all have the same name.  I am excited to look at part of my family tree and see where my nose and eyes come from.  There are goats being cooked up as “birria” and pigs turned into delicious “carnitas” and “chicharrones”.  Corn on the cob is grilled in its husk and people are enjoying the day and each other.  Traditional bands play music in the background amidst laughs and whispers filled with jokes and gossip.  I am tiered from the day’s journey but invigorated at the site of a family gathering.  This is as close to home as I am getting for now.