Tag Archives: first person report

From My Friend Winn in Oaxaca: Inside and Out

This just came to my inbox. I can alway rely on Winn to report about what it’s like on the ground in Oaxaca. These are extenuating circumstances! I told her, “This is so beautiful. So stunningly clear. So eloquently expressed. I am in awe of your ability to write from your heart to say what you will. A reflection that expresses the feelings of many of us.” And, I asked her permission to post it here. She agreed.

24 July 2020

And life goes on … in the time of cholera, no, Coronavirus. We will all remember this time, and mark our milestones as “just before lockdown,” or “during our time at home,” or “once we could finally travel again,” certainly.

My time continues in Oaxaca. Been here since the first week of February. My phone app tells me I’m still booked to fly back to NM [New Mexico] on August 19, the first day that international flights are promised in and out of Oaxaca. But now, when I check for updates, it is with a shrug of the shoulders and a “we shall see what we shall see” attitude.

In my Jalatlaco house, I have my “entertainment stations.” There’s the comfy red chair with its lamp and a spot for the cup of coffee, for reading. (My pile of books-in-process right now includes Ta-Nehisi Coates’s The Water Dancer, Paul Theroux’s On the Plain of Snakes, and Jane Smiley’s Moo.) There’s the splayed-out cardboard duct-taped together to make a smooth flat surface and laid atop the twin bed in the downstairs bedroom, for puzzle-making. There’s the lawn chair in the driveway-garden area with a turned-over wooden box for the bottle of water, for playing solitaire or listening to podcasts or checking news, email, or WhatsApp messages on my phone. There’s the table for breakfast or playing Cribbage with Phyllis or more reading. There’s the other comfy red chair with remote controls and laptop close at hand for the hours of binge-watching (love those Korean series!) and dining alone in front of the TV. There’s the outdoor garden where I water and trim plants that are bursting forth in this lovely weather. And I just move among those stations throughout the day, after my morning walks out into Centro for necessities (mostly comestibles and cash). Upstairs, my stations are for daily-elementals tasks—toothbrushing, showering, laundry, and of course, sleeping.

The other day, my neighbor Judi drove me to Home Depot to get a new pump for the garrafon (the 5-gallon water bottles that everyone uses for drinking-cooking water). It was my first time in a car since Judi and I went grocery-shopping in early June, and only the third or fourth outing since mid-March. Never again will I take for granted the luxury of being able to drive wherever I want to go, and the feeling that everything I want or need is within reach because I can simply get behind the wheel and go get it or see it or visit it. Yes, of course, I could get a taxi, but they are high-risk ventures these days, possibly loaded with contagion, so I walk … and walk … or just stay home, where I have control and feel safe.

The other day, as I walked across Llano Park toward the neighborhood grocery store, I saw a lone man doing tai chi. An old man, moving with some stiffness but with beauty and tranquility. I slowed my pace, and then as we made eye contact, I Namaste-ed him and he back to me. The group of women with whom I’ve been doing tai chi in that park for some years now has not met since mid-March, and still cannot do so. Oaxaca is in code-red again, according to Mexico’s red-light/orange-light/green-light classification of Covid danger zones, so the yellow tape has gone up again around all the parks and plazas and no groups can gather in any public places. But a lone tai chi practitioner, or a walker, can duck under the yellow tape and proceed without hassle from the ubiquitous police, who are mostly a benign presence here. Even the lone runner I see often, who runs around that same park with seven or eight dogs—of all sizes and shapes—can get his exercise and make a little money keeping those dogs entertained and healthy, without hassle.

But oh, how I miss my tai chi ladies, mis Reinas de Tai Chi and our regular sessions, which give a sweet structure to my schedule. I miss seeing the families who come to the parks together. I miss the bounty and energy of the open-air markets. I miss the long, chatty coffee-dates with friends. And outings to nearby villages on market day or for a museum show or a festival. July is typically a riotous month in Oaxaca; it’s the month of Guelaguetza, with vendors and dancers and parades and fireworks all over town. But it’s been quiet this month, eerily quiet. The church in Jalatlaco, a block from my house, has been broadcasting music on Sunday mornings and then a loudspeaker mass, for the neighbors who are afraid to come to the church for services, but then the churchyard, typically a place for gatherings and food vendors and weddings or quinceanera celebrations, goes quiet again for the week. Only the morning bell of the garbage truck, the distinctive cries or sounds of the street vendors who pass by, the jingle of the gas truck, the barking of a neighborhood dog, or the occasional late-night bass-playing from a nearby house break the prevailing quiet.

I love it here, still, even in this long time of sequestration. I can stay safe here and feel strangely content. I send vicarious support to the Wall of Moms in Portland and other brave folks like them, to folks in the States enduring the shameless failures of the Orange one and his administration, to those out of a job or worrying about finances or the survival of their business, to my neighbors and friends in Taos and elsewhere. But here, in this time of solitude and introspection, and in the long run, I know that, if I (and we all) survive it, there will be value in what we are learning now.

Oaxaca Speaks: COVID-19 Report #3 — Elsa Sanchez Diaz

Elsa is a family member. She is my goddaughter, married to my godson Eric. I’ve known her for 14 years. She is pure Oaxaqueña, born and raised in the La Noria section of the city. In addition to hearing from people who look like me, aka foreigners, I think it’s important to take the pulse of locals, too. We are moving without a compass through this very serious time of navigation with an enemy, COVID-19, a virus we cannot see, touch or feel until it touches us.

As with others, these are the questions I asked Elsa along with her answers:

Norma: Are you going out at all?

Elsa: No, I am staying at home. Eric is going to Chedraui to buy things. The person who lives in and helps in my mother’s house is going into the market that is close to us, just once in a week.

N: What is your experience overall?

E: I am worried because not many people in the beginning were taking restrictions abut this virus. People continue to work.

N: Why did you decide to stay at home?

E: Because my mom is alone even when my brother came every day to see her. She won’t leave the house because she is worried about her dogs, and also about leaving the house alone.

N: What are you observing?

E: I see now that people are trying to take more restrictions about washing hands etc… There are no tourists, but people from Oaxaca continue going to the market to buy stuff etc. The other important thing is that police are on the streets asking to people to go home and not to stay in parks, etc…

N: What are people telling you about corona virus?

E: Well, that it is a virus that comes from China and the best way to avoid it is wash your hands, don´t touch your face, and try not to go out of the house.

N: What is worrying you most?

E: We don’t have the health infrastructure. Doctors say that many hospitals don’t have masks, glasses, equipment, etc. And I am very worried for my mom, Eric’s mom, and my grandma.

Also the worst for this virus is coming in these next weeks and I am scared about it. I hope everything is fine, and that nobody that I know dies.

And for me the other thing I am worry about it, is my work! We depend on the tourism and what I am reading is people won’t travel maybe until October. I continue working to dye fabric and cotton yarn, and maybe I can ship some of it.

And how are you Normie? I have Santiago at home, so I can’t answer fast because I am trying to play with him more than usual. Eric told me that you are staying with Jacob. That was the best  decision.

March 25, 2020: Mexico News Daily report about Oaxaca stay-at-home measures.

Norma’s Notes:

Elsa’s dad died last month from pancreatic cancer, within a year after he was diagnosed. She is worried about her mom, recently diagnosed with diabetes and her mother-in-law, who is also diabetic. They are at risk, as is her over-80 year old grandmother. Eric works for a progressive organization that closed their doors early last week, and he is now working from home. Their two-year-old son, Santiago, like many others his age, wants social interaction and stimulation. We can magnify Elsa’s story a zillion times around the world.

As for me, I’m in Huntington Beach, California with my son Jacob who forbids me to go into any store. Our physical shopping is now down to once a week. He goes. We sanitize. Online is how we manage the essentials now. Just like you!

A Note About Grief from Sarah Resnick, owner of GIST: Yarn & Fiber, who says it much better than I ever could. I believe we are all grieving for our freedom, a way of life we took for granted. Elsa is grieving the death of her father magnified with the fear she has for her loved ones with compromised immune systems.

And this is what Mexico is doing. Thanks to Jenny Brinitzer for sending this my way:

Please stay healthy, everyone.