As we were heading to the church in Tlacochahuaya, there was a heard of small goats (chivos) and burros crossing the street. I jokingly commented: traffic. After class as we were standing at the taxi stop waiting for a ride back to Oaxaca, I couldn’t resist noting again that we were seeing some traffic.
The man maneuvering the tractor stopped to say hello and then headed off down the street.
Tlacochahuaya has no hotels or restaurants. It is a place committed to producing agricultural products such as garlic. In addition to meat and vegetables, the town also boasts leather products.
Luis, one of the men who opens the school for us, has offered to show us around the town if we arrive two hours early on Monday. He asked us what we have seen already: the church with its big organ. What else? He will show us around, give us the grand tour, even show us his leather workshop. He has, he assured us, a truck large enough to accommodate us.
Luis rides a small bicycle, one you might see a twelve-year-old riding; he speaks English with us as well as we can speak Spanish, and he practices our names. Today he asked, “Which one is Heather?” I said, “I am.” He used me as the starting point and went down the list: Jamie, Jane, Jessica, Kate.
I got it. We were arranged in alphabetical order in his mind.
shewhodaresnothing 