A couple days ago, I noticed a status on facebook. One of my friends from Guadalajara, Mexico had posted, "Que le han hecho a mi cuidad :(" (for those of you who don't speak Spanish, it means "What have they done to my city").
Uh oh. Not Guadalajara. That's my city too. I went straight to google. What news I found definitely wasn't happy. Lately, there's been a lot of drug cartel violence in Guadalajara. There's been vehicle burning, grenade-hurling, police shootings, street blocking, and more. It made me really sad.
I've always known that drugs were a serious problem in Mexico. In fact, not soon after we met them, our Mexican friends told Lauralee and I that we lived in the part of town where the drug lords lived. Suddenly, all the big houses, electric fences, and fancy cars took on new meaning. Lauralee and I made many the wild speculation as we walked to school. Because Gabriel (one of our best Mexican friends) had told us not to throw around words like "narcotraficante" or any other drug-related words, for that matter, we called them "DL casas"--DL standing for drug lord.
Guadalajara was a unique city. It's true--there were a lot of drug lords that lived there. However, it was also one of the more peaceful cities of Mexico because none of the drug lords wanted violence where their families were. They protected it in a way. Kind of an ironic situation. But because of the stillness, drugs and the associated violence were just a faint hum in the back of my mind for most of my time there.
Then one day, we found out that the Mexican army had shot the leader of Sinaloa a mere two blocks from our house. It was a big deal--Sinaloa was one of the biggest drug cartels in Mexico. Our host mom and Mexican friends both told Lauralee and I to be very careful. They told us that members of Sinaloa or other drug cartel members might possibly start coming to Guadalajara to seek revenge or to gain power. We were careful. And if we were ever out past dark, Alejandro would either give us a ride or Gabriel would walk us home.
Shortly after the shooting, we had a picture scavenger hunt for FHE. We had one picture left to take. One of a police officer, a guard, a police car...I'm not exactly sure anymore. But as we were driving past a patrol car with a couple officers standing outside of it, we realized it was perfect for whatever we were trying to get a picture of. I snapped a couple pictures with my camera. They started gesturing wildly at me. Then they got in their patrol car and started to follow us. I started to freak out a bit and Manuel (the driver--another of our Mexican friends) told me that I shouldn't have taken the pictures because it was against the law. Great. I had just broken the law in Mexico. Whoops. I couldn't believe it. AH. Manuel told me not to worry--he'd explain, and everything would be okay. We pulled over and the officers all got out of the car. I could tell they were upset, but I couldn't understand a word they were saying because they were speaking so fast. Thankfully, Manuel explained that we were all just exchange students who didn't know what we were doing. He showed them the list of pictures we needed and our camera. He gave them his ID and showed them his papers. They let us go. Later, he explained that the police were all on edge because of the shooting. For all they knew, I could have been a drug cartel member scoping them out, putting them on the "to kill" list. Me? No way. It was a big wake-up call.
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| The infamous picture that got me in trouble. |
Yeah, I've always known drugs are a problem in Mexico. But during my short time in Mexico, I also came to know a couple of other things as well.
Being such close friends with the Mexicans meant that we got to have tons of serious conversations with them. They took us to see famous historical moments, told tales of their heritage, explained the many states of Mexico, discussed what it meant to be a real Mexican, and pondered over the current problems facing Mexico. They knew that Mexico had problems. They still loved Mexico with all their heart. I still remember the respect in their voice as they talked about the Mexican flag. And that one time Lauralee and I were riding home with them in the car and the Mexican national anthem came on. The conversation stopped as they sang the anthem with soul--and conversation resumed once again once it was over. To tell the truth, I think I learned to love Mexico as I do because they taught me to see it as they see it. And once you see that, it's impossible not to love it.
When I think back to Mexico, I don't think about drugs or cartels or violence. I don't remember ever feeling really scared.
I remember hearing all the music in the streets, listening to countless singers while we rode the busses, and dancing to the beat of a Mexican band one summer night. I remember having a water fight in the fountain in the central of Guadalajara in the middle of a pouring rain storm...and the countless water fights that followed that one. Salsa dancing twice a week. Late night trips to Chapala to walk on the beach and eat burritos. Taco runs several times a week. I remember trying real Mexican churros for the first time. Buying my soccer jersey at San Juan de Dios (my first successful bartering encounter!). Singing hymns in Spanish at the nursing home every week. I think about Juan Pablo--the cutest little Mexican boy you will ever meet.Watching the world cup. Cheering at a Chivas game. Horseback riding. Hanging on for dear life on los camiones (the busses). Watching movies in the theater. The crazy rainstorms. Francis--and her wonderful Mexican food. Walking through the beautiful beautiful cathedrals and churches. Watching a Mexican bride walk down the aisle. Six people in the back of a bug. Buying ice cream bars at all the local farmacias. Jesus Rosas and his camera--capturing the beautiful, sad, ecstatic daily life of Mexico.Brightly colored houses. Eating fresh tortillas with nothing but a little salt. Sitting on a pyramid with Lauralee, Gabriel, and Alejandro, and just talking and talking. Church dances. Riding in the back of pick up trucks. Misunderstandings and inside jokes. Talking to the Mexican students at our university. Drinking (sin alcohol) strawberry daiquiris on the beach. I remember trying to play soccer [an epic fail on my part], watching airplanes land, and seeing the entire city at night from the mirador. Perhaps most of all, I remember the friendships I made and how I felt when I had to leave.
That last night was rough. I knew it was the finale of what had been the best, most wonderful two months of my life. We went to Taroscos. I started feeling sick. Then we decided to go to Tlaquepaque. I was not going to give up my last night. I went. Then I started feeling awful. Really awful. My stomach was hurting so bad I could barely stand up straight. This+state of general emotional instability=no bueno.
So when Lauralee grabbed me, pulled me away to the bathroom, grabbed a paper towel, and started cleaning off my shoulder...I looked down and almost threw up. A bird pooped on me? Seriously? I knew then that the heavens were just determined to rain on my parade.
Lauralee and I said a lot of our goodbyes in Tlaquepaque. I was not the only teary-eyed one. We Americans are such saps. We really are.
I continued to feel sicker and sicker. I thought I was going to lose it on the car ride back. We finally got home. We said goodbye to our ride and bless his kind heart, he totally understood when I cut it short because I had to sit down or throw up or something.
Alejandro and Gabriel came by to say goodbye after they had dropped everybody in their car off. By then, I had a fever and couldn't stop shaking. They gave me a blessing and then we actually had to say goodbye. Boy, Lauralee and I just lost it right then. I don't know if anybody understands how close we had gotten over the summer. They are both truly great people--maybe two of the greatest friends I've ever had in such a short period of time. After they left, Lauralee and I sat on the couch, hugged each other, cried our little hearts out, and promised up and down never ever to forget everything we had learned and experienced.
I couldn't pack because I could barely sit up, so I just lay in bed in a general state of misery. Somehow, thanks to Lauralee, my things ended up packed...and by some miracle, I was feeling well enough to travel the next day. I remember walking into the airport, feeling something entirely different than from when I had first entered the airport two months prior. I had a window seat and I remember watching the plane climb higher and higher until I couldn't see Mexico anymore for the clouds.
It had been a summer--the kind of summer that dreams are made of. It was a summer in which almost every day, Lauralee and I looked at each other and would be like "Dude. Estamos en Mexico. Mexico."
It's kind of sad that Guadalajara is changing from that kind of a magical memory to a city that makes it into the news for drug violence. It's really sad, actually. But when people talk about Mexico and bemoan its fate, I still resist it. Because if you can look past those things--all the ugliness plastered all over the news and all over the walls of people's minds--you'll be able to see the beauty. See the love and patience and patriotism and life and passion and humanity.
That's the picture of Mexico I wish everybody could see.
