To start then, I decided to devote one post to work. Not just your regular punch-in-punch-out 9-5 job, but rather the amazing things people do to create work where there is none. In other words, I'm talking about what many would refer to as the "informal economy"--that untaxed, unregulated, and often domestically-organized and mobile entrepreneurial sector that dominates public life in Mexico. People work hard and often at many jobs.
For instance, there's the "juice lady" at the nearby park. She set up her stand in October, starting with just the stand itself, a hand-juicer and some hand-written signs. Somehow, though, she knew what she was doing and she inserted herself into an important niche, given that this park serves as a frequent "track" for early morning runners and walkers. So, within two months, her business has expanded dramatically, as reflected (and also driven) by her use of an electric juicer, the introduction of a large coffee maker, the integration of a variety of other fruit juices and chocolate milk, as well as granola and sweet breads. Her stand is always full! And to help her with all of this business, she's even hired a "helper" who is usually there juicing oranges, slicing fruit, or fetching cups.
Another favorite of mine is the "tamale guy." On many a morning, I would have to run errands down to the Zocalo before heading north back to the ICO. I was always amazed to find the tamale guy blazing the trail before me. He cycles around, touting his hot tamales and atole, making his presence known by a very distinctive loudspeaker refrain of "tamalestamales, tamalestamales...." He would hit another park just before ours and he would met at every turn by hungry mid-morning snackers in search of a warm bite.
Speaking of warm bites, we were somewhat frightened the first time we encountered the "platano man," another wandering vendor who frequents our neighbor, albeit at night. We had long heard the shrill whistle of his plaintain (platano) steam machine but, being used to Tacoma, associated it with trains. About a month into our trip, we finally put the sound together with the man one night when we encountered him pushing his coal-fired steam engine-powered platano cooker through a distant neighborhood. Upon arriving home several hours later, we saw him pass outside our window. That's when we realized that his nightly rounds, bringing platanos to the people, must be at least five miles! And while that distance may not seem impressive, think about the fact that he is essentially pushing an oven which from the front looks like an open furnace! In this picture, he's actually stoking the fire and adding more fuel to flame. Whether or not you like plantains, he gets extra perseverance points in my book.
And yes, platano man's flaming fast food highlights the two main ingredients on which Mexico's informal economy thrives--hardworking, creative people and an absolute lack of safety regulations. Don't believe me? Just take a look at the way a recent fair at our local park was powered. I had to marvel at the way people at the fair deftly negotiated power cords criss-crossing all of the walkways, all leading toward this huge conglomeration of pirated electricity. I'll admit to suppressing a strong urge to trip on these cords and see multiple stands and kiddie rides go dark. Seriously though, while I could clearly see the "danger" in these industrious, informal operations, I was continually impressed with the ingenuity they represented and the way that life, without regulations and the threat of liability and lawsuits, could provide so many people the opportunity to make an honest living.
Of course not all of this arduous labor was evident in the light of day. Some things that looked innocuous enough--like say, the tortillas women were always selling in the market--were actually the product of long hours of somewhat hidden domestic labor. Just like Dona Tonita, my empanada lady's 2:00 a.m. routine, these women in Teotitlan that I had the pleasure to know, get up at 4:00 a.m. every morning to "whip up" 100 large tortillas for daily sale. During that time, they have to collect the wood, start the open flame, press out the tortillas, cook them, and then take them to market. Considering this time investment, it sure seemed like nothing under five dollars a tortilla would be sufficient remuneration.
And lest my thoughts on work seem anthropocentric, I thought it only right to include the important behind-the-scenes labor done by these noble beasts of burden, all in service of mezcal. That's right, this noble steed is pulling around a wheel that pulverizes the cooked maguey plant into a mush that is then fermented and distilled (twice) into the famous Oaxacan cousin to tequila--mezcal. Like the tortillas, after seeing this long, labor-intensive process in person, it was hard to imagine having a casual shot of mezcal without thinking about the massive investment of both man and beast that went into its making.While these examples illustrate just some of the most mundane and impressive forms of work, there were many more examples that I didn't get a chance to photograph. There were, for example, the rural campesinos carrying large bundles of firewood on their backs to fuel wood-ovens at home. There were the many men hand-chiseling the stone terraces that now line the entire south side of the Santo Domingo church. There were the street cleaners who swept all of the cumulative rubbish from the gutters and sidewalks in the dark at six o'clock each morning. Obviously I could go on, but I'm realizing that I've been more long-winded than I planned to be in this particular theme. I guess it's just that the more I saw, the more I appreciated the long-laboring people I encountered and the many ways that their collective work contributed to the the sights, tastes, and sounds that make this place all that it is.
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