Breathe
By Leticia Bonifaz
The indigenous girls of Chiapas grow up under the bluest of skies and among the greenery that results from the sum of all the greens. All this, together with the green water of the endless rivers and the green of the grass and the crickets that are the first contact of their bare feet and the first thing that awakens the curiosity of their hands.
The girls of Chiapas have an infinite horizon that goes far beyond the mountains. Green the closest ones, blue the ones that have already been touched by the distance. They begin to name things in Tsotsil, Tseltal or Tojolabal with the sound of the voices of the ancestors. The mush, (navel), is buried close to the house. It returns to the earth to take root.
The house is, most of the time, a single room in which many siblings and siblings live together. The big ones take care of the little ones, among other things, they must make sure that they do not put dirt in their mouths with the inevitable result that worms grow in their tummies sooner rather than later.
The girls of Chiapas run among the trees or the cornfields. They have no toys other than stones, mud and twigs. They begin to learn about plants, insects, the phases of the moon and the eternity of time. When they ask their elders why certain things happen, the answer is the same: "that's the way it has always been", referring to the origin of time.
In the kitchen, the firewood that the mother and the older sisters brought from very early in the morning is ready. The fire begins to burn. Above is the whitewashed comal on which the first tortillas are born, which, with their roundness and whiteness, nourish the whole family.
All eyes are focused on the fire and the transformed dough. Sometimes there are beans, sometimes not. Just a pinch of salt or a little bit of chili is enough to bring out the daily food. We are daughters of corn and early in the morning we pay tribute to the God of fire.
Outside is the milpa. Sometimes tiny, showing its first sprouts and other times, as Novo would say, with "great stature, its badly shaved appetite, its notebook under its arm and its torn sleeves" In the cornfield there are also smiles, because the corn shows its teeth among the multiple layers that cover it.
It's time to go to school. Sometimes, they are lucky that their teachers also speak the language they grew up with. At other times, they have the opportunity to start speaking the Castilian that their grandparents used to call them. There, they also learn that there is another green, the green of the flag and that they come from omnipresent ancestors: the Mayas. The images in the books do not lie. There are the same noses and the same almond-shaped eyes.
They are now old enough to walk a long way without getting tired. They can now go to town to buy shoes, the ribbons for their blouses and the fabrics for their skirts. They begin to see another world that is not always kind to them.
With a few more years, the harshness of the world becomes more real and catches up with them. They begin to know fear when the father arrives under the effects of posh and the mother endures beatings and humiliations. They watch in horror when the older sister is handed over to a man they barely know. They are grown up when they themselves go for the firewood and begin to carry the water. To carry becomes the most used verb. To carry the firewood, to carry the water, to carry the corncobs, to carry the younger brother, to carry a life that seemed idyllic and that is getting cruder and cruder. The great horizon closes, the future shrinks, only some dare to go beyond. What is beyond for them?
The opinions expressed are the responsibility of the authors and are absolutely independent of the position and editorial line of Opinion 51.
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