Mexican Road Trip: A Mexican Farming Cooperative
It looks funny, I laugh, I have never seen one like it.
It means there is starting to be a calcium deficiency, she says, and in the next few weeks we will start to add it to the feed. We have a market through a distributor but we don’t get paid for six months, so we have to manage our money very well. One of our members does all the bookkeeping and accounting. There are 11 women in the cooperative here, we started out with 30 women. But it’s hard work and many dropped out. The government started out with 22 cooperatives but now there are only four left…and they are all run by women like us. You know how the men are here, she laughs, they get a hundred pesos in their pocket and they are off to the cantina, she laughs, so the only ones that have made it are the ones run by women.
We own our land and two delivery trucks, she continues, but don’t think it has been easy…we have had all sorts of problems. First the government made us take out loans with a bank that charged us 40% interest, we finally paid it off and then decided to not borrow any money. The government said they wanted to help us but then they want it for themselves…we heard they were working with the bank and that was obvious, she laughed, they wanted kickbacks. Then, as we became more successful, the women that dropped out of the cooperative tried to sue us for money…they were too lazy and wanted us to do the work and then pay them… Then we got sued over the land as they wanted to build some houses or quitas here…so we have spent a lot money on lawyers just trying to keep what we have…sometimes I get angry but what can I do? We just keep working and paying out what we make to others and I get tired of it…but finally after five years we are starting to see things go better for us. But we cannot assume anything, she laughs, here there are always those wanting to take away what we have…and we have to fight to keep it.
Her son Carlos walks up to us. She touches him on the shoulder.
Senor, I don’t want him to go back to Chicago…it’s too dangerous, said Esperanza, he’s already gone twice – how many more times does he have to go? Why does God do this to me? The strain and agony was obvious.
I’ll tell you why I go, said Carlos – a bright young many in his late twenties, in Chicago I can make at least $400 dollars a week, here in Merida I make 600 pesos or about $60 dollars a week…that is when there is work. So here if I work more hours, I still don’t make enough to get ahead. In Chicago, I get overtime or I can find another job.
It costs about 30,000 pesos or $3000 dollars U.S. to get there, he continues, and it takes anywhere from a week to ten days from Monterrey. I only come back because I miss my mother and family – other than that, why come back? I have to laugh at all our politicians here on the news talking about how they want to help protect our human rights in the U.S…what caca that is. What about my rights here in Mexico? Is it my right to work 10 hours a day and may 600 pesos a week? Where are my rights there?, he asks.
I shake my head. I’m getting used to having no answers…
So I have to make sure I’ve got enough money to get back…otherwise I cross on my own, he continues, I did that the first time I went and was caught three times before I made it. It’s the same so I may as well pay the money – it’s less of a problem in the long run. I cross in Arizona and it’s about two days walk through the desert…the women, children and elderly struggle but it’s not so bad for me…and I do it in March or no later than April, he laughs.
I’ve got two cousins in Chicago so I first go and stay with them, he says, they have been there fifteen years and don’t go back to Mexico at all…they are half Gringo now, he laughs. It’s much easier to have a place to stay and they usually feed me some too…at least until I get my first job and can live on my own. That’s the problem in Chicago, everything costs, he laughs.
Then when I get my second job things get better, he continues, except I don’t sleep very much – except on Sundays when I sleep all day. Sometimes I fall asleep at the bus stop and folks are nice and ask me if I’m sick and need to go to the doctor…but I’m not sick, only sleepy.
It’s a different world there, he continues, the streets are wide and straight and it looks if everything is planned. The culture and the people are different…if the police give you a ticket, you have to pay it – you can’t give them a bribe. And then there is the English…where I stay and work there is no need to speak English but I try to learn what I can…it’s hard when I work all the time. I looked into going to school but there are so many requirements I didn’t do it this time…and it is very expensive. But I’m going to at least take some classes this time…if I don’t, I will never learn English or get ahead. I’ve had co-workers that have been there 20 years and they do the same job…
I don’t want him to go, said Esperanza rubbing her eyes, but I can’t stop him. I get angry at our government and all the corruption here but it doesn’t help…he is going to go anyway. I can’t stop him…I tell him I don’t want the money he sends but he goes anyway…he doesn’t like it here at the chicken farm and I can’t blame him for that…but why does he have to go like that? Why does he have to walk across that desert? Sometimes I wish they would catch him so many times he would get frustrated and come back for good…but I know that won’t happen. Would you want your son to go?
No, I answer, I would not. I have no other answer…
Jack D. Deal
