Log of Betting Wins & Losses

I decided to keep a log of my betting wins and losses on rarámuri races. This way, I can monitor how often they race, as well as the development of my new vice.

Friday, March 26

1. Race 1, against Colonia Unidad.
Carita, age 11, ran for Oasis.
10 km.

Amount Bet: 50 pesos
Win/Loss: Loss

2. Race 2, against Colonia Unidad.
Carita's sister, age 8, ran for Oasis.
4 km.

Amount Bet: 100 pesos
Win/Loss: Win

Total earnings for the day: +50 pesos

I normally bet 20 or 30 pesos, but a rarámuri woman named Carolina, who is very open and likes to tease me a lot, pressured (she would object to that word, haha) me into betting this amount. After I lost the first 50, I didn't want to bet on the second race, but she was very confident I would be able to recuperate the money I lost, so I listened to her, against my better judgment. I am glad I did--I ended up winning back my 50 pesos, plus another 50 pesos! So total earnings for the night: 50 pesos.

The first race was the most exciting. Carita, the Oasis runner, was winning for most of it, but she slowed down a lot the last 3 km. This is when many of the women, including myself, began running alongside her, shouting "weriga, weriga!" (hurry, hurry!) and "weh-mah, Carita!" (run fast, Carita!) It was late evening when this took place, so there weren't many cars on the road. Still, the cars that had to stop suddenly to avoid hitting us (we were a huge herd that took up most of the road) and the families who were taking evening strolls must have thought we were a crazy bunch, and me the craziest among them. Imagine a herd of women in colorful dresses, all shouting unintelligable words in high-pitched voices, and me among them. It was a fantastic way to spend a Friday night!

Usually I use any money I win to buy sodas for rarámuri friends, but since it got to be so late I didn't do it. To be honest, the next day I went to Starbucks and had an iced tea and a cookie, which amounted to 50 pesos. I felt guilty, since there were rarámuri women seeking kórima at the crosswalk outside the Starbucks, but it was fun to enjoy my earnings. This time I will chalk it up to a cultural experience. After all, the rarámuri women usually use their extra earnings for a treat too--new material for a dress, a burrito from a vendor, new sandals, ice cream, whatever.

Tuesday, March 30

1. Race 1, against Colonia Unidad (again!)
Sara, age 16, ran for Oasis.
10 km.

Amount Bet: 40 pesos
Win/Loss: Loss

Total earnings for the day: -40 pesos

The festivities for Semana Santa kicked off on Sunday, March 28. The "fariseos" dance from 8 AM until 6 PM (and one night they danced until 10 PM). The women spend hours every morning preparing lunch for the dancers. But even with all the festivities and the extra work that goes into organizing them, the women still found time to hold a 10 kilometer race on Tuesday. Once again, a group of women from Colonia Unidad came to Oasis to challenge. I left the race a bit early because it was going too late into the night for me that day, but the next day I was told that we lost. I walked into Oasis the next morning, saw a group of women sitting in front of the chapel, and said "what happened yesterday?" They grinned at me and said "we lost." They always laugh when they tell me we lost, I think because they like to tease me that I lost money.

I don't think there will be any more races until after Easter. The festivities are the focus of the week, and Saturday will be the most important day. One woman said they would resume racing the Monday after Easter Sunday.

Rarámuri children in Oasis

Rarámuri girl in front of her house

bathtime!

After school hours in Oasis

Behind the Oasis school, some of the rarámuri adolescent boys have turned the walls into a gallery of graffiti art. Here, one boy posing in front of his art.

Another artist in front of his contribution to the gallery


The boys like to imitate the behavior of their older brothers and cousins, taking on "tough guy" attitudes. This is why it surprised me when each boy wanted me to take his picture in front of this wall holding the baby featured in the center of this picture.

Me and one of the most handsome guys I have ever laid eyes on

A quick border crossing

I am in El Paso on a brief weekend visit (I haven't been home since Christmas, and I only live 4 hours south!) All the Walgreens, Targets and Wal-Marts have the Easter treats on sale: chocolate bunnies, Peeps, colorful Easter eggs. But this Easter, instead of painting my world in pastels with Easter Mass, Easter brunch in a springtime dress, and a bouquet of daisies on the kitchen table (I am always inspired to buy flowers this time of year), I will watch another cow be sacrificed and eat the cooked meat the following day. I love that I can travel only four hours by car and submerge myself in two completely different cultures and sets of traditions. Actually, three sets of cultures and traditions, since the raramuri way of life is completely different from the chabochi way of life. I love the richness of borders--not only the physical ones, but the metaphorical ones that emerge only because of the existence of the physical border.

I try hard not to impose my values on the raramuri. I have learned that if I really want to understand "raramuri reality," as one anthropologist puts it, I have to set aside my perceptions of right and wrong and immerse myself as fully as possible in the lives of the raramuri. Setting aside my perceptions of right and wrong is controversial, since obviously some things that occur in life are definitely wrong; how contradictory. But the goal is to allow the raramuris' experiences to become my own, as impossible as that is. It is the hardest I have ever tried to obtain an open mind. I need a lot of guidance. For example, after my first tesguinada (beer-drinking party; very common in raramuri culture), I walked away pretty disgusted and confused. I felt that what I had witnessed confirmed every stereotype about the raramuri. Many of the raramuri were so drunk they were passed out on the ground; some of them were fighting; there were children unattended to and crying. I told an anthropologist that I felt the situation was completely out of control. I received an enlightening lecture about control as a relative concept, a social construction. Then I was guided to consider that complete inebriation is a way for the normally serious and disciplined raramuri to lose their inhibitions in a socially accepted forum. What's more, this loss of inhibition often inspires new couples to get together, and thus the party often sees the beginning of a new family.

At the beginning, it was not hard to be an impartial observer in Oasis, but as I have developed relationships with the raramuri, I find it increasingly difficult not to want to be an actor in the community, especially when it comes to resolving problems. On a daily basis, it's difficult to judge when my interference is imposing my personal values on the raramuri, and when it is actually helpful. Perhaps the two are not necessarily so distinct.I have to be careful--my perception of a problem is not necessarily theirs, as I learned at my first drinking party. Another example: I often see children playing around Oasis and the surrounding neighborhood without shoes or sandals. Most of them have shoes; for some reason, their mothers don't always make their children wear them. I see this as dangerous, since there are rocks and sometimes broken glass on the street. I often have the urge to tell children to put their shoes on, but I don't, since I suspect the raramuri mothers don't view their children running barefoot as a danger the way I do. I know that in both the Sierra and the city, raramuri runners often race through mountains and roads without shoes. Barefootedness is a preferred state--it is not my preferred state, but I try to remind myself to respect them, even while I cringe as I watch children walking on rough terrain.

Today I caved and interfered. I was walking through Soriana with Julissa and we were discussing hygiene. I was curious to know what Julissa knows about hygiene, and how she practices it. I learned she doesn't use shampoo on her hair and doesn't shower every single day. I suspected that long ago, but I refused to let it keep me from hugging her or braiding her hair when she asked me to. I know she's been going to the dentist frequently (I'm not sure why, she can't tell me), so I asked when she brushes her teeth. She told me she doesn't have a toothbrush. I hesitated a lot, but I finally decided to buy her one. I'm careful about giving gifts because I don't want the raramuri to feel that I am patronizing them; and on the other hand, I don't want anyone to view me merely as a gift-giver. I'm particularly conscious about not giving gifts that relate to hygiene, because a common insult around here is "indio sucio," or "dirty Indian." Julissa was delighted with the gift, but I was worried her mom would take it badly. Still, I decided the risk was worth it because I couldn't stand the thought of Julissa not brushing her teeth when she apparently already has so many problems with them.

In the end, Julissa's mom seemed pleased. I took a risk giving such an intimate gift, I think, but I think the time I have spent in Oasis by now has broken down a lot of barriers between me and them. A raramuri told me the other day that I have seen a lot in Oasis, some things that I should never have seen it all--but he said it with a smile.

Some reflections on beauty, fashion, masks, and individualism

"Why do you paint your fingernails?" Jiovanna, my five-year-old friend, often asks me

"Why do you wear beaded necklaces?" I usually ask in return

Julissa becomes impatient with the questions and answers them for us. "Because you like to paint your fingernails, and because you like your beaded necklaces." I like that answer, because it makes me think that Julissa isn't aware that what we wear and what we consider beautiful is more often than not influenced by outside forces: society, religion, our mothers (haha).

But Julissa is transfixed by my eyeshadow. "Today you're wearing brown. Why?"

"I don't know...I wanted to wear brown today. It looks good with this shirt." I always have to give an explanation--saying that I simply felt like wearing this color today is usually not an acceptable explanation to her.

"And yesterday you wore purple. Why?" She keeps track of my eyeshadow every day, and on the days I choose to wear eyeliner only, she wants to know the reason.

"Are you going to wear makeup when you grow up?" I have asked her several times, and her answer is always the same. "Nah," she always says with a toss of her head.

"Why not?"

"It's for chabochis."

Simple answer, but it shows Julissa is highly aware of the differences in rarámuri and chabochi dress. I have come to see how important dress is as a mark of class and racial distinction in Chihuahua. Julissa and other rarámuri girls in Oasis may wear more Western items of clothing than their cousins in the Sierra (plastic sandals instead of handmade tire-rubber sandals, sweatshirts instead of rebozos, baseball caps instead of scarves), but some items of clothing are still not widely-accepted among the urban-dwelling rarámuri. Makeup is not common among the rarámuri of Oasis, except perhaps among the teenagers, who are starting to create a new "look" that mixes traditional rarámuri clothing with Western clothing and accessories. There is a pretty teenage rarámuri girl who wears large hoop earrings and black eyeliner and likes to alternate between her traditional dress and tight-fitting jeans and shirts. Sometimes she wears a rarámuri skirt with a "chabochi" top. One day she walked by wearing jeans, and once she had passed, one of the women whispered, "she's wearing those things backward." The rest of the women laughed as if this was the funniest thing anyone had ever said. The girl wasn't wearing her jeans backwards--in fact, she wore the jeans like a model, I thought. But an adolescent or grown rarámuri woman in pants causes a scandal in their society. Despite Julissa's prejudice against rarámuri wearing chabochi fashions, I suspect that painted fingernails and eyeshadow will grow to become a bigger source of contention among rarámuri mothers and their city-born daughters.

For a while, I wondered if wearing makeup and nail polish made me look too foreign, too "chabochi," and would consequently hinder any possibilities of connecting with the rarámuri on a deeper level. So I started dressing more simply for many weeks: jeans, t-shirts, sneakers, no makeup, and no earrings. If you know me, you know I hate wearing sneakers every day, never go out without earrings, and rarely without makeup. The sneakers were a necessary and practical move, since I do a lot of walking and running. But I discarded makeup and earrings when the rarámuri women first started asking me about it because I worried they would come to the conclusion that I was too materialistic, too "chabochi."

So I spent weeks doing the most simple "getting ready" routine I have ever done: shower, dress, and leave. I have always enjoyed the process of choosing the color for my eye makeup every day, and my earrings for the day, and I soon began to miss what one friend teasingly calls my "face." Discussing it one day with another friend, we came to the realization that I was putting on a mask for the rarámuri; that is to say, I was leaving off my makeup, a part of my dress and daily presentation that I have always enjoyed. "Your true face is your mask," my friend said. And she's right. Not that I have a complex about my face in its natural state; I have no problems being seen without makeup. It's just that my normal me has fun choosing colors to reflect my mood, or complement something else I'm wearing.

I think now that the rarámuri women asked me not because they were judging or being critical, as I initially felt. They are simply curious to understand my perception of beauty, as I am curious to understand theirs. I have often marveled at the hours the women spend discussing colors and patterns in dresses that they are considering betting on a race. There is a defined rarámuri perception of materialistic beauty, I think--the rarámuri women like dress and fashion, and there are culturally accepted norms of dress in their society just as there are in ours. Their dress is an important marker of cultural and ethnic identity, a way to stand out from the crowd of chabochis. But the rarámuri also like to look good for each other (my wise friend says that women dress for other women, not for men, and I think that is so true! I definitely think it's true with the rarámuri of Oasis, at least.) So many conversations with the women turn to dress, and I have overheard so many comments about the color and pattern of another woman's dress when she is out of earshot. It shouldn't surprise me, I guess--I talk about fashion with almost all of my girlfriends. Clearly the rarámuri women put a lot of thought into their appearances, and while it is interesting to consider that their dresses are very significant markers of rarámuri identity, the best part of all has also been fun getting to know each woman's taste in colors, patterns, and fabrics. I think it's easy to forget that my "research subjects" have an appreciation for colors and designs, like any human. My new favorite question to ask: "what is your favorite color?" They always ask me what mine is, and I always tell them that mine is blue.