After I heard that Beatriz was widowed and 55 years old, I asked whether she had a boyfriend. Beatriz's two grandchildren looked up at her with wide brown eyes, and I could almost hear them thinking, "A boyfriend? My grandmother?"

Beatriz Vásquez López laughed shyly, the lines around her eyes crinkling, and said, "No, no boyfriend. No man has even approached me. Besides, I'm a little old." 

She ran her hands down her hips and said, "And I used to be fat. Two years ago my daughter saw an advertisement for pills in a perfume magazine and ordered them for me. I took them for a month, and even though I ate regularly, I lost fifty kilos." Then she ducked her head, instantly shy after having mentioned her figure and also wanting to avoid my astonishment and disbelief. "Fifty kilos?" I questioned, and she nodded.

Beatriz and her daughter, Juana, work in Feed the Hungry's kitchen attached to the kindergarten, primary and secondary schools in Palo Colorado outside of San Miguel de Allende. Our interviews took place as we stood in their busy kitchen, surrounded by the flowered plastic tablecloth, bright bowls and food steaming on the stove. Juana's children hang around with the hopes of learning more about their family, and probably are even more curious about this gringa who keeps coming by to talk with them. Words fly between mother and daughter, the mother usually gaining the advantage. At times there are awkward laughs and hesitations between them, a silent agreement to answer me one way rather than another, leaving me knowing that there is more to the story. 

Most of the schoolchildren that Beatriz and Juana feed live in Palo Colorado and can walk to school, but the few who live along the side of the road near the recycling area are often picked up by the teachers on their way from San Miguel. Some of the secondary school students travel a few miles from Marroquín de Abajo.

The strong administrative and teaching staff at Palo Colorado's school require the children to line up inside the classrooms so that they go to lunch in an orderly manner. I watched as only 10 students at a time approached the kitchen, and as they waited, they stood along the wall. Once they received their bowls of rice, nopales, garbanzos, tortillas and salsa verde, they went around the corner to a concrete picnic area and found their spots on bright blue benches that had been built by their parents.

As if I were in her home, Beatriz offered me food. She is proud that the children ask for another serving-sírvannos más, they say-and after I had eaten the same lunch as they had, I understood why. However, as I picked my way around the nopales, I watched Beatriz scrutinize my bowl, and I knew I had to confess to not liking them. 

She is never at a loss for words, and my dislike of the green cactus paddles gave her the opportunity to tell me that she grew up malnourished-her father, a gardener at the Atascadero Hotel, liked nopales so much that the family ate nothing else. "Nopales he loved," both Beatriz and Juana said, "and cane alcohol." 

After I gobbled up the delicious rice, I asked, "Did you soak the rice in water beforehand?" Beatriz, knowing immediately that she had an interested audience, told me the whole recipe, down to water temperature and when she adds the tomatoes and when the onions. A fussy cook, she even sorts through the beans, taking out any that aren't whole and perfect.

Then she started to talk, dark eyes flashing under strong, bushy eyebrows. And talk. And talk. As if to explain herself, she said, "I'm very cheerful."

When I interviewed her again a week later, she had dressed up. Gone was the apron over an apron and absent, too, was the hairnet that held in her dark brown hair with gray roots. This time she wore a dress and only one apron, ready for the photographs she knew I'd take. Even so, she hid timidly from my camera, all the while smiling broadly, showing off the silver that lined her teeth. And then she made sure I had my bowl of rice.

Feed the Hungry pays their cooks with checks. Beatriz's husband learned to read and write a little when he was in the military, but she never went to school and can do neither. To cash checks or sign for remittances, she has learned to sign her initials, "BV." She took my yellow legal pad and with great deliberation and pride showed me how she did it. 

The only bus to San Miguel leaves at 7am, which would require Beatriz to miss a day of work to cash her check. Since she needs the money to buy "soap and chiles" and to pay for her electricity and water, she waits until school is over and catches a ride with the teachers. In reality, neither Beatriz nor Juana goes to San Miguel often. Instead, Juana's husband takes their checks into the city to cash them.

That day, Beatriz complained that although there is a well in Palo Colorado, someone had neglected to turn it on, leaving the school without water for three days. When the children came to school, she had asked them to go home and bring water their families had stored at home so that the Feed the Hungry kitchen would be able to serve meals. That day, a Friday, they couldn't wash the dishes.

Palo Colorado is named after the coral tree-the cooks called it the colorín-that blossomed with such bright red flowers in the spring that their ancestors thought it looked like a red stick, the translation of Palo Colorado. Some trees still exist in the hills, but Beatriz says the area has been heavily logged. 

The road to Palo Colorado goes by what passes for San Miguel's private recycling spot. Mattresses, an old bus, a washing machine, barrels and stacked cardboard boxes lie off to the side. At first glance, the fence around the trash looked delicately artistic, even vaguely familiar, and quickly I realized it was made with mattress innersprings looped together. Some people are even tempted to give the name Box Springs Road to the Camino a Palo Colorado.

After the road turns toward the village, it becomes a path and meanders past green fields and herded cattle. On the right side are irrigated patchworks of alfalfa, corn and oats, outlined by tall, thin casuarina trees. The fields belong to Rancho La Vida, whose owners employ 20 people in Palo Colorado. The ranch backs into Villas de Candelaria, home to some of San Miguel's most elegant real estate.

Then the dusty road creeps up a hill and the schools are the first to greet arrivals. Mesquite and huisache trees follow the road up to Palo Colorado's center, where the owners of Rancho La Vida, along with San Miguel's government, hope to build a plaza and improve the streets. For now, however, the center consists of a tienda, more innerspring fences mixed in with cacti, and a small church tended by a priest who comes from Atotonilco every two weeks to say mass. About 300 people live there, according to Beatriz. She and her husband were born there, as were their ancestors as far back as she can remember. 

Beatriz, at age 12, cleaned homes in San Miguel for a while before, at age 15, she married. Her husband, who had papers to legally cross the border to the United States and return to Mexico whenever he wanted, died in Florida when she was 38; she says he became involved in a fight and was shot five times by another Mexican. 

The news got back to Palo Colorado, but her husband's brother first told Beatriz that there had been an accident. Then he went to San Miguel's La Pípila Preparatoria School to tell the truth to Beatriz's son. The body was sent back to Mexico for burial in San Miguel's cemetery. Beatriz hadn't seen her husband for three years when he died, but he had regularly sent her money. As she told me about his death, the usually smiling Beatriz started to cry as she explained that this forced her two sons to drop out of school to support the family. 

When Feed the Hungry's kitchen opened up at the Palo Colorado schools in August of 2003, two of Beatriz's daughters went to work there as cooks, but eventually one's husband did not let her continue. Most women in Palo Colorado follow the tradition of women asking their husbands' permission to work or do anything. But Beatriz, a widow, didn't have to clear it with anyone, and she took the job. When I asked her whether she liked that, she said, "Pos, sí." One of the reasons she enjoys her freedom is that she can visit whom she wants and no one asks her what took so long. 

Then she quickly added that even though she didn't like being without her husband, he would not have wanted her to work were he still alive. 

Gray tendrils frame Juana's round face. She is shorter than her mother, has almond-shaped eyes, straight eyebrows and a full mouth; at 32, she has a peaceful, calm look about her. She finished secondary school, worked in Rancho La Vida's garlic fields for three years, and at age 20 married a man from Palo Colorado with whom she has had four children. 

She said that when the opportunity came to work for Feed the Hungry, she didn't ask her husband's permission to work. Instead, she asked whether he minded, and he said he didn't. 

The custom, however, of asking permission is something she is teaching her own daughters, even though she hopes that in the future they continue to study and eventually leave Palo Colorado to work where jobs pay more.

Both of Beatriz's sons live in the United States now with their families. One works for the same boss her husband worked for when he died. Juana and Beatriz's other two daughters live in Palo Colorado, one with Beatriz. Neither Beatriz's family nor her husband's ever owned any property. For 40 years, Beatriz has lived on Rancho La Vida's property, and for the last four years that has been owned by Jim Dolan and Nick Coates. 

I asked Jim Dolan about what will happen to Beatriz in the future. He said, "She's lived there forever. We're not going to make her move." In fact, Rancho La Vida owners sponsor the Feed the Hungry kitchen, which means they pay for operational costs each year. 

Dolan and Coates have also let Beatriz fence in her own home with cactus and wire so that animals don't cross the property where she lives. Beatriz described her home as being un solo solar, which means that it is like an informal family compound, albeit on another person's property. Seeing that I could not quite imagine what she was talking about, her natural hospitality surfaced and she asked whether I wanted to see it. Off we went, grandchildren included.

The wire fence keeps in pigs, a burro, dogs and assorted animals. The gate, in Palo Colorado tradition, is made of mattress innersprings. Beatriz unhooked it, threw it to the side, and made a humorous comment about it being the door to where she lives. 

She showed us the house her husband had built and where they raised five children. The house has brick walls, a tin roof, one small, dark room, no windows, no bathroom and a concrete floor, but now it is equipped with a stove-she doesn't cook on it because gas is too expensive-and a refrigerator that a son gave her for Mother's Day. Full bags hang from the rafters, I suppose to keep the contents safe from varmints. An electric light bulb dangled from the ceiling, and a sink with a faucet testified to Palo Colorado's well. A mattress leaned up against a wall, but where seven people once slept is anyone's guess. 

To the side of the house is another hut made of stone that houses the kitchen where she cooks rather than the one with appliances she merely looks at. A pot of beans steamed over wood on an open fire that she must have lighted before she went to work. A hot kitchen in the summer, cold in the winter, or so I thought until she told me that the weather in Palo Colorado was much better than the freezing temperatures she encounters in San Miguel. Still, one can only imagine what havoc the muddy rainy season brings to her life.

Beatriz now sleeps in a nearby house that belongs to her sons who are in the United States. Her room has a bed, two armoires, and a color TV set-another Mother's Day gift. When the sons return, she goes back to the one-room house built so many years ago by her husband.

And the view from her solar? A million-dollar one of the verdant Bajío, breadbasket of Central Mexico. 

Juana and her family live in a small house on her in-law's property in Palo Colorado. Her husband spent four or five years working in the tobacco fields of North Carolina, but he now builds houses in the village for those who send remittances from the United States. If that work dries up, he will have to leave again, this time to build houses in San Antonio, Texas.


Both women appreciate their jobs and thank God and Feed the Hungry for helping the children. The teachers have told them that before the program, the students would be so hungry that they would fall asleep in class. "I like my job so much," Beatriz said with a laugh, "that I'll die in this kitchen."

How did a woman with no education bring up children with relatively good educations? Beatriz said she had always asked her children when they got home, "Your homework? Your book?" They had chores to do, but they always did their schoolwork. 

How would she describe her life? Happy, she said, flashing one of her big smiles. Especially since she has no problems with her children. They have been successful, and they don't fight with each other. 


Should I ask again about those 50 kilos? I decided against it. Instead, I commented how interesting it was that, although she could not read or write, she ended up with a job at a school. The irony wasn't lost on her. "I never went to school. But now I go daily. Here I am." And then she smiled that big smile again, warming up the Feed the Hungry kitchen as if it were her own home.

Dianne Walta Hart is writing a series of stories about the women who work for Feed the Hungry. She is a Senior Instructor Emerita of Spanish at Oregon State University and has written two books based on oral histories, Undocumented in L.A.: An Immigrant's Story and Thanks to God and the Revolution: An Oral History of a Nicaraguan Family. She and her husband, Tom, divide their time between Oregon and San Miguel. 

To read stories Dianne has written about cooks and kitchens in Jalpa and Los Ricos de Abajo, access the Feed the Hungry NewsLetter at: www.feedthehungrysma.org/news.htm 

Cinco de Mayo: Cultural amnesia north of the border
By John Barham


With the Hispanic population of the United States estimated to account for up to 14 percent of the total population, Cinco de Mayo has become a major holiday north of the border. At the same time, it has also become a significant opportunity for corporate entities seeking to tap into a market numbering some 43 million consumers. Unfortunately, most of the marketing efforts seem to focus on activities that leave much to be desired in terms of relating the true historical and cultural importance of the 1862 Mexican victory over the French at Puebla.

Last year, José Cuervo, the world's largest producer of tequila, conducted a contest online and through participating radio stations in the US to select winners for an all-expense-paid "Cuervo de Mayo" holiday at Cuervo Nation, an eight-acre island in the British Virgin islands, which featured a concert by Hoobastank and appearances by other celebrity rockers. The theme of this celebration was "Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of a Good Time."

And, in Los Angeles, Ventura Foods took advantage of a Cinco de Mayo celebration at Whittier Narrows Park to propel overhead a passenger bus-sized tub of Gold-n-Soft margarine in order to tout its no-cholesterol product to the largely Hispanic gathering.

At the same time, Domino's Pizza was pitching its products through a "555 Deal," which promoted three medium pizzas for $5.00 each. Also, listeners of participating radio stations could enter contests for "5-5-05 Prize Packs," which entitled winners to gift certificates for pizzas, soft drinks and Cinco de Mayo gift charms.

2005 also marked the fifth anniversary of the Chrysler PT Cruiser; to celebrate five years of the automobile's cruising US highways. Chrysler, on May 5, unveiled a 900-pound, life-sized red, white and green birthday piñata in the form of the automobile. The PT Cruiser replica piñata contained 1,200 prizes, including t-shirts, candy, beach towels, windbreakers, sunglasses and a set of keys for a free lease on a new Cruiser that could be driven away the very same day.

For Cinco de Mayo 2006, Anheuser Busch, Miller and other major brewers are erecting billboards and producing TV spots notable for scantily clad brunettes exhibiting ample cleavage, while hoisting beer in front of backdrops faintly suggesting Hispanic themes.

Despite all the hoopla, surveys conducted of individuals attending Cinco de Mayo festivities indicate that most revelers know little or nothing of the importance of May 5 in Mexican history. Nevertheless, a little history goes a long way in coming to an understanding of how an event that occurred more than 140 years ago has become so enshrined in the consciousness of generations that it has taken on cross-border significance, albeit somewhat weak on substance to the north.

By 1861, the French Emperor Napoleon III had conferred with conservative Mexican exiles in Paris. On the basis of their complaints against the liberal government of Benito Juárez, Napoleon decided to embark on a foreign adventure that would see French troops intervening in the sovereign affairs of Mexico. Later in the year, French forces entered Mexico, ostensibly to collect debts, but in reality to install a monarchy that would be under the sway of France. Napoleon's timing for the French intervention was opportune, as the US had become embroiled in the Civil War and was unable to enforce the Monroe Doctrine.

Marching from Veracruz toward Mexico City, the French, who were led by the Count of Laurencez, were under the mistaken impression that Mexican conservatives would greet them with open arms at Puebla. Instead, they found a Mexican force made up of regular troops, militias and volunteers commanded by Texas-born General Ignacio Zaragoza.

Showing little regard for the fighting ability of the 4,000 men under General Zaragoza, Laurencez, on May 5, 1862, threw his 6,500 well-trained French regulars into the center of the Mexican lines. They were repulsed and, after two more futile charges, withdrew to Orizaba. Four days later, on May 9, President Benito Juárez decreed that henceforth May 5 would be a national holiday.

Stung by this initial defeat, Napoleon would send an additional 30,000 reinforcements to Mexico. They captured Mexico City and installed the Hapsburg puppet Maximillian as emperor. 

Although Mexico temporarily fell under French influence, the Battle of Puebla proved to be a rallying point for Mexicans, who had learned that a crack European army could be defeated. Eventually, the French would find it in their best interests to abandon Mexico, and by 1867 Maximillian and his allies had been defeated.

What began as the celebration of the defeat of imperialist forces invading an independent nation has been blurred in el Norte by all-out consumerism and the purveyance of alcoholic beverages. No doubt, there are many who know the significance of Cinco de Mayo, but they are overshadowed by the powerful influences of the media and the corporate entities that pay the advertising bills.

At the beginning of the 20th century, the Spanish philosopher José Ortega y Gasset warned of the "new barbarians," who, in his mind, were individuals who could not be synthesized or incorporated into society because of the failure of traditional civilizing institutions to imbue them with the culture from which they had sprung. Such individuals would have no point of reference from the past and would be unable to understand the age in which they lived. They would be the new barbarians, vaguely clinging to cultural roots that would have no meaning for them.

Perhaps if Ortega were alive today, his diagnosis of society to the north would point to a growing form of cultural amnesia, and the uninformed celebration of Cinco de Mayo would be taken as a principal symptom of the condition.

John Barham, who has been visiting San Miguel de Allende for more than 18 years, has had a lengthy career in higher education, serving as an instructor and an administrator in colleges and universities in Alabama, Texas, New York, the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia and Missouri.