On life and liberty

My mother-in-law and father-in-law and 7 of their 11 children. From left to right, B, P, C, father-in-law, mother-in-law, L, Mr, Ma and my husband

My mother-in-law and father-in-law and 7 of their 11 children. From left to right, B, P, C, father-in-law, mother-in-law, L, Mr, Ma and my husband

This weekend marks the 8th month anniversary of the death of my mother-in-law.  Her death has been a devastating blow to this family and there is no closure yet, no peace.  She died as a result of injuries suffered when a police vehicle plowed into the moto that she and my father-in-law were driving through an intersection.  Her body was caught in the front grill of the truck and carried another 200 meters, then it fell to the ground and was run over.  The police vehicle has been estimated as traveling more than 200 mps.  As the police hit the back of the moto, it spun around and hit the side of the truck.  My father-in-law flew into the air and landed on his back, fortunately out of the path of the truck.

Both were taken to the hospital.  My father-in-law was released the next day and arrested by police waiting at the hospital door.  The law here is that all parties involved in an accident are detained and the vehicles impounded while an official investigation takes place.  The officer had already posted bail and was out on the streets on active duty by this time.  It took us 24 hours to come up with the 8000 pesos for my father-in-law’s bail.  During his incarceration, he was not even given a glass a water, nor his pain medications.

Immediately upon his release, he returned to the hospital.  My mother-in-law meanwhile had been transferred to the regional hospital.  The small hospital she had first been admitted to said she would be fine in a few days, however, they didn’t have the staff to operate on her shattered leg.  Thus, the transfer.  She was conscious and in extreme pain, however, the small hospital did not take x-rays of her bruised sides and therefore missed the fact that her 2 broken ribs had punctured her pancreas and she was bleeding internally.

When she arrived at the regional hospital, she was rushed into surgery.  She had been 24 hours without any sort of treatment besides a seeping bandage on her leg. Her condition was upgraded to grave, life-threatening.  She had severe head injuries and her arterial vein of her leg was severed. Not only was her pancreas in pieces but a large section of her liver was damaged.  She lapsed into a coma. We contacted her children in the States and told them to come if they could.

We waited three days at the hospital.  She was now on artificial respiration.  She was authorized to be transferred to Léon, however, her doctors did not think she would survive the trip, so she was not moved.

Her best friend Doña T came to visit and stayed with her for over an hour, talking with her and encouraging her to open her eyes.  Her eyes fluttered.  Within an hour, she had returned to consciousness.

Meanwhile, unexpectedly, her son J, who she hadn’t seen in 18 years, contacted me through the miracle of Facebook.  My husband and I hadn’t heard from J since we left Virginia, in nearly 5 years.  J was living in Tamaulipas, near the Texas border and wanted to talk with my husband.  We immediately called him and made arrangements that he come to see his mother.  He was on the bus that night. He arrived the day my mother-in-law was released from ICU and he was able to visit her.

Now that she was no longer in ICU, but still needed around-the-clock attention, and the family was required to provide someone to care for her.  Her daughters, L and P, were the primary caregivers, however, the daughters-in-law, G and myself were also pressed into service.  My shift was that Saturday, 8 pm until 8 am.

It was exhausting, both physically and emotionally.  When I arrived, she was conscious and alert, however, wasn’t able to speak.  I jabbered for several hours about the PAN meeting I had gone to in her stead and various bits of gossip she had missed out on during her hospital stay.  However, she became weaker and I noticed she had an extremely high fever.  When she drifted off, I went to the nurses’ station and asked that someone please come and look at her.  They took her temperature and said she needed a specific medicine immediately.

I texted her son B who was staying in the albergue (beds provided for family members of patients).  He had to go to an all-night pharmacy several miles away for this medicine as the pharmacy at the hospital was closed for the night.  While we waited for him to return, the nurse gave me a bowl of water and a cloth and told me to try and get her temperature down using wet compresses.   The elderly woman in the next bed also had an extremely high temperature and her husband and I took turns at the sink in our battle against the raging infections.

The medicine arrived and was administered, however, the relief was temporary.  In the wee hours of the morning, she was again feverish.  Meanwhile, our elderly neighbor died and her body removed to make room for a new patient, whose was in agony and extremely vocal about it.

My mother-in-law lingered another day and all her family that was present in town were able to make their last farewells.  She was conscious briefly at the end, made her confession and received the last rites.  Then she was gone.

We weren’t given any time to grieve.  Now that she had died, the charges against my father-in-law were upgraded to homicide and his bail revoked.  The police had begun their cover-up while we were still at the hospital.  They claimed that my father-in-law was racing the police car across the intersection, that my mother-in-law did not have her helmet on, that there was some urgent police business that necessitated the excessive speed of the police vehicle, that the moto hit the police car first, that my father-in-law was to blame for his wife’s death.

It was a race against time.  My mother-in-law’s body was taken to Yuriria for autopsy and would be released that afternoon.  All of her children needed to make statements with a lawyer immediately or my father-in-law would be rearrested.  We needed to make arrangements with the funeral director and inform the family in Cerano. And to top it all off, Jesus had sent another lawsuit that needed immediate answer, or I too would be in jail.

Now, 8 months later, this court case is still in limbo.  The police are still denying fault even though we have submitted a video taken seconds after the accident that refute the officer’s version of events.  Witnesses that at first were willing to testify have been ‘convinced’ otherwise.  Anonymous threats have been made against the family as well should we continue with the lawsuit.  And the thing is, at no time were we asking for monetary damages, even though my mother-in-law was the sole income provider for her household.  Nor were hospital or funeral expenses present in the demands.  There is not even a demand for a new moto as it was completely destroyed in the accident.  All that we are asking for is justice.  That my father-in-law does not go to jail on charges of involuntary manslaughter for the death of his wife.  That these charges brought against him by the police officer that drove over my mother-in-law are dropped.  Seems like we are whistling in the wind for all that we are heard.

The police officer, who is identifiable from the video, has been transferred to another place.  In my opinion, for our family, that is for the best.  The anger and grief his careless actions have caused have left this family with bitterness and rage.  Should this police officer be seen by any of us, there is no telling what might be attempted and with what result.

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Filed under Death and all its trappings, Health, Safety and Security

On being a burro

margarito

Nothing having money for a proper saddle, my father-in-law crafted one with blankets and cement bags.

To call someone a burro, is to imply they aren’t intelligent and therefore not much use besides working in the fields. It’s true, they don’t have the panache that horses do, and therefore true caballeros (gentlemen, although literally translates as one who rides a horse) are not donkey owners. But I must admit, burros have their uses.

We had our first introduction to donkeys when we bought my father-in-law a young male burro that he had his eye on for awhile. He was christened Margarito, and my father-in-law was delighted. My mother-in-law was not so delighted. Her father-in-law, the father of my father-in-law, was kicked by a burro and died of internal injuries and she was sure his son would go the same way.

Margarito was a handful to be sure. Burros aren’t like horses. They may be smaller, but they are unpredictable. With a horse, it’s possible to sense when something is up, but not so with a burro. All of sudden, just for the heck of it, it may kick out his back legs or roll on the ground, not caring that it might be still attached to a plow or someone might be on its back.

So I have what I consider a healthy fear of burros.

Margarito had wanderlust. Periodically he would pull himself loose and head out into the great beyond. Then we had to go and find him. Once he went missing for two weeks. We finally found him when a neighbor mentioned that he had seen him tied about 3 miles away. So there we tromped to get him back.

Finally, my father-in-law traded Margarito for an elderly pregnant burra he named Chona. Chona was an experienced work donkey. Even at 10 months along, she could pull the plow with the best of them. She didn’t fuss or buck.

In due time, she presented my father-in-law with Fabian, a wooly little burro. My in-laws also profited by selling cups of burra milk for 40 pesos per cup. Apparently, it has medicinal properties and people from town would drive all the way out to La Yacata in order to have freshly squeezed milk. Donkeys are not like cows. They do not give an overabundant supply, just enough to feed their offspring, so the rarity of it increases its value. This extra profit won over my mother-in-law to the benefits in keeping a donkey around.

Fabian, being young and male, was unruly. When he was big enough to be hitched to the plow, his training began. But he did not take to it at all. Berinche after berinche. (Tantrums) Once, he had managed to uproot the entire tree he had been tied to. Being loose, he started moseying about. However, the fact that the tree was following him, must have spooked him and he reared up and took off running down the road. He wasn’t hard to find, leaving a well-swept trail behind him. Eventually, Fabian was sold.

donquita and chona

The one on the left is Donquita, and Chona is on the right.

Then my husband decided he too wanted a burra to plow and we bought Donquita. She was about a year old and so skinny. She had been living in a corral with about 10 other donkeys raised specifically for their milk.

burros plowing

Donkeys, when mild tempered and trained, make excellent plow pullers.

She worked well beside Chona and between the two of them, we plowed and planted about 2 acres in total this past year.

However, Donquita was jumpy. My father-in-law (and myself) had the concern that by accident she might give a back kick and hit my son. When she did eventually kick my husband, we sent her up the lane to live at my in-laws, where now pregnant, we await the birth of her first La Yacata burrito.

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Filed under Animal Husbandry

Authentic Teacher, Authentic Learners and me

Welcome to the January 2013 Authentic Parenting Blog Carnival: Authenticity

This post was written for inclusion in the monthly Authentic Parenting Blog Carnival hosted by Authentic Parenting and Living Peacefully with Children. This month our participants have written about authenticity through character, emotions, and establishing authentic communication with their children. We hope you enjoy this month’s posts and consider joining us next month when we share about Honesty.

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small poppins

The word authentic means “something that has the authority of its original creator. . . The adjective’s original meaning in English was ‘authoritative’; the modern sense ‘genuine’ did not develop fully until the late 18th century.”
–from the Dictionary of Word Origins by John Ayto.

Today, looking through the paper, I came across a help-wanted ad for a teaching position. Hmm, this could be just what I needed, I thought to myself. I could use that extra bit of money and it would only be a few months, 6 at most, until the school year ends. I wonder what happened to the other teacher that he/she didn’t finish out the year.

Then I noticed the name of the school. It happened to be the same school I had worked at 3 years ago and quit before the end of the school year.

Now, I’m not the type of person that just gives up on something, especially teaching. I love to teach. That year I was teaching first grade and it couldn’t have been more delightful. Students are so open and excited to learn at that age. So what happened that I felt there was no other option but to pack up and leave?

The coordinator accused me of incompetence. She said that I did not turn in my lesson plans or complete the activities required in the classroom. It wasn’t true. As it wasn’t the first lie she told about me to the school owners, I knew it wouldn’t be the last and I felt the time had come. I had all my materials moved out 30 minutes after school finished that day. I don’t know this woman’s reasoning, perhaps she was jealous, perhaps she felt insecure about her own English, perhaps she just didn’t like me. Whatever her rationale, from that day on, I refused to continue to give authority to someone who would speak lies about me. So I walked out.

Since then I have discovered or rediscovered passion for my work. I teach ESL students that range in age from 4-75 with a twist. I’m no longer the typical teacher with a certain agenda to plow through. I no longer have to answer to anyone for the number of pages we cover in a day. We play language games, listen to Shel Silverstein’s Where the Sidewalk Ends: Poems and Drawings silly ly poems, sing songs, and always have time for a conversation that is only slightly unrelated to the class topic.

As I am teaching English in Central México, not in the United States, I teach my students not just a language but a culture and a way to communicate with persons of that language and culture. It means sometimes explaining the dirty jokes, or correcting pronunciation or grammar, or talking about the history and transformation of the language over time. It’s more than memorizing where to put the verb in the sentence. There are things that just can not be translated and there are things that for which no words are necessary, so we look for alternate ways of communicating together. It doesn’t get much more authentic than that.

And my students learn, as only they can in an authentic language learning setting. They come to class full of excitement, express disappointment that the class hour has finished and look forward to the next lesson. They have learned how to be authentic students as well, something sorely lacking in a traditional classroom. I grant them the authority over their learning and they teach me what it is they need to learn. It’s a win-win situation. This is how it should have been all along.

Instead of taking that traditional job, (although I could use the extra bit of money) I will continue spending my days with my not-so-little anymore son, whose wacky teacher I have always been.

See Also: Learning and Teaching Year 1, Learning and Teaching Year 2, Learning and Teaching Year 3, Learning and Teaching Year 4, Learning and Teaching Year 5, and Authentic Teaching and Learning and me

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APBC - Authentic ParentingVisit Living Peacefully with Children and Authentic Parenting to find out how you can participate in next month’s Authentic Parenting Blog Carnival!

Please take time to read the submissions by the other carnival participants:

(This list will be live and updated by afternoon January 25 with all the carnival links.)

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Filed under Carnival posts, Education, Teaching