Public Project
Bishé
Summary
In 1987 my grandfather, Juan Martínez López (Dr. Fan, as he calls himself), and his family immigrated to Mexico City, leaving behind their life in Juchitán, Oaxaca. My family preserves its roots and traditions in the house they once lived in and their community. This essay follows my grandmother as she returns to Juchitan after thieves break in to steal the copper pipes of the system. The mango tree and the Juchitan wind guide us through the memories of my grandmother as I try to imagine a Juchitan when my aunts and uncles were children, when my grandfather was still alive.
Este ensayo sigue a mi abuela en su regreso a Juchitan despues de que ladrones entraran a robar las tuberias de cobre de la sisterna. El arbol de mango y el viento de Juchitan nos guian por los recuerdos de mi abuela mientras trato de imaginar un Juchitan cuando mis tios y tias eran un niñxs, cuando mi abuelo seguia vivo.
(Proyecto de largo aliento en proceso...)
In 1987 my grandfather, Juan Martínez López (Dr. Fan, as he calls himself), and his family immigrated to Mexico City, leaving behind their life in Juchitán, Oaxaca. Despite their migration to Mexico City, my family preserves its roots and traditions in the house they once lived in and their community. My grandmother returns to Juchitán whenever she can to take care of her house and her mango tree that she planted years ago. My grandfather passed away when I was 12 years old, he was a doctor and a writer and he never stopped writing about his home in the Tehuantepec region. I got to know my grandfather through his poems and stories, many of them in Zapotec with translations into Spanish.
This essay follows my grandmother as she returns to Juchitan after thieves break in to steal the copper pipes of the system. The mango tree and the Juchitan wind guide us through the memories of my grandmother as I try to imagine a Juchitan when my aunts and uncles were children, when my grandfather was still alive.
(Long-term project in progress...)
This essay follows my grandmother as she returns to Juchitan after thieves break in to steal the copper pipes of the system. The mango tree and the Juchitan wind guide us through the memories of my grandmother as I try to imagine a Juchitan when my aunts and uncles were children, when my grandfather was still alive.
(Long-term project in progress...)
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