Friday, December 4, 2009

A world with no England

I roll over to find a spoon in my face, dripping sticky gold liquid. Open my mouth obediently. Grimace as the cough mixture runs down my throat.

Shortly after, a second swallow of surprise as she jettisons Vicks in an enthusiastic splurge over my chest.


She places both bottles on the tiles next to my trestle bed and makes me swear I will have more in the night.

And that I will drink all of the water in the bottle in her other hand.

And that I will take the pills concealed in her palm.

I dare not ask her what I´ve just swallowed. Do my best impression of a back-shelf nodding dog. Lie back, sniff, turn a few times in my musty nest.

I´m in a world of menthol. The fumes rising from my chest keep me awake. I can hear the steady breathing of Eva, asleep by my side, and Norma, the old lady´s daughter, under a towel on the sofa. Quesadillas sit heavy in my stomach.

A few hours ago we were lost in Los Mochis. Now we are in the blanketing warmth of Norma´s family. Norma, of wide eyes and worried, O-shaped mouth. Norma, who approached us slowly in the train station car park, with a blank stare and eyes that grew even wider when she heard of our predicament.

In exchange for use of our phone we have use of her family. Another of life´s trump cards, produced with a flourish and accepted with that nervous trust one is constantly forced to adopt in this situation.

It seems we are the best entertainment they´ve had in years. Eva parries the onslaught of sometimes baffling questions, from a family that seems to grow bigger every hour. They want to know everything. "Where are you from?" they ask again. "Yes, we know you said England. But what country?"

She and her impeccable spanish go to great lengths to explain the existence of Europe, with the aid of an invisible map that hangs in the air in front of her whenever she meets a new family member.

It is one of the more amusing dialogues I´ve had the incredulous pleasure of observing. "England is near France. No? Germany? Spain? Switzerland? Yes, there are lots of countries in Europe. It´s across the Atlantic, between Asia and Africa. The Atlantic is the sea that starts at Veracruz and Cancun. Sorry? Veracruz and Cancun? They are on the other side of Mexico."

They laugh unconcernedly. "We don´t even know where Chihuahua is!"

The old man is the only one to show any sign of recognition. "Rome is in Europe!" he says with excitement. The family gaze at him proudly.

While we might find it unbelievable that some people have never seen a map, it has become clear to me since then that this is by no means unique in Mexico. The pressure to go to school just isn´t there. As Eva wisely says, ignorance breeds ignorance. An illiterate family will likely produce illiterate kids. Although obviously not the same all over the country, it will be years before this country - indeed, most countries in Latin America - produces a generation where going to school until the age of sixteen is more common than working or roaming the streets.


Norma´s mother is 67 and has lived here all her life. She has eleven children. I wonder how.

More importantly, where did she keep them? The house is formed of just two rooms, with an outhouse for a toilet. People keep emerging from the bedroom. The most compelling is an old woman who shuffles towards us, lip-licking, blanket-wrapped, to hold our hands and mumble meaningfully. "You can swim?! My, my, you have been around!"

The morning feeds us hotcakes with honey and fried tortillas with egg and chilli sauce, eaten with a few spoons scrounged from around the house. (Imagine my constant joy at mealtimes here eating amongst a population that largely ignores cutlery. I baptise myself with salsa twice a day.) We are overwhelmed by their generosity. Offers of food- and medicine-money are brushed away with waving hands. "A friend of Norma´s is a friend of ours!"

We daren´t remind them that we met Norma just minutes before they arrived the previous night.

More family and friends arrive on the conveyor belt to wish us luck. We are sent smilingly on our way with biscuits, antibiotics and a lift to Topolobampo, the closest town on the coast.

We tumble out of the car to a shimmering heat and the smell of salt on the air. We have finally reached the sea.

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