The epicenter of an earthquake measuring 5.9 this morning was in Oaxaca but it was felt as far as Mexico City The quake was recorded at 8:31 near Huajuapan de León the National Seismological Service reported “As of this moment at the locations where the seismic alert sounded and the earthquake was felt Civil Protection units have not reported any damage,” said national Civil Protection chief Luis Felipe Puente security officials said the flyover protocol had been activated to conduct an aerial inspection to identify damage Metrobús service was suspended to allow for evacuation of buildings near the system’s routes The quake’s epicenter was nine kilometers northwest of Huajuapan a city of about 45,000 in the north of Oaxaca’s Mixteca region Source: El Universal (sp), Milenio (sp) ADVERTISE WITH MND COMMUNITY GUIDELINES Subscription FAQ's Privacy Policy Mexico News Daily - Property of Tavana LLC the Guelaguetza stands out for its deep roots in the Mexican state’s cultural identity The name of this celebration—which takes place every July—traces back to the Zapotec word guendalizaa which refers to the act of making a gift or offering Its origins date to the pre-Hispanic era and the ritual sacrifices made to the Mexica That event almost a century ago was the basis for what would become known around the world as the Guelaguetza de los Lunes del Cerro. “The regions of the state are represented with participants wearing symbolic and representative traditional clothes consisting of elaborate and authentic garments and other items, as those participating in the event bring their gifts and offerings to Oaxaca, the Pearl of the South,” as a member of the festival’s committee described the event. Over the years additional activities have been added to the program for Guelaguetza, including the Feria del Mezcal and multiple culinary events, but the heart and soul of the event continues to be the performances on the stage of the Auditorio Guelaguetza, where audiences gather to see the dances of the eight regions of Oaxaca: Valles Centrales, Sierra Norte, La Cañada, Tuxtepec, La Mixteca, La Costa, Sierra Sur, and Istmo de Tehuantepec. Here are the stories behind the regional outfits that can be seen every year at the Cerro del Fortín, broken down by region. Alitzel Soriano Silva, 26, danced at the Guelaguetza and describes it as “one of the best experiences” of her life. It is possible to hear the pride in her voice as she describes the details of her costume that reflect the stories of the women in her family. “Some relatives were not dancers and so did not pass on the tradition, because they never learned the dances themselves, but they still support you. The costume has many reminders of their solidarity and support.” On top of the blouse she wears a scarf that plays a key role in “the Bull” section of the dance. The woman uses it to demonstrate “her strength, character, and authority to the man courting her,” Soriano explains. The scarf is used much as a matador wields a cape to lure a bull before the climactic moment in the song, which ends with the dancers pretending to kiss. The smiles of the women who dance the Flor de Piña at the Guelaguetza, representing the region of Tuxtepec, enhance the beauty of their towns’ colorful and distinctive huipils. Irasema Martínez Díaz, 21, had the opportunity to dance at the Cerro del Fortín in 2016 and 2018, wearing a huipil made by artisans from Usila on backstrap looms. The huipil also has other symbolic references, including a plumed serpent running across the middle of the design as well as small, pointed peaks that evoke the mountains that dominate the landscapes near Tuxtepec. The Chinas Oaxaqueñas are a striking presence in the festival of the Lunes del Cerro. Guadalupe Estefanía Sumano Benítez, 21, belongs to Doña Genoveva’s delegation of Chinas Oaxaqueñas, a group that has more than 60 years of history performing the Jarabe del Valle. Sumano describes the China Oaxaqueña as “a working woman, typically found in the city’s markets, of upright character and a deep Catholic faith, who honors the Virgin or a particular saint with floral offerings and their dance.” The costume that they wear during the Guelaguetza consists of a blouse covered by a scarf, a skirt, and slippers. The skirt is made of satin in bright colors and the figures of peaks that decorate it are called grecas; each one is made from a pleated ribbon and guipure lace. A starched sash worn underneath the skirt gives it volume, and traditional underwear is worn as well. A final detail related to the faith of the Chinas Oaxaqueñas is a small charm holding a portrait. “We place it close to the heart and it may have the photo of a loved one or the image of a saint or the Virgin,” Sumano explains. She wears one with the Virgen de la Soledad, a patron of Oaxaca.  “When I put on my outfit, I feel beautiful. The braids even change how your face appears,” Simoni Baños Acevedo, 21, says as she recalls her feeling when she was practicing to perform the traditional Chilena de Pinotepa Nacional dance, which portrays the courtship between a rooster (representing a man) and a hen (the woman he is pursuing). Originally from the Oaxacan coast, the chilena is a dance with multicultural roots. The chilena is a seductive and playful dance, and the women who perform it at the Guelaguetza play the part too, dressed in colorful blouses and skirts. Baños wears a poplin blouse that her grandmother also wore when she performed the same dance in 1978. It is embroidered with chaquira beads in the shapes of roses and peacocks that symbolize the elegance of women. Ana Hernández, 30, wears her formal costume representing the Isthmus of Tehuantepec region with the typical bold strength of women from the region. Hernández is an artist and she chooses to dress in the traditional clothing of her region in daily life, as a way of preserving ancient traditions. “Our people have customs and a culture. If we lose our traditional forms of dress, we lose part of our identity and our heritage,” she says. Hernández’s clothes recall celebrations like the Velas de Tehuantepec, local festivals where the women show off opulent costumes of huipils and velvet skirts embroidered with local flowers. That is the same outfit worn during the Guelaguetza, when women from the region dance La Sandunga. The formal outfits of Tehuana women are complicated to make, requiring many hands to finish them. Hernández says that muxes draw the flowers that will later be embroidered by a craftswoman and the skirts have lace frills starched by women known as planchadoras (roughly, women who iron). They dedicate themselves exclusively to this work, a focus that is necessary because of the skills required so that the frills of a Tehuano costume appear absolutely perfect. And then there is the resplandor, a headdress unique to the women of the Tehuantepec Isthmus. It has been worn at festivals and processions since the ‘30s, when it became widely popular. It consists of starched white lace and can be worn two different ways: when it is on the top of a woman’s head, as is common at festivals and the Guelaguetza, its size is emphasized; at religious events, it is positioned so that it frames the face. Finally, the Tehuana costume is completed with a xhigagueta or jicalpestle, a container originally made from a gourd—Hernández carries one. It is decorated with floral designs painted by hand and is used to carry fruits to be handed out as gifts during processions. Or, in the case of the dancers at the Guelaguetza, to be handed out to the public after the end of their performance. “This huipil is of an extraordinary quality," says Remigio Mestas about a traditional Yalalag garment. Mestas is originally from Villa Hidalgo Yalalag, in the Sierra Norte, and he has dedicated himself to textile art for more than three decades, preserving materials, traveling all over the world to spread the work of indigenous artisans, and then, in turn, creating works that are the results of remarkable cultural fusions, using items from other communities. “The garment is a snake in the form of a woman,” Mestas explains. “And on the top of the head of the woman wearing it, there is what is called a tlacoyal, a bun of hair that looks like entwined serpents.” He explains that a number of details of these huipils are related to snakes. The shoulders, for example, imitate the shapes of snakes in relief while, on the edge of the garment, a colorful border is inspired by coral snakes. Huautla de Jiménez is famous for its mountain landscapes that have been the setting of mystical stories, some of them represented in the huipils created by Mazatec weavers. These are garments that are hugely popular in Oaxaca, especially during the Guelaguetza, when barefoot women dance the Son de Flor de Naranjo, wearing traditional outfits with pink ribbons (symbolizing the coffee grown in the region) and blue ones (referring to the sky). These huipils are windows onto the daily life of the community that creates them. Research carried out by the Oaxacan Radio and Television Corporation reveals that the ribbons carry more than one meaning for those who wear them: their horizontal and vertical lines represent the paths that lead to Huautla. They also represent the days of the week, and the huipils of adult women include nine ribbons corresponding to the months of pregnancy. The piece is embroidered on a checkered fabric with motifs based on the birds and flowers of the region, while the collar includes details that allude to the rainbow and the mist that usually covers the mountains of Huautla. Like the Yalaltecan huipil, the Mazatec garment includes a lower part that is woven in a cross-stitch quadrillé. This section of the garment also has embroidery that is related to the important figure of the muleteer. The women of Huautla de Jiménez wear their hair braided with particularly long ribbons and complement their outfits with long necklaces. In their hands they carry a jícara gourd that, during the Son de Flor dance at the Guelaguetza, holds lily petals that dancers throw to the ground to mark the rhythm of their steps. The traditional Soltec hairstyle consists of two braids that are intertwined with silk ribbons and decorated with flowers that represent the wearers’ devotion to the archangel Michael and the Immaculate Conception. “Women wear the braids straight in front, representing virtue and purity,” Huerta explains. In this story: photography and video, Luvia Lazo; creative director and producer, Enrique Torres Meixueiro; hair, Netzahualcóyotl Huerta; production assistant, Tony Girón; location, Casa Armenta. Print HUAJUAPAN DE LEÓN Mexico — My grandmother told me about the missing notebook It had a blue cover, she said, and was unmarked except for “cuaderno de trabajo” written in the italicized superscript taught in elementary schools around Mexico. Kept by my grandfather when he labored on farms and orchards in the United States how much money he earned and — most important — where that money went was that the “notebook of work” probably had been destroyed or thrown out Pedro Martínez, who meticulously recorded his earnings when he was a farmworker in the United States, relaxes at his home in Huajuapan de León, Mexico. (Xavier Martinez / For The Times) After graduating from college in 2023, I traveled to the Mexican state of Oaxaca to visit relatives and to report on the effects of remittances sent back to Mexico I was unable to find old bank records or receipts but my grandmother mentioned the missing notebook one night after dinner I knew I had to see it to learn more about my family’s history so I went to the last place Herminia Rodríguez Andrade remembered having seen it: the village where she and my grandfather were born in the 1940s and started a family Inside the two-room adobe house where the couple and their eight children once lived as subsistence farmers I sifted through photographs and utility receipts filling a cardboard box that sat next to the only bed I found it: a Mead brand spiral-bound notebook The front cover nearly fell off when I opened it revealing page after page of entries that were dry “October 3 I saw how Pedro lived and worked in 2008 and 2009 in the orchards of central Washington They traced every job he had and even indicated the days rain cut a workday short The notebook was the first of about a dozen ledgers that I would find in the adobe house and at the family’s current home in Huajuapan de León He also recorded the day he made nothing at all “X because there was no work.” Some weeks had lots of Xs Pedro Martínez practiced English using a notebook the books were kept to document the transfer of money they tell the story of how remittances sustain life in Mexico remittances provided a source of modest generational wealth for my Mexican grandparents nieces and nephews — to the point where my American family no longer feels the need to send money The notebooks capture pieces of Pedro’s life Pedro Martínez wrote reminders for himself while working as a farmworker in Washington state Pedro drew sketches of the house he planned to build in Huajuapan someday he wrote English phrases that he copied from paperwork or learned from classes in the United States: “Your employee number with Wyckoff Farms is 46450 Please put it on the card.” He also wrote down “cherry,” as in “18 cajas de cherry,” instead of the Spanish “cereza.” the way he viewed each dollar as one that couldn’t fall through the cracks Money sent from the United States plays an oversized role in the economy of rural Mexican states residents collectively received $2.9 billion in remittances in 2022 — equal to about 12% of the state’s gross domestic product according to the Bank of Mexico and government figures the funds are used to fill gaps in social services and to supplement a minimum daily wage of 207 pesos More than 80% use the transfers for basic needs such as food and clothing, according to the bank BBVA while fewer than 15% use the money for education another way in which my family is an exception A street in Huajuapan de León to which the Martínez family was able to move thanks to remittances from family members working in the United States (Xavier Martinez / For The Times) Since the money is often not invested in something that could ultimately generate income or promote development a research scholar at Rice University’s Baker Institute Center for the United States and Mexico remittances have been used for decades as a pathway to upward mobility with envelopes always bearing three stamps a small city in Washington state known as “the Apple Capital of the World,” I knew the importance of remittances from weekly trips to the tienda mexicana would buy telephone cards and call his parents to check on the family or confirm they received the money he’d sent (Martínez family) I knew that my grandparents grew up the way most rural Mexicans did in the 20th century: extremely poor I knew that poverty led Pedro to follow a gushing stream of laborers from Mexico to chase farmwork in the western U.S Pedro drifted from San Diego County to Oregon’s Willamette Valley until he found a job he liked picking fruit in arid central Washington A showcase for compelling storytelling from the Los Angeles Times But there’s a difference between stories passed down and truths I could learn as a journalist It was only while reporting in Huajuapan that I understood the coordination it took to save my relatives from food insecurity and the discipline it took to avoid using newfound wealth for unnecessary purchases When Pedro first crossed the border without documentation in 1978 to pick strawberries in Escondido he lived in a tent on a patch of flat dirt near the farm where he was working Intent on saving almost every dollar of his pay for his return to Oaxaca he ate wild cactus he harvested from the hills It was the largest sum of money the family had ever deposited in a bank at one time: $3,600 and two other farmworkers take a break in Wenatchee (Martínez family) As detailed in the notebooks that sum was the result of months of modest accumulation: $100 on a good day when his wages were above $4 per box of fruit picked and he could fill more than a dozen boxes; less than $50 on others when the dry summer heat made it unsafe to continue work in the afternoon he began to send home cash in monthly envelopes — always using three stamps to ensure prompt delivery Herminia and her young children would pick up the mail and hold these envelopes up to the sun estimating their value by the silhouette of the bills inside down the street from the central produce market They built a small house where seven of their children grew up When my father and two of his brothers joined Pedro in Washington in the late 1980s and early 1990s with remittances paying the coyotes who got them across the border they shared a room in a house and didn’t get to keep most of the money they earned picking cherries at $4 per seven-gallon crate They let Pedro allocate part of their paychecks for their living essentials where their sisters logged each remittance payment in yet another notebook for Pedro to review each time he returned for visits The girls bought new shoes and ate more meat but along with Pedro’s financial savvy came a stinginess that extended to his family He refused to pay for any education not provided by the government My grandfather never saw the point of using remittances for educational purposes — or for any expense beyond what he deemed immediately essential This view is common among many Mexican recipients of remittances either because their finances are so limited that extra money is spent on necessities or because they undervalue education as a key to advancement who studies the effects of remittances at University of the Isthmus in southern Oaxaca my father was in his early 20s and starting to become disillusioned with life in the U.S He had left Huajuapan to avoid becoming a laborer like his father and yet the only jobs he could find were in Wenatchee’s orchards enrolled in English classes at a community college and began to work in restaurants Using the same method of accounting pioneered by their father in the blue notebooks he and his brothers directed their remittances to go toward their sisters’ education My dad paid for his sister Nubia’s accounting school Daifa Norma went to a teachers’ college in Mexico City and Maribel went to Oaxaca City for nursing school Lupe and Herminia picked 21 boxes of cherries his spine bent by years of climbing ladders with 40-pound bags of apples on his back Macular degeneration slowly took over his vision until he was blind and the family had to decide whether Pedro was strong enough for surgery and the doctor gave a 20% probability of a full recovery the chances of survival appeared lower without an operation The family opted for surgery at a private hospital in Huajuapan rather than at the nearest public hospital in Oaxaca City which would have required a bumpy three-hour ambulance ride using the frequent flier points he had stockpiled for years to secure a last-minute flight from Seattle to Mexico City he walked into Pedro’s room and found him awake and responsive The toxic gallbladder floated in a dark liquid inside a plastic jar on the bedside table The decision to take Pedro to a private hospital rather than a subsidized public institution despite the uncertainty of what the final bill would total exemplifies the family’s financial stability The hospital bill exceeded 100,000 pesos (roughly $6,000) an astronomical price for many in the region but a cost that the family could afford with contributions from Pedro’s children Remittances did not pay for Pedro’s potentially lifesaving surgery But they did facilitate the generation of wealth that allowed my father and his siblings to save money for unexpected medical expenses the family nurse who tended to Pedro’s wounds after his surgery gained the skills she had from the investment of remittances Sergio Martínez looks through a family photo album with his mother (Xavier Martinez / For The Times) It has been years since the family has been concerned about having enough to eat Though the family once relied on a field they planted with crops that field has essentially been allowed to go wild Herminia and Pedro now harvest whatever the field yields — something to supplement the pounds of meat and masa that are purchased each week to feed the home’s eight permanent residents: an assortment of children and grandchildren grown out of its dependence on remittances no longer pools money or sends set amounts each month The investments he and his brothers made in education have paid dividends for those still living in Mexico are able to take private English classes and participate in enrichment programs that my father and his siblings could only have dreamed of Other Mexican families have not been as fortunate as mine accidents or injuries prevent migrant workers from making enough to send money that can accumulate as wealth remittance money is “spent on something without any benefit for the family,” said Castillo Villegas 1991: Pedro and Herminia picked 28 boxes of cherries Shortly after my grandfather’s surgery my cousin Carmen Méndez Martínez sprinted across the concrete driveway to where the family was seated at a table “¡Me aceptaron en la UNAM!” she said, panting. She had been accepted to attend the National Autonomous University of Mexico, the country’s most prestigious public university. The adults congratulated her, but their tone was somber. It meant that Carmen would be leaving Huajuapan and, if her aspirations of exploring the world as a doctor were fulfilled, she would not be returning. For Nubia, her mother, it brought to light concerns of the family’s closeness. Would her daughter visit? Would she still feel a duty to help her family? Carmen is one of 16 grandchildren under the age of 21; the return on my family’s educational investment is just beginning. One cousin wants to be a dentist, another wants to join the U.S. military. Inevitably, they will continue to spread out. And to think those ambitions can be traced back to ledger entries such as “December 5, Friday. Eight hours pruning apples with Eri.” Three weeks after Carmen was accepted to UNAM, she was on her way to Mexico City. She said her goodbyes to her stoic aunts and siblings, tears in their eyes. When she got to Herminia, her grandmother, Carmen bowed her head for a blessing. Xavier Martinez is a special correspondent. Lifestyle California Climate & Environment Entertainment & Arts World & Nation Subscribe for unlimited accessSite Map