"Stay in your room, the teachers are being teargased.", Dr. Richter exclaimed. I could barely make out her image and mumbled voice through my shower's little obscured window. Did I just hear correctly? As fast as I could, I ran to see if it was true. Looking out my door, I saw three Latino men, small in built, wearing towels and t-shirts about their heads, climbing up a set of iron spiral stairs. I swung open my curtains and kept looking up, as I put my shoes on when Liz appeared. She was maneuvering a white cotton t-shirt in attempt to use it as protection against the translucent force. I offered her one of my big towels and wet it down for her. She took it and embarked upon the roof. I told her to be careful, for she wore the look of determination upon her brow.

I paced the small area in front of my TV, as I kept lowering and raising the volume in attempt to hear anything about what was happening outside our hotel. There was no coverage, only futbol (soccer). This happened and the “TV” was clueless. I was reminded, of Professor Maldonado when he listed lack of unity among Mexico as one of the barriers of growth. When citizens support each other, social and business development will thrive. Education or lack of is instrumental in maintaining the extreme level of poverty in this state of Oaxaca. Where 21% are illiterate and only 18% remain in school, teachers become the core, the key to a brighter future. If the teacher’s basic demands are met, perhaps the optimism the Professor spoke of, (to have faith that improvement is possible), will proliferate.

the woman sitting on the ground was the target of the Governor's tear-gas.

I believed, by this time I was capable of reciting the names of each member of the Mexican futbol team. Once again, questions ran rapid, when the sound of a helicopter, in close proximity, eliminated my doubts. Reality hit my stomach.

As others appeared, with towels hanging down the front of their faces, I grabbed my camera, cell phone, wet my own towel and followed up the tiny stairs. I saw the three men in the corner using a professional camera and I do not really remember who else was there. It was only the night before that I discovered, (Blair pointed out to me), that my digital camera is capable of video. The footage I captured is only about 4 seconds worth, for I was not familiar with the feature. The thought to take still shots never resurrected I just kept looking down at the scene. The tarps were gone, there were blankets, cardboard and debris everywhere. The city block had a wall of police officers, wearing riot protection gear, on both ends of the street. The church bells kept ringing and ringing. Facing the black military force were groups of local people shouting and taking a stand. Firefighters wearing the traditional yellow suits were standing behind the line of Police. The helicopters hovered over a building about five blocks away when I noticed the three in the corner ducked. Again, my stomach reacted this is for real. We are in the middle of some heavy @#$%. When my professor appeared and ordered us down, no problemo.

The teargas had not really effected me and I thought wow the wet towel really does work-right. The invisible substance sent me back to my room where I immediately splashed water into my eyes, advice given to me when my eldest daughter got a hold of my mace. The best description: someone rubbed half an onion into my eyes and nose and I swallowed it. Presently, there are now two unmistakable distinctive smells in my memory bank, marijuana and teargas.


It occurred to me how did the teachers and their families manage, when the filled canisters landed within a few feet or maybe inches away.

I decided to inform my family, at least my husband Daniel, in case the news reached Texas. After 15 minutes of trying to reach him, (I just knew the Mexican government had interfered with the phone lines), the phone rang. At first, “I played it down”, for I knew what his reaction what have been if he understood the full extent of the situation: Get out now! Explanations, reassurances and promises were made. Sharing and speaking the words to my husband, to someone who was not there experiencing the same helped. He said he was going to put a call into a friend of ours, Ramon Cordoba Sanchez, who is an employee of Univision, (Spanish news station), in attempt to get the word out.

Mila first informed me that people in the street were yelling two teachers and a baby had died. She really looked upset it was obvious she was in disbelief. Professor Richter reminded us, until confirmed it is not fact. It might have been an attempt to sensationalize the situation.

I kept to my room, flipping the stations and then became suspicious. Where is everybody? I walked out and noticed that the hotel’s front doors and Spanish wrought iron gates were locked. Underneath the crack of the door, you could see shadows of figures walking by. One of the hotel empolyees, Mr. Alberto Perez Hernandez directed me to the office door. There was Professor Richter on the internet surrounded by, her husband and little girl, and about six other students sitting here and there. My professor was working feverously to send pictures and video to the San Antonio Express-News, an extremely slow process. She then asked us to leave the office; we would be called in one by one to download what ever our digital camera had to offer.

On the way to my room, my phone rang my husband called back and said to expect a call from Univision’s producer, Rod. Denise re-surfaced and informed all, the hotel owner Mr. Albert Perez Mariscal, was bringing food for the guests. We had sandwiches and bananas the food emphatically helped the nerves. The Hotel’s front desk phone rang the caller was asking for me, it was Rod. After conferring with Denise, I told her that the producer wanted to conduct a phone interview and I felt that Liz would be the best candidate. I was right she was great, her recorded interview, and photo from her blog, made the evening news.

After lunch, Mr.Perez Mariscal held a meeting in the front courtyard. He expressed his concern for us and thought it best if we left to another location further away. On our behalf, he contacted the hotel, “El Cid”, Pino Suarez No. 903, www.hotelesdeoaxaca.com, which is about ten blocks away from the Colonial District. Professor Richter explained, the Sub-Director of Tourism for the State of Oaxaca owned the hotel; and in the event everything settled down, we could return. With cell phones attached to our ears, we ran to our rooms and began packing.

After spending an entire day packing my bags to get here, it took about fifteen minutes to recklessly throw it all together. The sound from the helicopters being closer, then further, and then closer again added to my level of stress.

It seems we all met at the front gate at the same time and someone said to get out from the helicopter’s line of sight. Looking back it was like the scene of the Von Trapp family evacuating Austria. When Mr. Perez opened the doors our street, Cinco de Mayo, resembled the aftermath of a war zone, at least from what I have seen in pictures and movies. With the tarps down, everything was visible. People, mostly younger men, were walking towards the zocolo clutching sticks and pipes and wearing handkerchiefs across their mouths and noses. The chanting from the zocolo became faint as we struggled with our luggage across the broken paved streets and sheets of glass. A handful of men were attempting to remove a bus lodged against a building; the front windshield contained several holes. In order to prevent any provocation, no one took pictures and I never made eye contact.

Half way to our new hotel, another man, who apparently Mr. Perez had arranged to meet us, transported our luggage the rest of the way in his new mini-van. The gesture was greatly appreciated for the sun, which never became an issue before now was. I also wondered if this tag team effort resulted from previous experiences.

It seems as soon as we passed a Church the atmosphere changed. Things looked busy and “normal” again. Upon arriving to the hotel, rooms were assigned, and once again, cell phones went to the ears with the new information: the official address, room numbers and the Cid’s telephone number. At .59 a minute it will be worth it, thank God we have them.

Later, Professor Marcotte congratulated us for handling the situation in such an orderly manner.