AND NOW WE ARE THREE!!! (Abajo en Español)

What? Another womyn joins MUCOV in their travels?

Who is the new womyn who has recently joined our team? She is a young womyn who calls herself Malinche. We met her on the bus during our trip from Lima to Arequipa, Peru’s second largest city. That Saturday night we were feeling a bit hyperactive due to the fact that we had one too many cups of Yerba Mate and the thought of sitting down for 9 hours was already causing us anxiety. After the first two hours of the journey at night, we were frustrated due to the frequent stops we being forced to deal with. We thought that we would never arrive to our destination, given that every 45 minutes the driver stopped to collect, in a very informal but traditional manner, people from distant villages on their way to the cities. In this way, the driver and his assistants manage to earn a few extra soles (national currency), and those people living far from the central terminals also manage to board the bus midway on its journey.

In the middle of this chaos, a womyn of small stature wearing a deep red colored dress walks into the bus. Seeing the intensity of her attire’s color it was hard not to think about the scene that repeated itself too many times in the past: blood splayed out over the rocks marking the paths our ancestors constructed with their great knowledge of architecture and physics. Her two long braids, reaching down beyond her waist were a beautiful sight to behold. The mystery womyn, followed by her silky black pearl extensions, entered the bus and walked down its isle towards the center. There she stopped, and with s few graceful movements arranged her instrument and spread her legs to position herself with a perfect balance. Once she was ready, she placed her right hand over the strings of her most precious treasure: her guitar. With the same passion with which a singer performs on her best concert to thousands of hypnotized audiences, the womyn began to sing:

“Yo soy, yo soy, yo soy Soy agua, playa, cielo, casa blanca. Soy mar atlántico, viento de América, Soy un montón de cosas santas Mezcladas con cosas humanas. Como te explico cosas mundanas Fui niño, cuna, teta, techo, manta Más miedo, cuco, grito, llanto, raza, Después mezclaron las palabras O se escapaban las miradas...¨

It was the same song we heard a few months ago by Mercedes Sosa when we had just left Colombia one gloomy afternoon while sitting in a café in the border city of Ipiales, Ecuador. The voice of the mystery womyn was so beautiful and captivating that whoever did not keep their silence would have been offending the very same virgin that the agnostics continue to keep in the shadows. Silence transformed into a coir of angels materializing themselves through her undeniably smooth and mesmerizing voice, coming out of her belly button to be released through the window of her lips. Her melody was so in tune that not even the continuously abrupt jumps of the bus could disrupt the harmony of her voice. Two more songs accompanied the audience in their silence (Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds by the Beatles and Besame Mucho by Pancho Céspedes). When she finished singing, we got out of our trance as well, and noticed, somewhat in awe, that we were still on the bus.

The womyn began to collect the coins that her improvised audience offered her, passing through each row of seats until she reached us. We immediately asked her: “What is your name?” “MALINCHE,” she answered, with such firmness in her voice that it seemed as though the mere sound of her name marked the fine line of her lips. Right then and there we told her everything about MUCOV and that we would love to hear more about her life, about Herstory. “Of course sisters! I am an Americana (meaning from the western hemisphere) without borders and so are you! Not only that, I think that there is so much to learn about each other and I want to support you! I will fundraise for you with my music! I do not have a fixed nest on any tree in this world which makes me a sorta nomad so let’s go! But, where exactly are we headed to?”

“To Arequipa,” we responded, “and we will continue on our path through South America until we get to Uruguay.”

And that was the Saturday night; actually it was more like Sunday morning that our path crossed with that of Malinche’s ,or hers with ours? Or is it just one path?. “And does your name originate from the Malinche of Cortez’s era in Aztec land, or the volcano in Puebla, or the tree known as Delonix regia?” we asked.

“My name refers to me, to all of the past that has brought me to this present many moons ago. I can be gentle,misunderstood, strong, mother, volcanic, a tree with red flowers; and I can also be what I whole heartedly wish to be, whenever I want to, without limits or restrictions, and without having to explain the how and the why,” said Malinche.

“Understood”, was all that came out of our mouths, and that was the moment we realized that Malinche was going to show us, little by little, the world which lead her to the same bus that we were sitting in.

The voice of this young womyn reached our souls and it will continue to accompany us throughout our travels. “I want to visit all of the countries in which womyn govern in the Americas. The good thing is that it will be low cost for me because I am only missing Argentina. I have already visited Sra. Bachelet when she was first elected.”

“All right Malinche, but don’t let your trip end there. Imagine how many more womyn leaders there are that reside in hundreds of diverse contexts that are not recognized on a national level but that are nonetheless fighting for a better world from their own surroundings; it will be great to create connections and initiate encounters between all of us,” we said.

“Of course they exist, my human poppy seed, or better stated my heroines; like the empanada vendors in the street corners, like the womyn who get out of jail to keep fighting, like the womyn who sell their fruits and vegetables in the central markets sitting like goddesses amongst the garden of vivid colors, like the womyn selling Palo Santo (holy wood) for the passerby in need of a blessing, almost invisible alongside the towering churches and cathedrals they stand next to. My heroines are also those womyn who never learned how to read and write yet with their voice they gift us with poems, verses and their sweetest melodies come out of their hearts and through their bodies until they slide smoothly from their womb and out to the world.”

“Exactly. There are many heroines who fight everyday to overcome the difficulties they are born into, to move forward; womyn who refuse to give up, who do not tire of walking firmly on their path,” we reckoned.

When we got to Arequipa around 6:00 in the morning, we addressed ourselves in unison to Malinche: “Welcome to MUCOV Malinche! But where are your things? Don’t you have a bag?” we asked.

“Not at all! I only carry my Confession (referring to her guitar). Besides, I don’t need anything else, since this brain of mine weighs way too much already!”she respondes almost offended by our question.

“Great! Then you can help us with our bags, since those vainas weigh more than we do!” we responded.

"Malinche, now that I remember, the Malinche of the land of the Mexicas was also known as Malinalli Tenépal, and back when I was taking a class at Los Angeles City College (LACC), my professor Kalinde told me that the word Tenépal in Náhuatl means: a person who possesses an easy manner with words, who talks much and animatedly,” commented Mayra.

“Well, what a coincidence,” responded Malinche, with a mischievous half smile on her face.

P.S. ¨Open Veins of Latin-America¨ by Eduardo Galeano: Malinche says that she will use the money she collected on the bus to send Hillary Clinton a copy of Mr.Galeano´s book since she doesn´t think Obama should be the only one expected to read it.