(Español versión publicada anteriormente en rojo.) 

Neighborhood:  Colonia Juarez/Revolucion

Photo taken by Storyteller #57

I saw a man across the intersection in a blue shirt, walking toward me, and sensed that he might be a good candidate for my next storyteller.  When I told him about my project, he looked down at my card, turned it over and said, “Interesting.”

We started walking and he said, “So what inspired this project?”

I have been asked this before and try to give the most straight forward answer, but the truth is, of course, more complicated.  But usually the simplest answer is the best, “I live in Tucson, on the border, and there is so much fear of Mexico in the United States.  But we are neighbors, and I believe in getting to know my neighbors.”  He looked at me and nodded, so I continued, “The image of Mexico in the US is bad, prostitution, drug trafficking, poverty,” I glanced at him and saw him nod again. “But this is a big, international city.  It is so much more than that.  I want to experience and show the variety of life in Mexico City.  To show that there are also normal people going about their day.  To get to know the city in a different way, one by one crossing the city.”

He studied me for a second. “I’m a documentary filmmaker.  So I am also interested in the stories of this city.  I have been all over this city, documenting people’s stories.  Even late at night, three in the morning in some bad parts of town, and nothings happened to me.  It really isn’t as bad as people say.”  Looking down the road, he said, “I like film.  Through the lens, you get a different story, a more complex story, another truth.  LIke when we die, we all become saints.  Suddenly they are lauded for all their good points, forgetting all the bad.  But film gets another story.  You ask a question and the body speaks.  The lens captures it.  The lens doesn’t lie.”

I nodded in agreement, feeling like a fraud of sorts.  Because I am not really here to get people’s stories.  I am not making a documentary.  Although storytelling is a big part of my project, the heart of the project is listening, being with someone on a crowded street and really listening.  And I’m not even that good at it, half the time.  I get distracted, go off into my own thoughts, transforming their experiences into my own version of what happened, relating it to my own life.  The act of listening is a hard one.  

I tried to explain a little, “I don’t use any technology.  I’m interested in oral storytelling.  The point for me is to have a humble, human, intimate experience.  The beauty is how willing people are to help me out.  This city is amazingly open and friendly, especially to foreigners.”

With a wry smile, he said, “Maybe too much.”  I laughed in agreement, and he said, “No really.  People love foreigners here.  And, at the same time, they are suspicious of other Mexicans.  People often turn me down or are reluctant to talk to me, but if I were a French or Argentine filmmaker, they would open their doors, invite me in and tell me all about their lives.”  He shrugged his shoulders.  I glanced in the window of a fancy boutique and then up the street to the big intersection ahead where Avenida de la Reforma meets Insurgentes.

Foreign influences are evident everywhere in this city, and I had to admit, “Yes, and this has been immensely helpful in my project.  People help me most of the time simply because I am a foreigner and a woman.  If I were Mexican, they would not be so eager to help, I suspect.”

He nodded.  We slowed the pace as we reached the intersection, and he asked, “So where do you go now?”

I pointed down Insurgentes, “North until I reach the end.  I will keep asking people to walk with me until I’ve crossed the whole city.”

He followed my gaze, his eyes seeming to see more than the road ahead.  “Well, I need to go in this direction,” he pointed left, “but good luck to you.”

“Thank you.  I still have a ways to go before I’m done.  Thank you for participating and good luck to you too.”

Next I took a picture of us together and handed the camera phone to him to take a picture on the spot.  He looked at the camera for a moment and then tilted his head upward, pointing the lens into the midday sun and clicked.  I smiled and thought, ‘yes, indeed, this is about stark sunlight and the shadows we cast.’