Previous Next

Doña Ludi carding wool. Photo: Ibis Alonso

Faustino Ruiz’s family has been weaving wool rugs in Teotitlan del Valle, Oaxaca, for sixteen generations.

His grandfather loaded the rugs onto his burro and sold them in the coldest parts of the mountains, where they kept floors warm. Today, Faustino and his wife, Ludivina, sell their rugs to tourists, who hang them on walls.

But it’s been one thing after another for anyone involved in the tourist trade in Oaxaca in the last few years. Don Faustino counts on his fingers: the teachers’ strikes in Oaxaca in 2006 and 2008, the economic downturn in the U.S., the recent overblown media coverage of border drug violence that’s scared tourists away from all of Mexico, and now, swine flu panic.

Teotitlan del Valle is never a wildly busy place, but this week it’s been utterly silent.

Don Faustino giving a demonstration, when business was better. Photo: Ibis Alonso

The baskets of marigolds, indigo, moss, pomegranates, and cochineal that Don Faustino and Doña Ludi use for their natural dye demonstrations are shoved haphazardly under the spinning wheel, instead of artistically arrayed in front of it in anticipation of visitors.

The wooden table where smaller rugs are normally displayed has been sitting naked in the middle of the display room all week. We cleared it off for our first English class on Monday, and it hasn’t been needed for its usual duties since then.

Doña Ludi takes a slightly different view of the waning supply of customers than her husband. She tells me that people simply don’t buy things for beauty anymore, and if they need something to keep the floor warm, they buy a cheap, mass-produced rug at Sam’s Club or Home Depot.

Her sons, at 13 and 17, know how shear the sheep and dye the wool and weave the rugs, but she suspects they’ll have to find a different way to make a living once they finish school.

Don Faustino and Doña Ludi have managed for years to make a living, carry on a generations-old family tradition, create from scratch something beautiful and—at least potentially—useful, and not hurt anyone or anything in the process.

Is that becoming an impossible combination to hope for?

Photo: Ibis Alonso

Doña Ludi tells me that she and her husband will probably never go to the U.S., though some of their relatives have. “I think we’d get lost there,” she says—not self-deprecatingly, but matter-of-factly. But she’s not sure how they’ll manage to go on like this, weaving beautiful rugs that no one buys.

I planned our English classes around their work—they’ve learned to say “sheep,” “rug,” “marigold,” all the relevant vocabulary. Already they’re giving me little tours in English: “This is a sheep!” they tell me, after we hike up the back hill to the pen. “These are bugs!” while holding up the basket of cochineal.

After class, I wave from the dusty edge of the quiet road and hope they’ll be able to use their brand new English with someone other than me before too long. That they’ll find a way to go on.

And anyway, I tell myself, at least we’re having fun—and that should do us all good, in these days when it’s too easy to be sad about all that’s being lost.

Community Connection

What other traditions are in danger of being lost the world over? What can we do about it? Share your observations and ideas in the comments below.

Narrative


 

About The Author

Teresa Ponikvar

Teresa Ponikvar is a former Matador editor, a current reluctant English teacher, and a future mini-farmer. She lives in rural Oaxaca, Mexico, with her husband, young son, and assorted animals and arthropods. She blogs here.

  • http://collazoprojects.com Julie

    Teresa-

    Thanks for this beautiful piece. I was in Teotitlan del Valle last fall and just received an e-mail from one of the weavers there who asked it there was anything at all I could do–set up a website? circulate photos of his incredible rugs?–to help them cope during this period when tourism, as you noted, has dried up completely. I haven’t answered him yet because I do feel a profound responsibility to help him in some way–for immediate, concrete purposes, but also for more abstract, harder to explain reasons, not the least of which is my desire to see this incredible tradition passed on to at least one more generation. I think the answer–at least partial–to your question about what we can do is this: Don’t just simply buy a rug and then go home. Start thinking about human contact and connections in a deeper, more sustained way, and find a way to stay in touch, to hear people and to –as you have here–keep telling their stories, taking them to places where they can’t go themselves, where they have little or no voice.

  • http://www.matadorabroad.com Tim Patterson

    Another gorgeous piece. I spent some time with silk weavers in Laos recently – they use natural dies and traditional techniques, and are totally dependent on the tourist trade. Tourism is booming in Luang Prabang these days….but can it last?

  • Christy Brandt

    Teresa – love your article. I had the pleasure of going there and meeting the couple – they are very kind hearted wonderful people. Its sad as you say, with such a modernized world where commericalized products are so easy to find and gems like this are hidden to most. It is a magical place and you are lucky to be spending time there – I hope they can find a way to continue their traditions in this ever changing world.

  • http://www.podtours.co.uk Andrea Kirkby

    Travelling in Morocco recently, I noticed in Meknes that a weaving workshop had only one young weaver; all the other men were much older… that’s the way crafts start to die.

    Here in Norfolk, we are losing some of the country skills. Eric, the reedcutter and marshman, retired recently, and it has been difficult to find people prepared to do the work; it doesn’t pay much, it’s seasonal, and it’s tough. But if no one cuts the reed, then there’s no raw material for our Norfolk thatched roofs. (Yes, you can use straw, but it’s not the same. It doesn’t look right.) So the whole landscape could change…

    I find crafts are often a good way of meeting people. I am an amateur woodworker and I find carpenters, wherever I go, are good down to earth people I can have a good chat with. I usually smell them first… the sweet spicy odour of cedarwood or the resin of pine being cut…

I thought she was crazy, but also something in me envied her.
Once I get it in my head that in fact I may be The Dude, everything starts to pick...
Other than just to broaden your horizons or impress your friends.
In which, obliquely, a new print magazine (and a new paying market for travel writers) is...
A mob of giddy housewives, plenty of tequila, a secondhand wedding gown, an orgy's worth...
He had soft brown eyes and looked profoundly lost. I would never know his life.
Violence remained at a distance, a story told, a finger pointed.
Everyone looked over at us, trying to see what on earth could have stopped the parade.
Like the hospital waiting room, the tension keeps building higher and higher here.
I pull over and park the truck along what I presume to be Fisherman Drive in Crystal...
After three months, I still wake up and gape at all of this space that is just for me.
I’m too similar to be disconnected, but I'll never fully understand.