The Hustle
Some people are born with a silver spoon in their mouths, the rest of us have to hustle, and there ain’t no shame in that. I had my first paycheck job at twelve bussing tables in a restaurant owned by family friends. I was already six feet tall and I don’t think the restaurant owners knew how “young” I was. As an adult, I have seen amazing hustle first-hand, living in New York City for over two decades. But witnessing hustle in Oaxaca, well, here it is next level.
It’s said that nearly 60% of Mexicans do not have bank accounts, so evidence of a cash-subsistence society is everywhere. There are some people- though relatively few- who ask for direct handouts; most have something, anything, to offer in exchange for a few precious pesos. Roughly twenty pesos are currently equivalent to a dollar; ten pesos will buy half a dozen gorgeous, fresh tortillas.
One evening, walking along a frighteningly narrow sidewalk, I passed a woman with no hands or legs sitting on the ground next to her tiny wheelchair. In front of her were several handmade grass fans, styled similar to fly swatters. Next to the fans was a plastic bowl containing a bit of money, so I understood she was selling the fans. I had been swept along with the crowd on the sidewalk, but tracked back and dropped some coins into the bowl without taking a fan. She looked into my eyes and thanked me graciously, her humble hustle rewarded, my proud soul simply humbled.
The street vending hustle for Oaxacan women consists mostly of food. They’re selling everything from tiny plastic bags filled with kernels of chewy corn (which they will season with mayonnaise, salt, and ground chili pepper “al gusto”) to cups of a frothy drink dipped from huge plastic washtubs. I’ve not had the courage yet to try it, but judging by people gathered drinking around the tubs, it must be delicious. I’ve also seen for sale a pink and white layered “pudding” in molded cups- mostly being eaten by children- and gorgeous squash blossoms fresh from the garden of a woman carrying them in a harvest basket. And of course tortillas are sold, in all shapes, sizes, and softness or hardness. Tlayuda tortillas- for a local staple meal of the same name- are enormous and a bit crispy, and the first I bought off the street were made from whole grain. I usually buy “blandas” as soft tortillas are called, and I marvel that they are always burning hot to touch when the woman selling hands them over. How do the tortillas get from home kitchen to street marketplace, then sit there for hours without them cooling off?
Men here are hustling too; I see mostly older men, and sometimes children, wearing wooden boxes supported by straps over their shoulders- portable dispensers of sorts for candy and packs of gum and cigarettes. Another old man on the street was selling spoons he’d likely carved himself from small pieces of wood. Teenagers sell cheap plastic toys, or at times the more refined Alebrijes- brightly painted wooden figures of fantastical creatures. Market stalls are often attended by teenagers; all are family affairs of some sort. On a nearby street closed to vehicle traffic children gather near their family’s stalls selling their own works of art- either pages colored and torn from coloring books, or original drawings done in plain or colored pencil. Art is taken seriously in Oaxaca, though the kids seem to have fun with their marketing: they all gather round when someone is about to make a sale and cheer when the transaction goes down.
The only definition of “hustle” I knew as a kid was “hurry,” and I can still hear my mom’s voice telling me to hustle in the mornings to get out the door for school. I’m afraid my son has inherited some of my lackadaisical tendency; about the only thing that motivates him to hurry and/or do is the promise of screen time later. Yesterday we headed to a nearby convenience store to buy an item for dinner and passed a small boy on a corner wearing the portable wooden vending machine. At the store, g wanted an ice cream bar and I suggested we buy one for the boy as well. But when we got back to his corner, he was gone, back at the hustle. g became instantly excited about the prospect of eating both ice creams, though I tried to shift his focus to the example of the hard working boy and devise a plan for g to earn rather than just get the ice cream. I hope many things we see and experience here will make an impression on him and he will learn to hustle, to strive and want to achieve, and know that hustle is key to accomplishing what he dreams of in life.
Waiting for sales, evening, Alcalá
Centro Histórico de Oaxaca
