Ni un besito a la fuerza
y ni una palabra sin lucha
January 16, 2015
Ni un besito a la fuerza is a CD of music and poetry, a collaboration of 13 Oaxacan women musicians and poets. It is one of many projects of el Consorcio Para el Diálogo Parlamentario y Equidad Oaxaca, a local feminist organization that has just celebrated its 10th anniversary. Wrapped in a beautiful jacket covered with stunning artwork, the CD is to be sold with proceeds being raised for a future program that will engage youth in dialogue and art discussing domestic violence; ni un besito a la fuerza means “not even a little kiss by force.” The first event to promote the CD was a free concert in the most lovely plaza in Oaxaca, Plaza de la Danza, which turned out to be one of the most treasured nights for me so far in Oaxaca.
My first meeting at the Consorcio was, honestly, harrowingly intimidating. My Spanish was at the state of being sufficient to purchase vegetables or contact lenses, but hadn’t really gotten as far as to be able to express passions or ideas beyond “I like that” or “it scares me.” As I sat at the table with this incredible and diverse group of Mexican intellectuals, I strained to comprehend what exactly was being talked about, and thanked God that I had been introduced to the subjunctive tense two days prior.
So, as I walked to the Plaza to volunteer to help sell the CD, I nervously kept glancing at a piece of paper where I had copied the project’s description from the facebook page: “Ni un besito a la fuerza es un disco con causa a favor de relaciones no violentas entre jovenes.” I had pretty much managed to memorize it by the time I got to the plaza, but was still quite nervous that my language skills just weren’t up to the challenge. I really wanted to represent this project well to the public, and be a help – not a hindrance – to selling these CDs.
As people came to the merch table to see what we had to offer, I started by listening to how Alice explained the CD, the mission of the project, and the prices. At one point early on, I was the only person at the table, and someone asked the price. “Cien y vente,” I answered, and he looked at me, puzzled at first, and then corrected me: “cientovente.” But, there was a kindness and encouragement in his smile; I had gotten the point across, and it was ok to make a stupid speech mistake. So, from then on I was able to give the right words for the price, and I relaxed and started to enjoy the music.
The music was absolutely phenomenal. There was a huge diversity of artists, and the concert started off mellow as the sun was setting, but by the end, the a crowd of hundreds of people were dancing by the stage to La China Sonidera. It was a concert of 10 artists – musicians and poets – interspersed with passionate announcements of activism, lasting over 3 hours. The audience was involved in the entire show.
Martha Toledo, decked out in gorgeously embroidered traditional dress from the Istmo, where she’s from, began her set with a cordless microphone from the terraced seating. The flowers on her dress dazzled, and her headdress – traditional from the Istmo – glowed like a halo in the spotlight as her a cappella voice rang throughout the plaza.
At one point in between songs, a group in the audience was announced and paraded to the stage. They were a group of mothers of lost migrants, travelling by foot from city to city with large portraits of the lost hanging on their chests. A few told some heart-wrenching stories, another perspective of women suffering in our current time.
But, my personal highlight of the evening came after the show, when Alice, I, and other volunteers were invited to the after party at a restaurant outside the city, what turned out to be a quite intimate dinner with the directors of the production and many of the musical artists. I sat directly across from Martha Toledo, who was sitting next to musician Silvia Maria, and sat right next to María Ferrina, another incredible musician.
Earlier at the concert, María Ferrina had come up to the merch table and given me a raised eyebrow as I tripped over a response to her question in my horrible Spanish.
Sitting next to her at the dinner, she asked: “You don’t understand Spanish, huh?” which is a pretty intimidating question. I told her I was learning, but no, I don’t understand everything. When the totopos came out, I slathered mine with salsa, and María warned me: “Es muy picante—HOT!” I took a big bite and she was right, but I thought it was delicious! She then immediately warmed up to me and referred to me as the “gringa who can eat spicy things,” and we chatted on and off the rest of the meal.
And then everything got even better. After everyone had their fill of incredible food, horchata with nuts, and mezcal, the guitar came out and many of the musicians performed right at the table! First La Maestra Silvia Maria was given the guitar, and her earthy voice almost brought me to tears. María Ferrina was next, sitting right next to me, her rhythms making everyone sway. Then, Martha Toledo stood up and sang a few with accompaniment from another guitarist, gesticulating and engaging with each person present. We felt like we were accompanying her on a journey through the stories of the songs; some were in Spanish and others in Zapotec, but we were all able to emotionally follow along.
As everyone began to depart, Martha Toleda offered us a ride in the back of her pickup truck, but then found there was room in Silvia Maria’s car. I sat in the back seat, in between Alice and Silvia. The precious guitar in the trunk, two close friends of Silvia in the front of the car hummed along with us to the Ni un besito a la fuerza CD as we made our way back to the Oaxaca.
For more information on Ni un besito a la fuerza, check out the Facebook page.
