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"Life Among the Artists and Cowboys"
MARIA, THE MIDWIFE
By Michael Allan Williams
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Juan Mata Ortíz is a small village of potters, farmers and cowboys in Northern Chihuahua. About 30 years ago, an unschooled artistic genius, Juan Quezada, taught himself how to make earthenware jars in a method used hundreds of years ago by the prehistoric inhabitants. Now, his works are known worldwide and over 300 men, women and children in the village of less than 2000 make decorative wares. Much of the polychrome and blackware is feather light and exquisitely painted.
Many of the potters are also cowboys and farmers. These stories serve to document the art and the people in this unassuming pueblo, which is often called "magical" by the relative handful of tourists who visit. Enjoy this other view of Mexico.
When we think of heroes, we often are drawn to athletes, astronauts or perhaps firemen—men or women who do something dramatic, something which catches headlines. But, often the heroes are just going about their normal lives, making a difference on a daily basis. . . .
On At 8 am on Christmas morning someone was rattling María Ortega’s flimsy wooden door. "María, María, come quickly! Graciela is sick!" a woman called. María is a nurse and a partera (midwife) in Mata Ortíz. The ill woman was not one of her midwifery clients and lived in a barrio outside of the village. She did not know her well. However, she grabbed her stethescope, some medicines and a syringe and headed out into the frigid morning, even colder than her poorly heated house.
Her feet made tracks in the virgin snow, the first white Christmas in nine years. Probably a stomach ache or a bad cold, she thought. Colds are endemic in Mata Ortíz in the winter. None of the drafty homes have central heating and most don’t even have fireplaces.
In a few minutes, she arrived at the tiny adobe house and found Graciela Hernandez in bed, attended by her husband, Julian. Within moments of beginning her examination María had diagnosed the problem, and it wasn’t a mere cold or stomach ailment.
"Graciela, you are pregnant, right?" she asked.
"Yes, the baby is due in February," the girl gasped, clutching her stomach under the bedclothes.
"No, the baby is coming now," María replied.
"Then we have to get to the hospital in the city," Julian said. "I’ll go try and find a ride."
"There’s no time, this niño is coming in just minutes. Stay here," María commanded, I’ll be right back." She dashed out into the snow, her stubby legs pumping as she carved a new path homewards. Soon she had returned with her forceps, pans and other implements. Ten minutes later it was all over and Mata Ortíz had its newest citizen, a big, healthy, fully formed baby boy.
With the infant wrapped in a clean blanket and nestling with its mother, María packed the tools of her trade. She looked at the young parents. "You miscalculated by two months," she admonished. This baby was not premature. It was on time. You two just didn’t know when."
For María this was a little more exciting than just another day at the office, and she had to come by and tell me of her adventure before heading to church for the noon Mass. But, in 17 years as a midwife, she has seen it all and takes each birth in stride. This was number 101. She hit the century mark in November and it had been a more routine than the Christmas baby.
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