Joan Long
"Rosita felt like a taco all wrapped up in Mama Elena's rebozo shawl." Three year old Rosita Chavez is dark eyed, cute, and cuddly. The Chavez family is desperately poor, struggling to get ahead.
A humorous accident lands Rosita's gradpa, skinny Abuelo Don Juan and his donkey, right in the middle of wealthy Helen Winter's flower beds. The situation ignites a bond of friendship which develops between the two families. Don Juan is pressured by is wife, Lupita, to accomplish that which is beyond his reach.
Wearing her long skirts, an apron and huarache sandals, Rosita's mother, Mama Elena is strong, hard working, loving and kind. Six year old Daniel Winters takes to her immediately. Mama Elena treats Daniel as if he were her own son. He becomes protective of Rosita.
The two families' entertaining adventures exploring the historical sites of the City of Cuernavaca help develop a mutual understanding of their cultural differences. While Rosita and her family struggle to achieve what the Winters take for granted, the Winters on the other hand, begin to change their outlook on life and take pleasure in learning about the people around them. Helen Winters is determined to help the Chavez family in a way that does not hurt their pride.
"Rosita in Mexico" is an educational and emotionally heart-warming book for children ages 9 to 99. Pointing out the cultural differences, the historical wealth, and the geographical diversity of Mexico, this book begins to fill the gap in understanding between the peoples inhabiting the North American Continent.
Born in Mexico City, Mexico, of British-American heritage, Joan Long is fluent in both English and Spanish. After receiving her Bachelor of Arts Degree in Anthropology from the University of the Americas in Mexico City, Joan became a partner in the private bilingual school that her mother, Shirley Long, had founded twenty years prior to her joining the business. Over the next twenty years Joan taught Math and History to students in grades five through nine.Her students represented many different nationalities and came from all walks of life.
Joan earned a listing in the World Who's Who of Women, 7th Edition, 1984, Cambridge, England, for her excellence as a teacher and for her extensive volunteer work in the community. Through her volunteer work she became acutely aware of the extreme needs of the poverty stricken population. She has traveled throughout Mexico, visiting every state in the country. She has climbed hundreds of pyramids, been to most of the museums, and traveled on all the highways. Her heart and soul still roam throughout her birthplace.
After immigrating to the United States in the late 1980's, Joan became aware of the tremendous lack of understanding between the peoples living on opposite sides of the Rio Grande. She is a firm believer that education enlightens the mind and can change a person's life. Over the years she has felt a driving desire to write about the cultural differences, the historical wealth and the geographical diversity of Mexico.
Joan lives in Arizona where she continues studying. She has always dreamed of writing about the Mexican peoples and their culture, taking her readers throughout the country in an historically and geographically accuate, entertaining and ecucational series.
Chapter 1
Rosita and Her Family
Rosita felt like a taco all wrapped up in Mamá Elena’s rebozo shawl. Cuddled at her mother’s warm back, one leg dangled at each side and her head just barely popped out the top. Rosita’s two pigtails, tied up in bright colorful ribbons, bounced along with each step her mother took. She swayed sleepily as her mother made her way along the dirt and pebbled path that wound around the big hill. It ended in a steep incline down toward the central market place that was the heart of bustling activity each morning in the town of Cuernavaca.
Just a few yards behind them Rosita’s father, Francisco Chavez Montes, waved at her from their plant nursery. Her home was high on a plateau nestled in the foothills of the Western Sierra Madre Mountains, overlooking the Valley of Cuernavaca in the state of Morelos, Mexico. Francisco moved from one rose bush to the next. He bent over. examining each plant, cutting away the dry leaves. In the mid 1980's life was hard. He pruned and fertilized the precious flowers which represented his main source of income. His back ached. Francisco stood up and stretched from head to toe. A sharp pain in the middle of his spine warned him that he had been bent over too long. With one hand he dragged his parched dry fingers through his dark hair, the other hand held his straw sombrero hat against his side. His dark brown eyes swept over the horizon and the town below him. He hunched over and continued with his work.
"We’re almost there, Rosita," Mamá said," just around the bend and down the hill. Soon you will have your breakfast." Rosita felt hungry.
The thought of her mother’s sweet tamales made Rosita’s mouth water. She looked forward to eating near the bracero fire, where her mother and several other women would heat their tortillas and tamales for breakfast. The bracero pot that held the hot coals stood on its own in the middle of the packed dirt area to one side of the market stalls. The tortillas warmed on the comal, the flat tin tray placed just above the sparking coals. Rosita thought of Mamá Elena and her friends with their children huddled around the bracero feeling its warmth. This was a time for talking, laughing and exchanging stories before the market stalls opened for the day’s activity. Just coming awake for the day, Rosita was hungry and felt cold in the early morning. She was anxious to get to the warm bracero at the market and eat with her friends.
Riding his burro donkey, Rosita’s grandfather, Abuelo Juan Montes, called Don Juan by his friends and the community who respected him, led the way. He sat way back on the burro’s haunches, the most comfortable spot to ride the bouncy, sure-footed creature. In front of him and cascading across both sides of the burro’s shoulders, hung costales sacks of pottery. His wife, Rosita’s grandmother Lupita, painted the pottery at their home. Don Juan held a long thin twig which he flicked at the burro to urge him along and to direct him.
Mamá Elena, rushing to keep up with the burro, stumbled on a tree root which snaked across the path. Rosita, startled from her day-dreams, squeezed her mother’s shoulders and hung on to the apron straps. She bounced back and forth against her mother’s back . Mamá Elena’s hands shot up to the platter of tamales balanced on her head to steady them. She stomped and swayed, at last she regained her balance. Rosita stretched her arms up, caressing her mother’s head.
"Don Juan!" Elena yelled at her father, "you’re sitting on that burro enjoying the ride and you don’t have any idea of what’s happening behind you!"
Don Juan turned his shoulders, twisting his body to look back. He studied his daughter’s face. Elena, clearly shaken by stumbling, was pale and out of breath. He was surprised at his daughter’s appearance. "What happened?"
"Oh, never mind. It was my fault."
Puzzled, Don Juan lifted his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders. "Get going, Andale! Burro!"
Thursday through Sunday evenings and well into the night, Mamá Elena hummed her favorite tunes while she made the tamales on her outdoor porch at home by the bracero. She made the tamales from corn meal, added some chicken or pork, a green olive, a touch of green chile sauce or hot red chile sauce, and wrapped each one in a corn husk. She steamed them in a pot over the bracero. They were delicious. Rosita loved the sweet tamales. Mamá Elena always told Rosita, "The angels make these just for you!" That always made Rosita feel warm and special.
They approached the last short but steep incline. It was so steep that over time, notches gouged into the hard packed dirt kept people from sliding down the hill. The burro, pigs and Mamá Elena picked their way carefully down the slope and onto the cobbled street.
The street ran right between huge homes on either side. Each home, enclosed by a tall wall, was hidden by an enormous wooden saguan door or a wrought iron gate. Each was an imposing sight. Rosita knew that some of the most exquisite gardens in the world could be found behind these walls. Occasionally, as they passed by, one of the gates might be open. Rosita always looked out for this and when the opportunity came, she stretched up, poked her head out of the top of her mother’s rebozo and peered at the gardens for as long as she could. She absorbed their majestic beauty. She gazed at the trim lawns and wonderful flowerbeds.
Suddenly Rosita was terrified.
