I Once Met a Man in Mexico City

A Mexican friend once told me that everyone in this country is never more than four people away from the President; conoce a un hombre que conoce a un hombre. Everybody knows a man who knows a man who knows a man. In a country that loves allegory and legends, I’ve wondered how much of this is truth or exaggeration.

About eleven years ago, I met a man at the Mexico City airport. We both had unexpected layover time, so we went to town for dinner and conversation. He was working with the National University, recording indigenous languages. This was a task that required travel and a team of multilingual associates. Mexico is home to no fewer than 64 ethno-
linguistic groups, each distinct social and cultural group speaking their own native language and, together, accounting for almost 364 variants.

Time was of the essence as with the completion of roads, cell phone towers, and satellite TV, many languages were being lost to a dilution of communication.

I kept in touch with this gentleman over the years, except for the last eighteen months or so, it was getting more difficult to reach him by phone. Found another almost-lost number that put me through to his wife.

She informed me, “He’s working at a remote site in the foothills above the town of Aqua Salada. He can only get to town about once a week for cell service.” Vague directions followed this on how to get to the site from Aqua Salada.

So I’m looking at the map and thinking, this is not far from Manzanillo; why not try to find the chap. I’ll head up toward Minatitlan, and Crucero de San Antonio, then what looks like a dirt one lane toward El Sauz, and another one-lane into heavy high chaparral.
“The university will have a small sign at their camp,” I was told.

My next call was to a journalist friend. I wanted an update on the shifting winds of crime. She tells me, “There was an organization called the New Generation Cartel in that area. If that’s true, you might see spray paint graffiti markings with CJNG. Haven’t heard much about them lately, but I can’t be sure. Felix Nunez and his Sinaloa Cartel may have driven them out.

Play it safe. If any Cartel is working that area you have to make contact. They don’t like surprises. When you get to El Sauz, look for a ‘hawk’ or forward observer. This is usually a windshield squeegee kid. He’ll have a radiophone, you know, one with a stub antenna. He’ll need to know who you are, what you’re driving, and what business you have in the area. You might need to stay the night to give him time to relay the information. Then you’re good to go. Let me know how this works out for you.”

This is a trip that I’ve put off for a few weeks as I assess risk factors. If I go, it very well could be a twelve-year-old squeegee kid that knows a man, who knows a man, and I will need to find a local friend who’s crazy enough to loan me a truck with serious ground clearance.

With luck, perhaps I’ll get to do a little walkin’ around a different town.