06 Mar

Sin Maíz No Hay País


“All this land used to be worked by local people”, my dad would say every time we visited his home town in the state of Puebla. “You could see milpas all over those cerros,” he would point to some hills that, to me, didn’t look any different than the rest of the hills of the sierra where his town sits. “But now just a few people still work in the fields.” I could see melancholy in his eyes as he talked about growing up in that part of the country, that didn’t mean much to the younger me, and while trying to explain the process of working the milpa.

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