When we first got here, we asked Ruth, our host mother, where we should put our recycling. She said not to worry about it because it would be separated later. I thought perhaps this meant I didn't need to separate paper from plastic. I just thought we had a language blip. So I started keeping recycling in a separate can from regular trash. She later told us we didn't need to do this because they would separate it later. I still didn't follow, so she explained to me that when the trash is taken away, people actually go through it, to separate out what is recyclable, what can be returned for a deposit, what can be burned in a cookstove, etc. This was just shocking to me to imagine someone going through our trash (by the way, you can't put toilet paper in the toilet here because the pipes are too old and clog easily, so it all goes in the trash).

On one hand I'm glad things aren't going to waste, like they do in the US. On the other hand, it's a strange feeling to have a reminder so close to home everyday that there are so many people much less privileged than myself, people who make a living by going through my trash.

Mexico is a place where inequality is much more obvious and in your face. I don't know if there is more income inequality in the US or here, but you really don't see the inequality in the states as much unless you're looking for it.

A particularly jarring moment for me was in the zócalo last week. David and I were walking through the crowd and we almost stepped on someone down on the ground. It was a woman with legs only to her knees, arms only to her elbows. She had child sized crocs on her knees and her elbows and she was literally crawling, ever so slowly, across the length of the zócalo. She had her head down to the ground. At first I thought it was someone praying. After a moment I realized she was pushing a small basket with the top of her head, her face towards the pavement. The basket was for change. 

I was stunned. I'm familiar with people asking for change in cities and I've seen a number of amputees, but never anything as gripping as this. Before I could think or act, we were swept along with the crowd. Most people never even looked down at this woman and this was more shocking for me than anything. Since I've started paying attention I've noticed a lot of amputees here, a lot of misfits, most begging, some selling goods.

I had to stop and gather myself once we reached the edge of the zócalo. What should I do? Give money? Buy this person a wheelchair? I was so uncomfortable and saddened. I guess this is an everyday thing here. In the end I didn't do anything but think about it a whole lot. I've since begun carrying change on me. After some reading I learned that some villages send their most pity-inducing residents to cities to beg during busy times. I like to think this is the case. After all, this woman could not have taken care of herself in any way, but she was dressed in decent clothing, appeared to be clean, someone had put her crocs on for her. Maybe I just want to believe she has a whole village to care for her, just to make myself feel better.

Cantera is a stone that one sees a lot here in Oaxaca. It was once abundant, but now its quarries have been depleted. It's famous for its deep green color. Many buildings and plazas, such as the zócalo sport cantera stone.