PITI CITY DIARIES
By Daniel McCool

Moving from downtown Montreal to downtown Pitillal was partly teacher burnout, partly winter burnout and partly a middle age crisis that seemed to practically overlap with the adolescent one before it.
And what worse possible teaching background than an English Quebecer with a qualification to teach economics in French? My Haitian students would helpfully correct my French mistakes while the other students smirked or rolled their eyes. I was quickly shunted into teaching English as a second language. And from there, well, the whole idea is to teach English in exotic, intriguing places, right? Japan, the Middle East, Africa, Pitillal....

So another refugee from the Quebec education system tries to rebuild his life in a different place.
And Pitillal really is another place. Despite being ‘pegado a’ (stuck to) Vallarta, it is a different world altogether. Prosperity is evident in Pitillal, but the currency is different. The size of the house, the mark of the car or the standard of dressing may show the wealth of a family. Yet these measures pale in comparison with the true status determiner: the attendance figures at the weddings, funerals and quinceñera parties.

Being ‘teacher’ means getting invited to the different events, and one in particular stands out. Brenda´s family is a popular (and populace) family, and her uncle is a folkloric dance choreographer. As a special added bonus, the ‘waltz of the quinceñera’ would include Brenda, her brother and eleven boy cousins performing a waltz in formal attire. Weeks of preparation included teaching her younger brothers and cousins their roles, plus building a huge wishing well out of a giant cable spool from which the twelve ‘pretendientes’ would emerge. This was painted and put on industrial rollers in order to be moved around the fiesta patio.
The night of the fiesta it was if the academy awards had been brought to Coapinole. Corsages and ties were the rule, and although a light rain was falling from the outset, the show had to go on. The hall where the party was taking place was only one third covered, so as the rain came down heavier it became clear that the open area for the dancing and spectacle would be drenched.

One English teacher was distraught thinking that after months of preparation and probably more money than ever would go to her education was spent on the party, now it would be a washout. This teacher did not know his Mexicans!

While he was dragging himself around bemoaning the rotten weather, the festijeros were jubilant- the turnout had been beyond expectations! People not seen at such a gathering in years were there! Despite the torrential downpour, people were dancing barefoot, children were scrambling, makeup was running and everyone was laughing and joking. Drenched dancers jumped in puddles and spectators got caught up in the scene in spite of rented suits and formal dresses. It was a triumph! Teacher, you’ve got a lot to learn.