An Extraordinary Journey
It’s been seven years and I still repeat the same routine every morning: I wake up -usually alone- shake off whatever I drag from my dreams, and look outside the window. The view from my third floor window is not a spectacular one, but it is important. A constant reminder of the things I have endured. For over four years I have lived in the same small apartment building on 242 East, 111th Street. East Harlem, Spanish Harlem, or as we know it, El Barrio. Every time I look outside I see one of Harlem’s fire stations. Just another building in the greatest concrete labyrinth I know.
Every morning I get out of my apartment and turn right to the end of the block and 3rd Avenue.Then I walk another three blocks up to 116th St., turn left another block, and find myself on the intersection with Lexington Avenue. Right there in the crossroads, you can see El Aguila, a Mexican convenience store on the ground floor of a building. Next to the store, the entrance door to the apartments above. My job is there. I am a seamstress.
My name is Ana María Matus, but hasn’t always been. I was born in 1975 in Juchitán, Oaxaca, Mexico. Juchitán is short for a more folkloric name: Juchitán de Zaragoza. It is located in the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, a narrow zone between two oceans, in the south of Mexico. Juchitán is a small city full of Zapotec culture. In some ways, similar to El Barrio, with contrasting scenarios: joy and sadness, hope and desperation. But unlike any other city I have ever known or heard. The people of Juchitán are full of custom and they’re a mixture of all that is possible, of magic. Most people relate Mexico with machismo, which prevails in many parts of the country, but Juchitán is
different. In the Zapotec communities around the city, men who consider themselves women are not only accepted but celebrated as symbols of good luck. We are called “Muxes”.
Muxes assume female roles in the community, in all aspects of their lives: social, sexual, and personal. We dress as women with traditional embroidered dresses. We cook, sew, and prepare for celebrations. We come from the patron of Juchitán, San Vicente Ferrer. We are the chosen people.
In 1975, I was born Manuel Matus, but the tolerance that prevails in our culture allowed me to be who I am destined to be. Nevertheless, I do not live with my people anymore. I left Juchitán behind, in search of a dream. One that seemed easier to achieve elsewhere.
In Mexico, it almost seems like a tradition to run to the United States. All the people that have left Juchitán came here. Omaha, Los Angeles, Chicago, New York. El Barrio has its load of Mexicans, - it truly belongs to Puerto Ricans- but I haven’t met another Muxe in New York.
I left my community in March, 2006. It was not an easy decision to make. I grew up in a modest family as an only child. My father was a farmer, my mother was a seamstress, and my grandmother -who lived with us- was a seamstress. My childhood was a regular one, like any other in Juchitán.
From Monday to Friday was school day and every Sunday running around the park, in front of City Hall. A very large white historic building with lots of arches.
At the age of 14 I discovered I was a Muxe. I was not interested in the same things other kids were, and I loved the work of both maternal figures. The colorful flowers over the white linen; the dolls and the braids. It was a joyful celebration the day after I told my family. A feast with traditional black mole, and a rosary in honor of San Vicente Ferrer.
Years passed and I became a full grown woman. I changed my name and I adopted my mother and grandmother’s work. I celebrated with dedicated devotion the Velas de Mayo (Candles of May) parade where we throw buckets of food to the crowd. Crowns of flowers embellish our heads, and
the dresses are outstanding. Indigenous people are not recognized easily. We have to show our work to prove our value.
I have been blessed with a life I am most proud of, but there was something missing. Even when I was a Muxe, I didn’t feel completely satisfied. I wanted to be a complete woman. And that’s where my journey began.
The American dream resonated in my head while I contemplated the possibility of going away to fulfill my dream. The trade mark of the United States; the ultimate freedom and success. I did not have a visa to go as a tourist, so I had to use unorthodox means of transportation behind boxes of
lettuces. Hidden like a criminal through probably the most dangerous border line between Mexico and the United States: the City of Juárez, I paid three thousand dollars to El Paso.
Have you ever been to El Paso? It feels so different from Mexico, but at the same time there is something similar about it. It has a few tall buildings, probably called skyscrapers but nothing like New York. I had to hide my identity during the trip. I wore regular men’s clothes, but my bags were
full of dresses. The man who helped me cross the border is also from Oaxaca, and he is a former coworker of my father. His name is Felipe Hoyos. When we crossed to El Paso he drove me to Canutillo, outside the city and next to the Rio Grande. He got me a job as a cleaning boy in a small
church from the New Jerusalem. Needless to say, the dresses stayed in the bags. My job in the church didn’t last long, but in the two months I stayed under their protection I met Carlos, the man in charge of the West Valley Pharmacy. He is a Mexican descendent, who was born in El Paso. I met
him once during a service in the church. And I like to believe, it was meant to be. He liked Manuel and Ana María.
After my departure from the church I went to live with Carlos, and luckily got a job on the same street as the pharmacy, Doniphan Drive, in a recycle warehouse. I stayed there two years, and had to hide from the police only sixteen times. During that time I learned English in the Christian
church. In 2008, Carlos and I decided to move to New York. He had an old van and we drove all the way. I yearned to go to New York. The city of the free. It had been too long since I was a Muxe, and everyday, those dresses were a reminder. We drove freely and fast. I remember we left one
Saturday morning and drove up Highway 59 to Interstate 30, then took 30 east Little Rock and Interstate 40 to where it intersects Interstate 81, east of Knoxville. Then I-81 North to I-78 Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Took I-78 east all the way to the Holland Tunnel to New York. We drove
for three days and even toured Graceland in Memphis. It was the greatest adventure of my life, so the numbers and names stayed in my head.
Carlos had a cousin living in El Barrio, and he found a tiny apartment over Victoria Fashions on Lexington Avenue, for us. The store is owned by a couple from Puerto Rico. I started working there one day after we arrived as a salesman, and after, as a saleswoman. Four months after arriving in
New York I decided to go under surgery. I had been saving for years, and it was time to complete my transformation. I’ve had my own breasts, for four and half years now.
I recovered from the surgery in a month, and started working again in the store. The curious thing was that many of the costumers asked about my dresses. Dresses made with my own hands. I am a seamstress, I told all of them.
It has been a long way since the tiny apartment over Victoria Fashions. A long time since Carlos never came back. A long time waiting to be a whole. I came to New York with the firm idea to start a new life and in the process I have found desires I didn’t have back home. I moved to my small apartment in front of the fire station and opened with three other women, a dressmaking shop. I pray to San Vicente Ferrer every night. I pray for my family and the unknown. I believe good things are coming.
I am a woman in New York. I am a Muxe, and my journey is just beginning.
Text by [Alberto Lizárraga](albertolizarraga.svbtle.com)