Marisol
She was born deaf-February 22, 1991 to Nabor and Delia Higuera. Both her father and mother are Higueras, linked by an unknown antecedent of the past century, or perhaps two. In Mexico, a person is given both the last name of the father and mother; hence her full name is Marisol Higuera Higuera. Luis, her only sibling, was born eight years earlier in 1983. It is rare in Mexico to find a family with only two children.

Deafness is not new to Nabor, nor is physical impairment new to Delia. Nabor's paternal tía, Natividad, was born deaf, as was Nabor's youngest sister, Rafaela. A soldier raped Rafaela five years ago and she now has a hearing son. Delia has two older brothers, one of whom has Down's syndrome, and the other of whom is normal but has a child with Down's syndrome.

Marisol's is a world in which there are no different languages - Spanish or English. Her world consists of images in her mind and silent visions that surround her. Unattractive guttural sounds come from within her throat, but are heard only by others. They are not attractive sounds, and they make us uncomfortable. These four Higueras have developed their own familial sign language, built upon Nabor's experiences with his deaf aunt and sister. Using an improvised system of hand-waving and finger-manipulating, along with facial and corporeal gestures, they communicate. Somehow, we all manage to understand each other. It is a cruel game of charades with no winning team or end in sight. Simple four-letter nouns can result in a complex series of gestures. "Flag" consists of a salute to the forehead, followed by hands and forearms marching to an unseen band, followed by a waving of four fingers horizontally. Ingenious yet simple, it somehow makes sense. By linking gestures together, concepts and stories are transmitted. But how does one communicate thoughts such as "opportunity?"

It occurs to me the world in which the Higuera family lives is an oxymoron - one of "maximum sparcity." Poverty and simplicity are as alien to us as the luxuries and excesses of our lives are to them. We are obviously mutually curious, this impoverished Mexican family with a deaf daughter, and the two childless Americans who travel with their dogs - gringos. I like the term gringo. It is the name of Kirk's 60-year-old boat. Mexicans rarely use the word, and I sense they deem it politically incorrect. I am irreverent, however, and use it freely in talking about ourselves and others.
Next Chapter: San Gregorio