Ernesto Carrillo has been my guide throughout the exploration of Lake Texcoco’s land. He always wears denim, a leather belt, and dapper, ironed, white-and-blue stripped shirts. The sun shines strongly on the day of our first visit. In skin types like mine, the sun may leave red marks for days. A wide-brimmed straw hat protects his head. Sheltered by the shade, the skin of this elderly, slender man, looks tanned by years of sunlight and dryness. It’s the thick, brown skin of a race stronger than mine on the account of his proximity to the countryside and the mountain. Ernesto has walked this land since it became a waterless, grassless desert, more than twenty years ago. He’s an agricultural engineer from the neighboring Chapingo University, a fact he brings up during his first handshake, along with a gesture of pride and a broad smile. When I met him, he spoke also about the history of this plateau since the time of his ancestors. [...]
Human
in ENCYCLOPEDIA