Tears of a Clown
I haven’t figured out why, but clowns are more popular here than anywhere else in the world.
In Mexico there are two main types of clowns: the caras blancas (“white faces”) with crisp clean costumes and big red shoes who perform at kids’ birthday parties, and the payasos callejeros (“street clowns”) who travel from the city’s poor suburbs to mime and dance for pesos at busy intersections. Their costumes are shabbier. Many of them paint teardrops on their faces to portray their circumstances.
I heard about the street clowns on one of my first days in the city, and I’ve been trying to find one ever since, searching downtown streets. Finally yesterday I saw a family of street clowns. I stopped on the grassy, trash-filled corner (a dying rat limped its way past me to hide behind some rocks) and watched in amazement as the father and his three children ran out into the street to perform and, during their short breaks when the light turned green and the cars rumbled past, they huddled together on the concrete median—touching, hugging and playing.
When I finally walked up to the father and asked if I could take some pictures, he was incredibly cool. A soft-spoken and humble man, Augustin told me he’d worked in a restaurant on Walnut Street in Philadelphia for six months. He says the money was good—he could earn a lot more than he does here—but that he got sick and had to return to Mexico.
Back in Mexico, he works in the fields during the week planting and harvesting corn and carrots. Every Saturday and Sunday he and his three daughters, shy little girls with big smiles, travel an hour or two by bus to come to this corner where they work together to raise money for the oldest daughter’s high school expenses.
When the light turns red again the oldest daughter runs out into the street facing the stopped cars. She jumps up and down, dancing for the oncoming traffic. I’m hungry and I need something to drink, she mimes by rubbing her belly and lifting her thumb to her mouth. If you have money don’t be greedy, she says by tapping her elbows and wagging her finger back and forth.
Before the light turns green again she winds her way between the cars hoping a driver or passenger will drop a few coins into her hand.
Then the family runs back to the median as the cars once again race past. Waiting for the next red light, Augustin straightens his tiniest daughter’s big red wig and hugs her tightly.
