Most young farmworkers in California are migrants from Mexico, especially the south of the country, where many people share an indigenous culture and language. Ricardo Lopez, living in a van with his grandfather in a store parking lot in Mecca, a tiny farmworker town in the Coachella Valley, says working as a migrant without a formal home was no surprise: This is how I envisioned it would be working here with my grandpa and sleeping in the van. It's hot at night, and hard to sleep well. There are a lot of mosquitoes, very few services, and the bathrooms are very dirty. At night there are a lot of people here coming and going. You never know what can happen; it's a bit dangerous. But my grandfather has a lot of experience and knows how to handle himself. With the money I earn I'm going to help my mother and save the rest. I'll be attending college in the fall at Arizona Western College--my first year. I want to have a good job, a career. I'm not thinking of working in the fields. Not at all. I look at how hard my grandfather has worked. I don't want to do field work for the rest of my life because it's so hard and the pay is so low. Lopez describes the reality for farmworkers in California in a way that gives tangible meaning to the facts and numbers describing farmworker life. There are about 120,000 indigenous Mexican farmworkers in California. Counting the 45,000 children living with them, that is a total of 165,000 people. They are the most recent migrants from Mexico. They speak twenty-three languages, come from thirteen different Mexican states, and have rich cultures of language, music, dance, and food that bind their communities together. Lorena Hernandez, working in a blueberry field outside of Fresno, in California's San Joaquin Valley, came from Oaxaca with her aunt after getting pregnant as a teenager. Now she wonders if life will have more to offer to a young indigenous woman than field labor: They pay six dollars a bucket picking blueberries, and each has to weigh twelve pounds. This is my second year doing this work. Since I don't have much experience, I can only pick fifteen or sixteen buckets a day. Those with more experience can do twenty. After a day picking blueberries, my hands feel tired and hurt a lot. But they don't give us gloves because they say they will damage the fruit. I don't really have friends, just acquaintances from work. Most who are my age don't have a child, like I do, so they go out on the weekend. Since I have a daughter, I don't go out. So my coworkers share their stories with me because I just stay at home. I really don't have a vision of my own future yet. I went to school in a small town in Oaxaca, Mexico, and I left when I was fifteen years old. I don't think I'll ever return to school because of my age. My job will be working in the fields. I would love to go back to school, but it's too late for me. Maybe one day. The indigenous immigrant community is very young. The typical age of someone crossing the border today is about twenty years old, and the average age of all California farmworkers is twenty-one. Many young people, even children, work in the fields. On average, Mexican farmworkers in California have only six years of school, but younger Mexicans tend to have more education than older migrants. [ILLUSTRATION OMITTED] Javier Mondar, son of a single Mixtec mother, lives in Santa Maria. Growing up, he traveled with his family as they migrated with the crops. He finished high school in spite of the obstacles, and went on to university to get skills to fight discrimination against indigenous people. Yet he was also the victim of discrimination himself and recognizes that, within his own community, his sexuality was not easily accepted: [ILLUSTRATION OMITTED] I grew up in a farmworking family--so working in the fields is everything I ever knew. …
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