My veins are very lucky. For them run – rather walk now – two noble bloods: one Spanish; Tlaxcalte the other. When I am in Spain I feel sorry for the trees, which cannot see their roots, because there I see one of mine. And when good fortune leads me to Tlaxcala It is as if it took me to another Saltillo, because in Tlaxcala my city had one of its two origins. Hispanic and indigenous is my race. If I reneged on any of those lineages, I would incur the guilt of not honoring my father or my mother. The Villa de Santiago del Saltillo and the town of San Esteban de la Nueva Tlaxcala are the two halves of my native land.
By genealogy I came to Juan Navarro, one of the founders who came from Europe, but my little beard and the color of my complexion, which they say huddled, allows me to boast of having among my ancestors some of the descendants of those four hundred families of noble Tlaxcalans -of Tlaxcalan nobles- who came to the desert lands of the north to set an example of industriousness. ohHow many things we owe to those ancestors of ours from Tlaxcala! They planted the leafy orchards that gave us the regional fruits: the quince and the perón.
They did, and continue to do, the sdelicious pulque bread from Saltillo, which looks like it was baked in Heaven’s bakeries. From them descend the matachines who, with their showy attire and colorful headdresses, give their dances to the Holy Christ of the Chapel or to the Virgin of Guadalupe. “Dance, dancer, with your heart, that each step of yours is a prayer.” Above all, the sarape from Saltillo is clearly rooted in Tlascalteca, which takes all the sun in the world, and all the rainbows, and makes them stay still in its folds, luxury above the luxury of the German piano with chandeliers.
Don Miguel de Unamuno remembered having seen “a Zarape del Saltillo” in the office of his father, who came to Mexico and on his return to Spain took him with him. Our serape was on the verge of extinction. Many of the wise master weavers had gone to eternity; others no longer worked. An intelligent and enterprising lady, Claudia Rumayor, he devoted himself with loving tenacity to the task of saving the serape. He sought out the old workers to teach the new generations his art.
With a group of valuable collaborators, he investigated the natural pigments used by the ancients to dye threads. He had the traditional pedal looms rebuilt. Because of her, the serape not only did not disappear, but took on a new and vigorous life. And that was the object of homage. From the beginning of his administration, engineer José María Fraustro Siller, mayor of saltillocreated a program called “Profeta en su tierra”, through which the work of women and men who have contributed to maintaining the fame of our city’s culture, to preserving its style, its genius and its figure is recognized.
In the chamber theater of Radio Concierto, the medal of that name is delivered month after month, and in our station the life and work of those who receive it are disseminated. This time we were honored by the presence of Claudia Rumayor. I think that the word “apostle” should have its feminine equivalent. Does not have it. The language and the academy that cares for it, both petty at times, assign it only -and unfairly- the masculine gender. Even so, I say that Claudia Rumayor deserves the title of Sarape Apostle. Her hearts know no grammar, and the hearts of our city are grateful to her for having preserved for us, and for Mexico and the world, her most beautiful emblem, her greatest symbol: the serape of saltillo. END.
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