Mexico City’s Goddess Energy Lives in the Everyday
The goddess lives in Mexico City. She animates women in dark sunglasses, shoulders squared with Bolo bags against the morning rush. She flickers in candlelight at paint-peeling churches dressed in lavish devotion to the Virgin Mary. She hangs low in Plaza de la Conception, where cannabis smoke gathers and drifts like a nomad. She waits in fertility clinics, in quiet rooms where futures are negotiated with tenderness and expert science.
The goddess is me: African by origin, born in London, Southern California raised. I may as well be Nigerian Haze in flesh. I went to schools with names that kiss the edges of our Spanish-Mexican past: Las Positas, Las Lomas, Sonora High. Growing up, my mother shopped at Northgate, Superior, and downtown LA. We ate elote as a special treat.
I came to Mexico City with one of my best friends, whom I met in military school. He was there to begin a journey shaped by a kind of faith that asks you to believe in something before you can hold it. He wants to become a father. For queer families, this path is as holy as it is logistical. Surrogacy and IVF are mapped out in spreadsheets and consultations, in hormone schedules, genetic realities, and legal documents. In the United States, the cost alone can shut the door. In Mexico, that door opens a little wider, though still at a five to six-figure price that asks you to be sure.
My first meal, Cuauhtémoc – Tabacalera
Returning to Mexico City, Slower and More Open
I was in Mexico City to support my friend and also because I’ve wanted to visit this city since I was a slightly emo kid, crushing on Gael García Bernal in Y Tu Mamá También.
The …
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Author: Hannah Eko / High Times
