TICUMÁN – TICUMÁN, MéThere was something about her body, but Mexican actress Eréndira Castorela couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
Some casting directors told her she was “too tall” to play a Mexican woman. Others insinuated her features weren’t sufficiently “Indigenous.”
“It wasn’t until later that I discovered what it means to recognize oneself as Afro,” said Castorela, who subsequently confirmed her African ancestry. “We are a diverse community which, perhaps due to discrimination, doesn’t identify as such.”
Her life changed after she joined Mulato Teatro, a theater company that empowers actors of African descent who are eager to forge a career despite racism. However, like most Afro Mexican activists, Castorela believes that nationwide recognition is still a long way off.
“If we look around, we’ll see curly hair, high cheekbones, full lips or dark skin,” the 33-year-old said. “But there’s a wound that prevents us from recognizing ourselves.”
The Afro Mexican lineage
Unlike the United States, where there have been concerted efforts to boost awareness of the Black history, acknowledging Black people in Mexico has received little support.
“The concept of mixed race denies the cultural diversity that defines us as Mexicans,” said María Elisa Velázquez, a researcher at the National School of Anthropology and History. “We are not only Indigenous, but also European, African and Asian.”
It is well known that the Mesoamerican lands conquered by the Spaniards in the 16th century were inhabited by Indigenous people, resulting in mixed-race marriages and births. Less noted is the fact that some mixed-race Mexicans are partly descended from enslaved Black people.
According to Velázquez, the evolution of communities incorporating Black people depended on their geographic location. “Much of the Afro-descendant population established relations and coexisted alongside different Indigenous groups, resulting in very heterogeneous communities,” she said.
Official figures from 2024 estimate the Afro-descendant population in Mexico is 3.1 million, mainly residing in the states of Guerrero, Morelos, Colima and Quintana Roo. While most identify as African Mexican, nearly two-thirds also perceive themselves as Indigenous.
Finding her true identity
Castorela — born in Morelos, a state neighboring Mexico City — recalls looking through family photo albums after first wondering if she had African ancestry. The features of her relatives left no room for doubt.
“I also realized we had created a narrative that concealed our origins,” she said. “There was always someone saying: ‘But there was a blond person in the family,’ or ‘Grandma had finer features.’”
Castorela may not have curly hair and her skin tone may not resemble that of other Afro women, but she said her body never lied.
When she was a young actress taking ballet classes, she felt constrained and uncomfortable. It wasn’t until she joined African dance classes that the choreography was ideal for her height, weight and soul.
“I feel much freer because there’s openness and movement,” she said. “Identifying as African Mexican has given me the mental and spiritual peace I needed to realize there is a place where I can reflect myself.”
A struggling career
The theater company where Castorela and two dozen other artists collaborate was founded in the early 2000s by another Afro woman who struggled to excel as a Black actress in Mexico.
Born in Colombia, a South American country where around 10% of the population is Black, Marisol Castillo said she had no clue her physical features would hinder her career. But after falling in love with Mexican playwright Jaime Chabaud and moving to his hometown, everything changed.
“Some want to force us to fit a mold, a white mold,” Castillo said. “And when we differ, we’re told: ‘You’re a bad actor, you’re out of tune.’ But we’re just different.”
Casting directors mostly offered Castillo roles as prostitute, exotic dancer, maid or slave. So she teamed up with Chabaud, and “Mulato Teatro” was born.
“There was very little openness and awareness,” Chabaud said. “So I started writing plays for her.”
Tales of African and Mexican heritage
The themes of Chabaud’s plays are as diverse as the actors who bring his characters to life.
“African Erotic Tales of the Black Decameron” draws inspiration from oral traditions, fusing the worldview of African communities. ”Yanga” portrays a real-life 17th-century Black hero who is considered a liberator in the Mexican state of Veracruz.
Among the topics inspiring Chabaud are not only African legends or characters, but stories closer to home. “Where are you going, Mr. Opossum?” tells the tale of a “Tlacuache,” an ancient creature from Mesoamerican mythology.
In Chabaud’s play, the Tlacuache steals fire from a goddess to save humanity from hunger and darkness. The creature has no divine powers, but his ability to play dead enables him to sneak past the Jaguar, a deity safeguarding the flames.
“Jaime always tells us that we should all worship Mr. Tlacuache instead of other deities,” said Aldo Martin, playing the leading role.
Martin, 28, does not identify as Afro, but feels the company’s work successfully portrays Mexico’s diversity.
“Our ancestors are not only Indigenous, but a fusion, and these mixed heritages have resulted in a very distinct society, made of all colors, which shouldn’t pigeonhole us into just being Afro,” Martin said.
Diversity is welcomed at Mulato Teatro
Castillo and Chabaud primarily encourage Afro-Mexican artists to work in their plays, but they also welcome amateur actors and LGBTQ+ performers.
One of them is transgender actress Annya Atanasio Cadena, who began her career in plays addressing topics such as suicide, alcoholism and drug addiction in marginalized communities.
“In my (LGBTQ+) community, we know what it’s like to fight against the world,” said Atanasio, who plays a trans woman in one of Chabaud’s plays about gender violence.
“I’m very moved to have been given the chance to become part of this space, which also heals me,” she added. “We can show that we exist and we are more than just a story. We are bodies, desires, feelings, and the pain we carry.”
Dreams of an unknown land
There’s a special play written and directed by Castillo: “Dreaming of Africa.”
Although she has not been able to trace the exact roots of her ancestry, her work and community make her feel closer to a long-lost home.
“When we, people from the same ethnicity meet, we call each other ‘brother,’” Castillo said. “After all, we came from the same ports.”
She said she’ll never forget a presentation of “Dreaming of Africa,” when a girl from the audience approached her.
“She could barely speak, so we hugged,” Castillo said. “Then she said: ’Thank you for telling me I’m pretty, for making me feel my worth’.”
Castillo, too, learns something about herself as she acts, writes and directs. It’s like peeling an onion, she said, taking layer by layer to reveal what’s underneath.
“I grow with each play,” Castillo said. “I feel prouder of my roots, knowing that I can move away from stereotypes like playing a prostitute or a witch. That I, too, can be a queen.”
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