Around the World in Stories: Mateo and the Magic of Oaxaca

In Oaxaca, some people say a dream can carve itself out of wood. Last week, we watched Abeba in Ethiopia weave her family's story into a beautiful pattern of thread. Here in Mexico, stories don't just get woven. They get carved, and then painted with colors so bright they seem to hum with a life of their own. We’re in a small town, just as the sun is setting. A river of golden marigold petals flows down the cobblestone street, leading the way for the spirits on this special night, the Day of the Dead. The air smells sweet, like the pan de muerto bread baking in every home, and smoky from the copal incense burning on the altars.

A young boy named Mateo sits on the floor of his grandmother’s workshop. The room is filled with fantastical creatures. A jaguar with eagle wings. A donkey with the scales of a fish. These are alebrijes. Spirit guides. And his abuela, his grandmother, is the best carver in town. Everyone in Mateo's family had a connection. His sister, Sofia, felt a bond with a wise old owl carving. His cousin, Leo, had a fierce coyote. But Mateo… he just had splinters. He’d pick up a piece of copal wood, feel its weight, and hear… nothing.

His abuela would smile, her face as kind and wrinkled as soft leather. "Paciencia, mi amor," she’d say. "The alebrije finds you. Not the other way around." But patience is hard when the whole town is a party. He could hear the music from the main square, the zócalo. He could smell the corn husks steaming on the tamale cart. He walked outside, into the swirl of it all. Families were gathered, laughing, telling stories about the grandparents and great-grandparents they were honoring. It was beautiful. But it made him feel even more alone.

Mateo sat by the big stone fountain in the center of the square. Dancers with faces painted like beautiful, smiling skulls spun in circles. And that’s when he saw it. It was tiny. Smaller than his hand. It had the bright blue wings of a butterfly, the green, scaly body of a lizard, and the tiny, branching horns of a deer. It was perched on the edge of the fountain, and it was painted in colors he had only ever seen in his wildest dreams. It wasn't made of wood. It was moving. It blinked one of its big, golden eyes at him.

And then it zipped away, a flash of impossible color in the twilight. He didn't think. He just ran. He followed the tiny creature through the happy crowds, down a quiet side street, and past the church. It led him right back to the one place he had just left. His abuela’s workshop. The creature flew through the open door and then… vanished. Mateo stood in the doorway, catching his breath. And his eyes landed on a dusty shelf in the corner. There sat a small, unfinished carving. It had delicate wings. A long, scaly body.

And two little bumps on its head, waiting to become horns. He picked it up. The wood felt… warm. It felt like a hum. He suddenly knew EXACTLY what to do. The alebrije hadn't found him. The magic did. And now, it was his turn to bring it to life.