A Woman Mariachi Giving No Fucks, in Photos

Mariachi bands have been dominated by men since the early 19th century. But slowly, women are beginning to infiltrate the muy macho scene and shake things up. One of those women is Nancy Velasco, a mujer mariachi (woman mariachi) from Ecatepec, a city in the State of Mexico that happens to be known for its high rate of femicide. Nancy has been performing for 18 years, as a solo singer and with her mariachi band Mariachi Quetzal. Most days of the week they travel to Mexico City to entertain the crowds and earn some cash. We joined her one Monday to observe a day in the life.

Nancy prepares for work, brushing her teeth, applying makeup and putting on her mariachi traje. Her son Fernando likes to play with her makeup brushes and mirrors. Her partner of five years, Teo, will stay home with him today. "Yes, we face discrimination as a lesbian couple," Nancy says. "At Fernando's nursery school, some people don't accept that he has two mothers."

"There's definitely discrimination against women in mariachi," Nancy says. "We're a minority. On a Saturday in Plaza Garibaldi there are maybe 500 men and four women. There are so many [male] partners who don't understand, who don't think women shouldn't be allowed to work."

We drive past the railway passage of Mexico's infamous La Bestia train, which travels over the US border and is regularly jumped by Mexican citizens attempting to get into the US, in pursuit of work. "When my mother lived in the US, I once ended up in a youth detention centre on the border," Nancy says. "The authorities thought I was a coyote [a people smuggler]. Of course I wasn't. I was just trying to visit my mother."

She was held one month in the centre, where few guards or other prisoners spoke Spanish, and she was denied communication with her family, who had no knowledge of her whereabouts. While in the centre, Nancy would sing for the others interned there.

One month later, the authorities suddenly released her. It was early in the morning and she had no money, or map. "Nothing but the clothes on my back, in Nogales [on the northern border], which is a very dangerous place." But she found her way home, "and now I sing. God gave me this voice. I cannot do anything else." Her first appointment today is a trumpet class. She is in her second year of studying to be atrompetista, a four-year program, as they are paid better in all genres of musical performance.

Nancy meets her bandmates in the Plaza and they take the bus to the restaurant they're set to perform in. There are three other women in her band: Ana, Karen and Lili. "Speaking of excellent women musicians with children" says Nancy as she introduces us to Karen. "This one is incredible, and she has three."

Nancy's voice ululates and her guitar shudders and bounces as she leads her band in ranchera and mariachi standards like Que Buena Suerte and Cucurrucuc ú paloma. Moving around the restaurant, the band serenades individual guests and takes requests. They play their final song, El mariachi loco, for the kitchen staff.

Like many women artists forging a path in male-dominated territory, Nancy's work is often disrespected. "Sometimes people say or assume that I am unemployed. They don't accept that this is my work. But it is my work, it is my profession. I trained, I keep training; and the work takes so much preparation. "I charge a minimum of 50 pesos to perform a song, and people still sometimes say it is too expensive! Please! Sorry, but this is my work!"