Casa de Medicina
Tucked away on a quiet road in Chimalhuacán, just beyond the northeastern edge of Mexico City, the Casa sits on a warmly cultivated piece of land. It’s composed of small, open-air, single-story buildings, two traditional clay sweat lodges (temazcal), a kitchen, a communal living space, an herbal apothecary, a classroom for student midwives, and a treatment room.
Surrounded by cactus plants, crops, and the sacred ahuehuete tree—believed to connect the underworld with the earthly realm—the Casa is a living sanctuary of ancestral knowledge passed down through generations of Indigenous midwives.
Here, Maestra Partera Amparo, the founder of the Casa, tells her story. A story that begins with her late mother, Aida Araceli Soto Mouzón.
As a young woman, Aida left Chiapas to seek work in Mexico City. She found employment in a poorly paid, physically harmful textile factory. Her wages barely covered a tiny room and some food.
But what she carried with her was priceless: her deep knowledge of women’s health—how to care for pregnant women, infants, and common female ailments. Supporting birth and healing gynecological issues was her calling.
She helped young women* through unwanted pregnancies, assisted with abortions, and supported them through other challenges.
She cared for sex workers, watching their children overnight. By day she worked at the factory, and after work, she healed and treated women* who had been excluded from the official healthcare system.
It was in this space that Amparo was born, often at her mother’s side, watching and learning. Soaking up the wisdom of her mother, a Maestra Partera—a master midwife—Amparo grew up immersed in this world. As both a teacher and a lifelong student, she traveled across Mexico, learning from Maya midwives before returning to Chimalhuacán nearly 20 years later to help build a midwifery school alongside fellow activists. The school officially opened in 2018.
Education as Resistance
Chimalhuacán is a neighborhood marked by poverty and crime—conditions shaped by colonialism. But it’s here that Indigenous communities built an open-access school for children. They resisted poverty and alcoholism by embracing education as a tool for empowerment. Next to the school for children stands the midwifery school. Amparo sees herself as a guardian of knowledge that has been passed down orally for generations. Teaching it in a non-commercial, community-centered way, she says, is a form of resistance—just like the school. It’s a response to the colonial system that sought to silence Indigenous language and knowledge, but never succeeded in destroying it. The spiritual and practical wisdom of the parteras—Indigenous midwives—lives on. It continues to be passed down and is now being reignited in the midwifery school in Chimalhuacán.
Apprentices at Amparo’s school begin with 13 months of study before entering a three-year mentorship, learning hands-on from an experienced midwife. After four years and one month, graduates take on the responsibility of always naming the woman who trained them.
This mentor—lovingly called “abuela,” or grandmother—is honored by name, ensuring her memory and her teachings live on. This tradition makes clear that this is not institutional knowledge—it is ancestral knowledge. The act of naming the abuela is both respectful and deeply spiritual. It reflects a cultural energy rooted in Indigenous practices that honor where the knowledge came from.
Patriarchy and Colonialism
Colonial powers didn’t just seize land through violence and oppression—they also took control of women’s bodies through the weapon of patriarchy. In both general medicine and reproductive health—birth, abortion, and postpartum care—men and institutions took over, stripping women* of autonomy over their own bodies.
Pregnancy, birth, and even the decision to terminate a pregnancy became matters for male-dominated systems. The process became controlled, institutionalized, and disconnected from women’s experiences. C-sections, for instance, have become almost standard. At the Casa de Medicina Ixchel, this kind of control is rejected. Birth here is considered sacred—a spiritual moment supported by the wisdom of female ancestors and guided by a traditional Indigenous cloth called the rebozo, which plays a key role during labor.
Rebozo – The Parteras’ Tool
The rebozo isn’t just used to carry babies and toddlers—it also plays a vital role during birth. If the baby is in a difficult position, the rebozo is used to gently shift its position in the womb. Through a special massage technique, the cloth is rocked rhythmically over the pregnant belly to release energy and help the baby align properly for birth. No machines. No pressure. No fear. Just a cloth—and deeply rooted ancestral knowledge.
Amparo and her student, Lita, say that during birth, the spiritual presence of the women’s ancestors—those of the mother, the midwife, and the mentor—can be felt. Birth is seen as a rite of passage, a moment when a portal opens. But only the birthing mother can pass through it to bring her child into the world.
Cierra con Rebozo – Closing the Body and Preparing for Conception
Many women* experience postpartum depression after institutional births. Amparo and Lita offer a ritual of closure called Cierra con Rebozo, performed 40 days after birth.