"Too Tall, Not ‘Indigenous’ Enough" – A Journey of Identity, Theater, and Afro-Mexican Pride
For years, Mexican actress Eréndira Castorela felt a strange disconnect between how she saw herself and how others perceived her. Casting directors would tell her she was “too tall” to convincingly play a Mexican woman. Others would question if her features looked “Indigenous enough.” Something about her appearance just didn’t fit the mold.
What she didn’t realize back then was that her body was telling her a story long hidden — one she hadn’t been taught to see or embrace.
“It wasn’t until later that I discovered what it means to recognize oneself as Afro,” Eréndira said. “We’re a diverse community, but many of us don’t identify as Afro because of discrimination.”
It was through Mulato Teatro, a unique theater company in Mexico, that she found clarity, connection, and a powerful platform to embrace and showcase her African roots.
🔥 Highlights of Her Journey:
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💃 Discovered comfort and self-expression through African dance, not ballet.
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🌍 Found a sense of belonging in an Afro-Mexican theater collective.
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🎭 Overcame limited, stereotypical casting options by joining a movement redefining representation.
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🧬 Embraced an identity hidden under layers of colonial and cultural shame.
“My Body Never Lied to Me”
Raised in Morelos, a state neighboring Mexico City, Eréndira began questioning her origins while flipping through old family photo albums. The more she looked, the clearer it became — her family’s physical traits told a story of African ancestry. Yet, for generations, those roots were subtly — sometimes outright — denied.
“We had created this narrative to hide where we came from. Someone would always chime in, ‘There was a blonde in the family,’ or, ‘Grandma had finer features,’” she said.
Though she didn’t have the tightly curled hair or darker complexion commonly associated with Afro-Mexican identity, her body told a different story. She remembered how restricted she felt in ballet classes as a kid. But when she tried African dance, it was like everything aligned — her posture, her energy, her soul.
“It just clicked. I feel free, spiritually and mentally. It was the confirmation I didn’t know I needed,” she said. “There’s a place where I finally see myself.”
The Birth of Mulato Teatro — A Safe Space for Afro Voices
The transformative space Eréndira found was the brainchild of Marisol Castillo, a fellow Afro Latina who experienced firsthand how difficult it was to be a Black actress in Mexico.
Originally from Colombia, where nearly 10% of the population is Black, Castillo never imagined her physical appearance would limit her career. That changed when she moved to Mexico with her husband, playwright Jaime Chabaud. Suddenly, casting offers shrank to the usual stereotypes — prostitute, maid, dancer, slave.
“They tried to force me into a white mold,” Castillo said. “And when I didn’t fit, they said I was a bad actress.”
That experience sparked the idea for Mulato Teatro, a space for actors like her — diverse, talented, and tired of being typecast.
Chabaud, noticing the lack of roles for Afro-Mexican women, started writing original plays specifically for Castillo. And just like that, a movement was born.
🎭 Stories That Reflect All of Mexico
Mulato Teatro is more than a stage — it’s a cultural revolution.
The plays they produce are rooted in African oral traditions, Mexican folklore, and the fusion of both worlds. From “African Erotic Tales of the Black Decameron” to “Yanga” — the story of a real-life 17th-century Black revolutionary in Veracruz — the themes challenge mainstream narratives and celebrate overlooked heritage.
One favorite? “Where Are You Going, Mr. Opossum?” — a whimsical tale based on the mythical Tlacuache, a creature from Mesoamerican lore who steals fire from a goddess to save humanity.
“Jaime always jokes that we should be worshiping Mr. Tlacuache instead of ancient deities,” laughed actor Aldo Martin, who plays the marsupial. Though not Afro-descendant himself, Martin passionately supports the company’s mission.
“Our society is a beautiful mix — not just Indigenous, but also African, European, Asian. We shouldn’t be boxed into one identity.”
Diversity Beyond the Afro-Mexican Lens
Though Afro-Mexican voices are at the heart of Mulato Teatro, the stage is open to LGBTQ+ performers, amateur actors, and anyone with a story to tell.
One such performer is Annya Atanasio Cadena, a transgender actress who’s brought her own life experiences into the spotlight. Her earlier roles tackled heavy issues like addiction, suicide, and abuse in marginalized communities. Now, she’s part of a production that explores gender violence — and she plays a trans woman.
“Being in this space heals me,” Annya said. “It lets me exist as more than a statistic. I am a body, a voice, a presence with real feelings.”
🇲🇽 Why Afro-Mexican Identity Still Struggles for Recognition
Despite being home to over 3.1 million Afro-descendants — mostly in states like Guerrero, Colima, Morelos, and Quintana Roo — Mexico still struggles to fully recognize its African roots.
Unlike the U.S., where decades of civil rights activism have led to national conversations and curriculum on Black history, Mexico’s story is more fragmented.
“The idea of a ‘mixed race’ identity often masks the real diversity of our culture,” said anthropologist María Elisa Velázquez. “We are not just Indigenous — we’re also African, European, Asian.”
Many Afro-Mexicans were descendants of enslaved people brought during the colonial era. Over time, they blended with local Indigenous communities, creating diverse, multi-ethnic identities. But these histories were largely erased from mainstream education and media.
“Dreaming of Africa” — A Play That Hits Home
One of Castillo’s most cherished works is “Dreaming of Africa,” a poetic, deeply personal piece about longing for a homeland you’ve never seen.
Though she can’t trace her exact lineage back to Africa, Castillo says she feels a spiritual connection to it — especially when she meets others from her community.
“We call each other ‘brother’ or ‘sister,’ even if we just met. We came from the same ports. We carry the same stories,” she said.
One moment that still gives her chills? After one of the shows, a young girl walked up to her.
“She was so emotional she couldn’t speak. We hugged. Then she said, ‘Thank you for making me feel beautiful. For showing me I’m worth something.’”
For Castillo, those small moments of recognition are why she keeps creating. Every performance helps her peel back another layer of her identity, revealing strength, pride, and beauty that’s always been there.
👑 "I Can Be a Queen, Too"
From being told she could only play a slave or a maid, to directing her own narratives that celebrate Blackness, resilience, and multicultural identity, Castillo’s transformation is nothing short of revolutionary.
“With each play, I grow. I’m proud of who I am. I don’t have to be the stereotype anymore. I can be a queen,” she said with a smile.
And thanks to artists like Castillo and Castorela, a new generation of Mexicans — Afro, Indigenous, mixed, LGBTQ+ — are starting to believe they can be queens too.
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