In a small town in Oaxaca, there was a man named Don Aurelio Mendez, 81, who came to the central square every morning with a folding table, an old blackboard and a handle of colored chalk.

No one paid him to be there; however, dozens of children sat in front of him, some with recycled notebooks, others just with hands willing to learn.

Don Aurelio had been a rural teacher for more than four decades. He toured communities where there was no electricity or paved roads, teaching with the little he had. His motto has always been:

—Knowledge is like water: even if it falls on hard soil, something germinates.

When he retired, many thought he would finally rest. But instead of staying at home, he decided to turn the square into his new classroom. “As long as I can speak and write, I will continue to teach,” he said.

The children came out of curiosity first, for affection afterwards. Not only did he teach them how to read and write; he also told them about history, simple math, about old songs that the farmworkers used to memorize tables.

He used pebbles, dry leaves and even soda mats as tools.

One day, a little boy named Matthew confessed to him:

-My dad says that studying doesn’t work, I’d better go to the field with him.

Don Aurelio looked at him tenderly and replied:

—Your dad knows how to cultivate the land, and that’s valuable. But you also have to cultivate the mind. This way you will have two harvests in your life, not just one

Matthew never forgot those words.

The square just kept getting fuller and more. Some adults also sat and listened, in silence, as if they had rediscovered the lost school of their childhood. Curious tourists took pictures, but Don Aurelio wasn’t looking for recognition; he just wanted the teaching to stay alive.

Eventually, volunteers arrived: young college students who helped him bring in used books, neighbors who donated notebooks and pencils, musicians who accompanied classes with guitars. What started as a solo act turned into a community movement.

But it wasn’t all easy. Some local authorities asked him to stop teaching in the square, arguing he was not allowed. Don Aurelio, with a steady but serene voice, answered:

—If teaching to read is a crime, then take me to prison. But know that there will always be someone else who keeps going.

The matter was resolved thanks to the pressure from the neighbors, who defended the teacher with banners and chants. They’ve since left him alone.

One day, Don Aurelio arrived with difficulty. Her hands were shaking and she had a hard time holding the chalk. He sat in front of the children and said to them:

—Maybe soon I won’t be able to write anymore. But y’all already know how to do it. And if one day a child comes to you and asks for help, teach him. That will be my most important class.

Weeks later, he passed away at his home, surrounded by his children and grandchildren. The news ran like a lightning bolt across town.

The next day, the square woke up full of makeshift boards, open notebooks, and children teaching other children. It was the greatest tribute he could receive: the continuation of his mission.

Today, in that square there is a mural with his face and a sentence painted in large letters:

“As long as there is a child with questions, there will be a teacher in the square. ”

And every afternoon, listening to the laughter and voices of those who learn under the trees, many say that they still feel the presence of Don Aurelio, with his colorful chalk and his infinite patience.