Joy and I bundled up against the chill of early morning and
headed for the outskirts of Antigua to volunteer at the God’s Child project. We fought the morning pedestrian traffic that
was moving towards the city. It seems
like the general population working in Antigua commutes by foot or scooter, but
I know of a few locals that use the “chicken bus” also known as a camioneta. Camioneta’s are school buses from the US that
have been bought by Guatemala to use for public transportation. Before they are put into action the buses are
painted with amazing colors and designs, outfitted with a shiny chrome grill
and wheels, and they inherit a sooped up engine. The riding toll is fairly cheap, but comfort
is sacrificed when four or five squeeze into a seat.
Joy has been volunteering in the kitchen for the past week
and has loved the work. She has been
helping to prepare and serve breakfast, lunch, and a snack for 150
children. The God’s Child project serves
as a school, clinic, and education center for underprivileged children and
families in the area surrounding Antigua.
We were warmly greeted by the two cooks with beaming faces standing over
a grill full of tortillas. “Sabes
Tortillar? (Do you know how to make tortillas?)” Joy and I met the question with
laughter. I had tried to learn how to
make tortillas earlier in the month and failed miserably. My product always came out with crumbling
edges and oval in shape, while the women were able to make perfect circles. “We
will teach you,” the women effortlessly proceeded to take a ball of corn
tortilla dough in their hands and quickly patted it back and forth. Within less than a minute a flawless tortilla
emerged. “Now you try.” I had my doubts. I had tried before and I just could not make
tortillas. Last time I ended up watching
idly to the side, because I was more detrimental to the process than helpful. But, in order to make a good impression my
first day on the job, I took the sticky pasty dough into my hands and started
to pat. The other volunteers also
awkwardly picked up the dough in order to attempt the elusive smooth circular
tortilla.
Pat, pat, pat, pat… my tortilla showed promise, it was
actually round, and the edges were not crumbled…pat, pat, pat…still round…oh
man, one edge is crumbling…now another is crumbling. Once again I had failed my private tortilla
tutoring session and my failure was met with laughter. The women did not mind my shoddy tortilla too
much because they slapped it on the grill, another piece of dough was thrust
into my hands, and I was back to patting.
My second attempt was still a little crumbly and was shaped like an
egg. My third tortilla was better; no
crumbly edges but still egg shaped. Then
on the fourth try I concentrated and tried to mimic the technique of the
cooks. Finally! I had achieved an almost
perfect tortilla, circular in shape with smooth edges. I had to show it to the cooks and volunteers
who nodded and smiled in approval. By
the time I got it on the grill it had crumbled because I had showed it off a
little too much. For the next hour my
tortillas kept getting better and better until one of the cooks leaned in and
said, “Ya aprendiste, sabes tortillar! (Already you have learned, you know how
to make tortillas.)” What a proud moment
for me; I thought back to the women in Livingston that had first tried to teach
me. I wish we could stand side by side
patting tortillas as we shared some laughs and our lives. About 5 of us worked for over an hour to make
enough tortillas to feed 150 kids. When
we had finished the cooks offered a sample of the tortillas with butter and
salt on top. I may be biased, but those
were the best tortillas I have ever had.
When the kids had finished their bowls of soup, tortillas,
and rice milk we started to clean up. I swept and mopped the floor while three
of the volunteers stood together talking and washing the dishes in three big
tubs of water. The first tub was used to
rinse the dishes, the second tub was for washing the dishes, and the third tub
was for rinsing and soaking in bleach. I
thought of the huge dishwasher at my summer camp that could clean all of the
dishes in about 20 minutes. When we had
finished cleaning we stood together peeling and slicing cucumbers and radishes
and I thought about how a food processor would simplify the job. Then it was time to sort black beans. We stood and talked as we picked through each
and every bean looking for small rocks, sticks, and bad beans. I thought of the debris-free bags of black
beans in the grocery store that I refuse to buy because they would take to long
to soak and prepare. One of the
volunteers mentioned that her host family spends evenings sitting on the porch
sifting through beans.
That is when I thought about how time-consuming our chores
had been in the kitchen, yet how much time we had spent talking and sharing our
lives with each other. It is great to
have the conveniences of dishwashers, food processors, ready-to-cook food, and
other modern marvels. But, I never
before realized that when we take the short cuts we often miss out on time
spent together. Some of my favorite
conversations with my Dad occurred when our dishwasher was broken. We stood side by side washing and drying the
dishes as we shared our lives. I would
not have heard the stories of the other women nor would I have been able to
share my story had we had an Americanized kitchen.
