Chiguines

My days here are full of children. They come to the house in the morning and our door, always left open, has groups of them coming and going all day and into the evening. They come in the morning to pass the early sunny hours outside; they come in the afternoon for math lessons, to draw, to play in the garden dirt or card games outside on the patio, and they come in the evenings to chat and draw some more, or to flip through the pages of our animal encyclopedia, the book favored by all. There are several groups that we know the best and visit us often, all together about fourteen kids with several others that come by less frequently.

They bring all their friends, siblings, and cousins to the house. Together they come in the evening and have dance parties where they invent the best moves I’ve ever seen, mixing ranchero swing, salsa and interpretive dance all together. They help you get oranges from the trees, climbing among the branches like agile monkeys while I wait on the ground always terrified. They help to water the plants in the garden and plant cloves of garlic in the earth to grow. If you need bananas, or flour from the venta, they go get it for you. If they know you are alone in the house they will come by to see you so you won’t be lonely or afraid.

They come to take you to their houses for visits there, to toast and grind coffee, to make tortillas, or to review their homework where I always try and sneak in extra problems disguised as fun. They take you to their homes where you can meet their mothers, always standing above the stove, and who no matter how little they have, always offer you a taste, or a fresh cup of coffee always full of sugar. They will tell you the story of their family, and give you the tour of their back yards with their pilas, pig pens and adobe bricks drying in the sun.

As you walk the streets of little Cusmapa, the whole ten minutes it takes to cross town, they holler at you from gardens unseen, from open windows and doorways, passing in the street: “Adios Profe Loren!” Walking by the house in the morning they yell outside your window “Buenos dias profesoras!” or my eternal favorite “Buenos dias amigitas!” (Good morning little friends!).

These little visits light up my days, they fill the slow times with meaning. Still, sometimes it takes no small amount of patience to give of yourself and your space all day to so many energetic, attention-thirsty chigüines. Some days, when the third group shows up at my door, I have to take in a slow, deep breath and re-gather my energies before getting out the next game or laying out the next sheet of drawing paper. I try to remember always that really, these kids teach me more everyday than I can them. I always hope to rise to this challenge and return to them all the energy they give me, to be the most attentive and present companion I can.