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The Kindness of Poor People: 2

By Daniel Lins - 2010-01-01

Kindness of Poor People II

We were stopped on the side of the road, high in the Andes, to fix Mike’s broken spoke. My mind was wandering to the misty valley spread out below me, pretending to be an eagle soaring over the multi-colored fields, mud-brick houses, and winding river.

I was awakened from my reverie by a young girl’s voice, "Good Morning Gringo!" I turned around and met a local girl, smiling ear to ear, and with her hands clasped in front of her in a shy stance. She looked back at her mother and giggled, then turned to me and continued in spanish. "Would you like a toona?" Of course I said yes, and followed her over to her yard, on an embankment.

I was greeted by her mother, who was occupied with stirring the contents of a big pot over a small fire, and her grandmother, who was sitting on the doorstep in her colorful skirts, splitting some pea-like vegetables. The house was made of pure adobe (mud bricks made with a little straw and dried in the sun), and very modest. A cow stood under a straw roof across from the doorway.

The girl proceeded to harvest some cactus-fruit ("toona") from their yard while I talked to the mother. Grandma spoke only Quechua, so I flirted with the few Incan phrases that I knew. Presently, the guys came over and we talked some more. It turned out that it was mom’s birthday, and they invited us to the feast!

All standing around awkwardly, we began to get to know the family and share about ourselves. The girl and her younger sister proudly brought out four young piglets, squealing and barely able to walk. They were so cute, and didn’t even have full function of their legs. Momma pig was notably absent.

Soon the rest of the family arrived, and we feasted on homegrown potatoes and what was left of the mamma-pig after they had sold the meat. Each person got two puny pieces of fatty meat, some dried corn, and two tiny potatoes. Dad even gifted Dan with his meat and me with his potatoes, smiled, and said he had already eaten, even though we all knew he hadn’t. Nothing to do but accept. Cousin brought out some local drink and we talked politics, history, life in the USA, and local Andean customs. They even taught us more Quechuan words.

I snuck inside and sat down with Grandpa, the patriarch of the family. He told me how he had built the house from the ground up, provided for his 9 kids, and how they grow Cuy (Guinea Pigs) to sell and eat as a delicacy. We talked about life and God and families, listening to the cartoon-like bubbling noises of the cuy, until long after the others went to bed.

When we left in the morning, they sent us packing with a bunch of eggs, some bread, and more toona. It is amazing to me, how these people with barely enough food for themselves were so willing to give of their possessions to us, who were just passing by and had nothing to offer.