Alisha Thompson, '14

Learning to Love Tortillas

     As I look back on my last week in New York before leaving to spend four months of my life studying abroad in El Salvador, I distinctly remember one of my last conversations with my friend Alexis, with whom I had gone on the El Salvador immersion over a year earlier. She wished me luck with the pupusas and I vowed to avoid beans and tortillas for as long as possible. On our immersion trip we had quickly developed stomach pains from pupusa overdose and had grown sick and tired of the tormenting pile of beans that would always appear on our breakfast plates each morning. At the time beans for breakfast was an outrageous concept for me and during my first weeks in El Salvador I kept my promise and only ate beans, pupusas, and especially tortillas when no other option was available.

La autora con sus anfitriones, Juana y Roberto
Las Nubes, El Salvador

     My perspective started to change as I accompanied the community Las Nubes every Monday and Wednesday throughout the semester, but it wasn't until my praxis week that things really settled in. After spending my first full week living in Las Nubes I could not understand why I so foolishly rejected these precious foods. Yes, I admit it. I have fallen in love with tortillas! This love is much deeper than having a favorite food because of how delicious it is. This love is almost spiritual. I now see tortillas as fruit of the vine and work of human hands. I walked through the process of making tortillas and shared the sweat and calluses that come along with it.

     I accompanied Juana, my gracious host mother, as we picked the elote from the madre tierra, fighting against hormigas that bit our feet and chopping through the tall corn plants with a machete. After traversing down from the finca with our winnings atop our heads, a common Salvadoran method of carrying heavy loads, and nearly falling down the steep, unpaved volcano side, we arrived to an empty house to carry out our house chores. We husked the corn, washed the dishes, cleaned the house, and bathed ourselves (which seems to be a public affair in this culture) until the rest of the family began to arrive home. With the help of Juana's daughter Delmy and her brother-in-law David, I removed the dried granos de maiz from the mazorca until I had large blisters on my fingers.

     The next morning we soaked the maiz in lye para quitar la cáscara de los granos. As the water boiled above the burning leña, we chased a gallina de abajo para que no peleara con las gallinas del vecino. After spotting an orange tree, we ran back to the house to grab a bag and then together began to climb the tree. I must confess, I am not the tree climbing type. The way I see it, nothing about a high, unstable branch with ant-covered bark says "climb me", but I was inspired by the 51-year-old woman who kicked off her shoes and began scurrying up the tree at an impressive pace. Each time she moved higher I told myself that I must follow her. When we were possibly thirty feet off the ground she turned to me with surprise that I was there with her and not still waiting on the ground (though I wish I had known that was an option earlier). She passed me some of the biggest, juiciest oranges I had ever seen and I put them in the bag. Climbing down was even more of a task and reminded me why I do not usually climb trees. On the way up each step gives you a sense of excitement and accomplishment. On the way down each step makes you think what Trena, the program director, will say if you break your neck because you fell out of an orange tree. By some miracle I made it to safe ground, and with another adventure in our pockets we headed back to the house to indulge in our sweet treasure.

     With a fresh citrus scent wafting about us, we returned to the corn. We washed the kernels until there was no trace of yellow in the water, signifying the cáscaras had been discarded. Then we headed off to the molino, guacal on our heads and rain falling hard around us. This was a long, rocky trip down the volcano to a considerably dirty molino full of a surprising number of cats. The machine quickly converted our maiz into masa and we were ready to head back up to the house. The long, complicated process made the making tortillas even more beautiful.

     Juana and I bonded in the flickering light of the fire mientras tortillamos. She gleefully pointed out how each of my tortillas showed improvement from the one before. I felt complete when she exclaimed that my tortillas were finally the same as hers, we were equals, ya aprendí. My journey through Las Nubes was not about being able to help the Salvadorans or change the world. It was about understanding the true definition of solidarity. It was about feeling like equals, like a part of one community, like a family.

     By making tortillas I came to know my family. We made tortillas and pupusas as we each exchanged stories of the struggles and triumphs of our past. Juana told me about the Civil War in El Salvador and I told her about the planes crashing into my beloved twin towers on September 11th. We had each watched explosions from our windows, though in different times and different places, and we each knew that things would never be the same. Sin embargo, in this moment we found strength in each other.

     As we brought the food to the table I felt both proud and honored to know I had helped in the entire process of making it. "De la tierra a la boca" is how I like to think of the process. Roberto, Juana's husband, told me how blessed he felt to eat the pupusas made by the hands of a norteamericana. Little did he know, I felt both blessed and honored to be able to make the pupusas for him and to know that my hands, hands of a gringa, were just as worthy as those of Juana's when it came to the tortillas and pupusas. My entire experience in Las Nubes can be summed up in my newfound love for tortillas. I learned to become a part of the process of fulfilling my community´s needs before my individual goals. I learned to live in solidaridad.

     El Salvador broke my heart from the day I met her to the day I left her. She has shown me laughter, tears, sweat, struggle, joy, and love. She has changed my life, and for that I will always love her. Nos vemos El Salvador, que le vaya bien.