Day 211 Mothers

Saturday 8 Mar 2009

Teri has a workshop on ‘vision and mission’ at the colegio this morning so the three of us get in Juan’s immaculate Toyota and Teri gets out to walk the last ½ mile to the colegio while Juan, Yobani and I turn left and continue to the mercado about a mile away.

We’re in Carniceria Model-O before 7:30 and there are no other customers yet; the owner seems to be by himself. Yobani selects a chicken from 20 or so chickens in the refrigerated-trays and the butcher puts it on the scale, announces the price at 15.60 soles, and looks at Yobani, who looks at me, and I nod my head—what do they expect me to say, “No, I want the one for 14.90?” I know—they are merely following protocol. The owner butchers chicken differently than the other three butchers do; the pieces all end up the same, but he does his in a unique classy way with little wasted motion.

Right after he chops our chicken’s head off two women come into the tienda; a woman about 40 and a matronly, heavily made up, frumpy, older woman who looks like an aged version of the younger woman—mother and daughter. They greet the three of us and the owner mutters a few words to the matron who doesn’t seem to like what she heard. All is quiet in the shop except for the rhythmic sound of the owner’s knife on the chopping block until a shout pierces the air, “Pancho!” The matron has called through the open door to the rear of the shop for the other butcher to make an appearance. When he doesn’t show up right away, she angrily shrieks, “Pancho!” in a tone reserved for mothers calling their recalcitrant children. Yobani and I smile at each other and I glance at the owner who is trying without success to suppress a grin. Pancho, a man of about 35, finally saunters through the door wearing a stifled scowl—he does not look like a disobedient child, he looks like an angry man ready for a knife fight. Mothers!