Mi Tía Dalila (My Aunt Dalila)
Another May arrives in our lives and with it, Spring is at our doors - finally! We can smell it in the air, we can see it in the fresh green of trees and bushes, in the flowers’ buds, and hear it in the happy chirping of birds. Nature everywhere is rejoicing, and life in all its beauty is here.
Now I know why, throughout the world, we dedicate the month of May to celebrate Mothers. For they, like Spring, bring new life to the world. For those of us, young or old, who have lost our mothers, May can be a time of remembrance, and in that remembrance, a source of renewal as well.
This May I want to honor my mother’s sister, my Aunt Dalila Chávez de Sánchez. Together with my grandmother Juana, my Aunt Dalila - Tîa Dalila - became a mother to me and to my three siblings when we were still very young. The eldest child, I was twelve when my mother, Clara, passed away from illness.
Before I recount my memories of my aunt from the happy time of my childhood, I would like to paint a quick portrait of her life:
Like my mother, who was her older sister by one year, Dalila was born in the small town of Jose Galvez, located in the province of Celendin. Her parents were Manuel Chávez Zamora and Juana Diaz Horna. When my mother was fifteen, and my Aunt Dalila fourteen, they learned that their father had died of an accident - a snake bite, most likely - while tending the farm he kept in the district of Balsas, on the banks of the Marañon River.
My grandfather’s death brought drastic changes to his family’s life. He left a young widow, my grandmother, who was only 38 years of age. My grandmother assumed the duties of her husband’s work, taking charge of their farm, which was a full five hours from Jose Galvez, by horse. My mother and my aunt left Secundaria (High School) in Celendin to stay at home and help in the domestic duties. They each continued their education by other means: my mother took lessons by correspondence in the art of making dresses, and eventually became the seamstress of Jose Galvez; and my Aunt did the same in embroidery.Their work was popular and very well-received, and they became known for their kindness, skill and virtue.
A few years passed when a young man, originally also from Jose Galvez, returned to his hometown during a break from his travels. His name was Anibal Sanchez. He had been accompanying his uncles as a merchant, traveling to Cuzco and Arequipa in Southern Peru, and to Cochabamba and Paruro, in Bolivia. Now he had returned to the town where he was born.
When Anibal saw my Aunt, he fell quite suddenly and deeply in love. She returned his love and not long thereafter my Aunt and Anibal married. They soon departed Jose Galvez to renew my uncle’s work itinerary. They traveled south, through Lima, Cuzco, and Arequipa, ending up in Cochabamba. My Aunt would never forget this time: especially her overnight trip across Lake Titicaca in “un barco a vapor” (a steam ship), an adventure the likes of which she had never known. She used to tell us how big and beautiful the steam ship was; how delicious the buffet breakfast, especially after learning that she should enjoy whatever and however much she wanted - since the cost was already included in the fare.
But homesickness set in during the short time they lived in Cochabamba. My tía Dalila loved and missed not only her hometown, but her mother and her sister, from whom she had never been separated. So my tío Anibal decided to return with her to Jose Galvez. Half-way into their journey home, in the city of Arequipa, my aunt gave birth to her first son. They named him Manuel, my first first-cousin, whom we all call Mañuco.
Jose Galvez would be my aunt and uncle’s home for nearly their whole life. In Jose Galvez, my tía Dalila raised her four sons. These boys - my cousins - later came to my own home-town of Cajamarca, to attend High School. During these years, we all lived together in my family’s home. All four boys went to the University of Trujillo (my own alma mater) on the coast. Mañuco became a neurologist, and today lives works and lives in Trujillo. He is a husband and father, with four children of his own. Two cousins, Luis (Lucho) and Roger became lawyers, and the third and youngest, Emerson (Negrito), is a surgeon. These three live and work in Cajamarca; all are married, and each has four children, like their parents and older brother. Incredible!
My aunt died five years ago in Cajamarca, a few years after my tío Anibal had passed away. They had a strong marriage; and my aunt remained the anchor and the heart of her family.
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That, in broad strokes, is a portrait of my aunt Dalila’s life. But how she lives in my memory, as the aunt of my childhood, is what I would now like to share.
My aunt was a strong, good-looking woman. I remember how nicely she wore her large straw hat, which she used whenever she worked in the fields, where the Andean sun shone so bright and warm. She wore the same hat every weekend when she baked bread in the domed adobe oven built into the backyard of her home. I have never seen a person so energetic, so active, so warm, and so eager to give and to share. For my siblings and me, our trip to Jose Galvez every February, when we stayed with our dear first cousins and our aunt and uncle, was like going to a magical place, a place my aunt had made with love.
How can I forget the sound of her quick steps early in the morning, descending the stairs to go to the kitchen to put wood in the stove and start a fire. She always gave herself enough time to walk to the nearby pasture, leaving the house by the back gate. There, she would milk the one cow she kept, returning with a bucket full of warm fresh milk. She would bring the milk to a boil, readying a breakfast we enjoyed so often, and never ceased to love. I still recall the excitement we felt when, around 8:00am, we woke to the voice of my tía Dalila, who had come up to our bedrooms carrying a tub of warm water. - “Get up children! Here is warm water to wash your faces. Comb your hair and dress quickly, breakfast is ready! This morning we are having salchichas con huevo frito (sausages with fried egg), humitas (steamed pastries made with fresh corn). panecitos de yema (egg yolk bread rolls), quesillo fresco (fresh cheese). There is milk from la pintada (the spotted cow), who still blesses us with a calf every year, and esencia de café fresquita (fresh essence of coffee) that I made just this morning. Hurry, hurry up!” -
We would jump from our beds at once. We knew just how delicious her breakfast would be! We took turns, sometimes not so politely, to wash our face, and we dressed quickly; everybody wanted to be the first to go downstairs. We ran, passing through the two patios of the house, and took our seats at the table. Such a paradise lay before us!
How many times did we enjoy these feasts in the company of our beloved cousins? More than I can count, and never did they lose their enchantment. Every year of my childhood, and when we returned as youngsters and even as adults: always, there she was, my aunt Dalila, whose mornings started very early, who accomplished so much in such a short time, all with a heart so full and giving. My dearest aunt, who, when we arrived to her home, embraced each of us with tears of joy in her eyes, and when we left, with tears of sadness. And I felt the same in my heart!
Her attention, devotion and generosity were present everyday, from morning to night. I remember our joyful mornings after breakfast, when we walked with her to the huerta (vegetable garden) of her mother-in-law, Tía Shishi (Aunt Cecilia), on the other side of town. We walked by an idyllic landscape of countrymen plowing their lands and waving to us from a distance; horses and cows grazed in the pastures, looking at us with peaceful and curious eyes, always moving their tails slowly and rhythmically to keep the flies away. How I enjoyed those walks with my aunt! I was a child of a city, with no daily view of pastures, animals or people working in the fields.
I also remember how she fast she walked, holding in both hands straw baskets that were empty when we left the house, and full when we came back. In the huerta of Tía Shishi we gathered ajíes (Peruvian chile peppers), garlic, green onions, tomatoes, carrots, peas, beans, and our beloved Peruvian yellow potatoes.
With that precious bounty my tía Dalila would create her wonderful meals. Two dishes I remember with special fondness are Fideo Seco (a savory angel hair pastry) and Sopa de Pan (savory bread and cheese pastry). She showed us how simple their preparation really was. A broth made with a sofrito of ají amarillo, garlic, onions and fresh orégano was the common element in both dishes. For Fideo Seco she began with a large sauce pan, and starting from the bottom, she alternated layers of uncooked angel hair pasta with layers of sliced quesillo (her home made fresh cheese). After each of the first two layers, she added a small amount of the broth, and over the last layer of angel hair she poured what remained. She covered the sauce pan, put it on the stovetop, and let it all cook slowly at medium temperature. After 30 minutes, our Fideo Seco was ready to be enjoyed!
To make Sopa de Pan she followed the same process as for Fideo Seco; but instead of layers of angel hair, she used slices of bread one or two or three days old. It was an excellent way to use old bread, as it yielded such a delicious result.
As a child, and over the course of the years, I more and more admired mu aunt’s tireless activity. In addition to cooking and to caring for her children, she ran a busy home: she raised cuyes (guinea pigs) in a corner of her kitchen, and in the corral of her house she raised rabbits, turkeys, a pig, and laying hens. With the eggs from her hens she made a variety of breads and pastries: these included her weekly bread; her special panecitos de yema, and her bizcochuelos (flourless cake, made basically with only eggs), which we especially loved. She also made bizcochos (semi-sweet vanilla bread) which, as she aged, became her masterpiece. We would savor her bizcochos with a cup of her hot chocolate and a piece of her quesillo. Everything was home-made and hand-made.
My aunt Dalila was one of the few people in Jose Galvez who still knew how to make chocolate beginning with the fresh cacao fruits harvested from our family farm in Balsas. I have mentioned Balsas before, and it’s ecological distinction is that it sits in a subtropical valley of the Northern Marañon River, at an altitude where fruits of all kinds grow. Cacao is one of them. After my aunt received a harvest, she would remove the seeds (or beans) from the cacao fruit, watchfully letting them ferment before laying them out to dry in the alar - an open-air loft common to many homes. When the beans had dried, my aunt would grind them and melt them, and mold the melted chocolate into tablets of 100% cacao, ready for future use. We children loved to help in this final stage: molding the melted chocolate she made, and wrapping the finished tablets for later use or for sale.
She sold the chocolate tablets in the store that she and my tío Anibal owned. And what a store it was! I can still see and feel its coziness, and still recall the delicious aromas that came from the pantry, where my aunt kept all of her fresh bread, bizcochuelos, panecitos de yema, galletitas de maiz (corn cookies). When fruit arrived from Balsas, they too found their place in that well-loved place. Imagine the aromas from fresh oranges, cacao, ciruelas (red plums), mangos, paltas (avocados), and bananas!
As children, we could never resist the temptation to take a few morsels for a snack. And though we did it hidden from the sight of our tía Dalila, we also knew she would encourage us! She was always saying: - “Eat, children, eat! All that is here is for you. All of these fruits come from grandpa’s farm, for us to enjoy! And since we gather for only a few weeks every year, let’s celebrate our time together!”
I could write much more, from the deep stream of memories that are coming to me now. To put an appropriate end to my writing, I will mention one final aspect of Tía Dalila that can’t be ignored: her talent as an embroiderer and in the art of crochet. Until the last days of her life, when weakness in her legs made her unable to walk, she was always at work embroidering pillow cases for her children’s beds, tablecloths for their dining rooms, and crocheting beautiful bed spreads and placemats. I treasure a set of beautiful placemats she gave me the last time we saw each other. They are now on my dresser, my book case and my desk.
I was once told that “to remember is to bring to life what we have loved”. Remembering my tía Dalila, especially in this month of May, when Spring speaks of the renewal of life, is to feel my aunt’s spirit alive again. She remains in our memories a beautiful woman with a deep and unconditional love for her family. Even today, those of us who knew her still perceive and appreciate her energy, her tireless activity, her capacity for giving! When we have a good rich cup of chocolate, when we taste again Fideo Seco, when we smell freshly baked bread; when we enjoy the warmth of a bedspread, or see her art in the pillowcase where our head rests: Tia Dalila is present, and we live and rest full of gratitude.
Happy Mother’s Day to all the Tía Dalilas of the world!
Mama Doris