Shirma

I saw her in her pajamas when she would wait up for me at night if I went out. I saw her in her apron when she taught me how to cook. I saw her in her high heels when she taught me how to dance. I saw her laugh as I struggled over Spanish and she patiently explained to me the rules. I saw her see me with the tenderness of a mother.

She didn’t know me and she didn’t have to even love me but she did.  It was so foreign to me—her love. She lavished me with her love. She loved me without conditions, without limits. I didn’t need to impress her with my grades and resume; she didn’t care. I didn’t need to be strong for her; she was strong on her own. I didn’t need to be perfect; she found joy in my flaws. She loved that I was as thick as her with the curves of a woman; she helped me reclaim a piece of my beauty. She told me about love and marriage and the compromise a woman makes. She baked me cakes filled with laughter and joy. She didn’t need me but she knew I needed her and she embraced me with her hugs.

To mother is to heal: Lots of cups of tea and one perm later my mom had unleashed a charisma in me that I lost somewhere between lies and truth. She called this my joy and laughter. I loved doing the dishes and laundry with her because we just laughed. I had forgotten how powerful laughter is and how critical a mother is to the essence of a family. Ecuador is different here—family means everything. A family is a woman’s pride and joy and however limiting this is to my feminist liberal perspective I finally see the beauty in mothering. I wish I could complain about machismo and the ama de casa idea but I see the value of it in my host mom.

To mother is powerful: One day in the market a man grabbed my wrist and wouldn’t let ago. It was scary in the sense that I felt powerless against his embrace as he towered over me. He wanted me to buy some candy. Than all of a sudden my mama came soaring in like a mother hen with her purse literally beating him away. I believe words were involved that are not fit for young readers. That day she told me that a woman always needs a big purse for pendejos.  

If I have learned anything from Shirma I have learned that to mother is to leave your mark on someone. The day that I left I saw her love me as my bus drove away and she wiped tears away. My cheeks became wet as I transitioned forward into the next part of my time here but I know I will never forget her. She is a part of the way I cook, the rhythm I dance too, my flow of Spanish, and one day she will be there when I am a mother when I love the way she taught me too, one cup of tea at a time.