Tetelcingo

We can not leave memories of Mexico without a glimpse of Tetelcingo. After we completed the twelve week course at Jungle Camp, we were assigned to a translation team working among the Azetecs in that small village near Mexico City. We were supposed to gain experience by working alongside missionaries already engaged in language learning and translation. Soon after we arrived in Tetelcingo, the missionaries had to leave because their son needed medical attention not available in the village. So there we sat in a house on the mission compound, knowing nothing of the Aztec language and barely enough Spanish to buy what we needed in the nearby market town of Quatla.

Here are a few snap shots from my misty memory. Some days I donned my reboso and walked the short distance (maybe two or three blocks) to the village to buy tortillas. I felt strange walking along the dirt street between mud huts, not knowing whether the people were friendly or not. The tortillas here were large and white, unlike the small yellow ones we enjoyed in southern Mexico. They were corn tortillas, but made from white, instead of yellow, corn. We learned to like them, especially spread with cajeta which is similar to caramel apple dip. I even have a recipe for cajeta in case anyone is interested.

The house we lived in had a cement floor. That floor brings back two memories, one interesting, the other terrifying. One evening, two groups of ants invaded our house. Their pitched battle right in the middle of our kitchen fascinated me. I had an entirely different feeling when I got up in the wee hours of the morning to cover our two-year-old son and had to watch my step to avoid scorpions. Even after one got me and I lived to tell about it, I never did adjust to those ugly creatures. The Lord knew I couldn’t handle them, so He sent us to Nevada where there were rattle snakes and Black Widow Spiders. They were much more discrete and seldom showed themselves.

Two Spanish phrases I learned well, “Con permiso?” and “Pase.” People on their way to the village often took a short cut across the mission compound. Always, they paused at the edge of the grounds to call out, “Con permiso?” and we called back. “Pase.” It was a formality developed long before we arrived, asking and granting permission to cross the mission property.

I didn’t do so well with the numbers above ten. One day someone came to our house to sell an egg. I agreed upon a price, then realized it was far too high. In embarrassment, I paid the higher price rather than admit my ignorance. One day we went to a “farmacia” to buy some Q-tips. How would you describe a Q-tip? Not difficult, right? But in Spanish? I didn’t have the words. I even resorted to pantomime. Finally, the man behind the counter smiled and said, “Oh, cooteeps.” Some things could be asked for by their brand name, but I didn’t know that.

Have you ever tasted a tree ripened mango? Before the missionary couple left for Mexico City, they took us to the home of their language helper, a Christian Aztec man who helped to put portions of the Bible into the language of his people. In his yard, he had an orchard. From a mango tree he picked a fruit and gave it to me. The sweet, juicy mango delighted my palate while it dripped sticky juice all over my hands, arms, and face. I later learned the proper way to eat a mango. You hold it with a fork thrust into the stem end of the fruit, far less messy that way.

I’ll never forget the day I saw a pre-historic animal, or so it seemed to me. A rock wall ran along near our house. Atop this wall, a four foot monster sunned himself. Head covered with large, plate-like scales and a high crest extending from the head all along the back and tail, he sent tingles of fear along my spine. I was sure he could destroy our two-year-old son. What other dangers might this strange land hold?

More recently, I learned that an iguana is a timid, harmless creature—I can see why there is a dinosaur named iguanodon.