HOW MY BIRTHDAY CELEBRATED ITSELF AND I BECAME FRIENDS WITH ARGENTINA

Can you hear the unspoken?
Can you see the invisible?
I exist and I am here
for I was born…

twenty nine years ago, today.

October 4th, 2010

On the fourth of October I woke up in my tent in a small gas station some 80 kilometres from Mendoza, Argentina and wrote in my diary:

I shall try not to expect anything of this day because too often expectations bring disappointment, I shall not tell anyone that today is my birthday, just see what happens. I have no friends or acquaintances here, at least not yet.

I looked at the map - there were two roads leading to Argentina-Chile passage I wanted to take: one went through Mendoza, the capital of the province, and the other through small surrounding villages. That last one called me and a ride later I was indeed in Junin hitchhiking west on Route 60.

“I can only take you ten kilometres further,” said a truck driver pulling over.

I did not take the ride – too much trouble getting my pack in and out of the car for such a small distance. Yet when fifteen minutes later a guy in a smaller vehicle offered the same deal, I took it – better than nothing, and at least I´ll have a change of view, I thought.

Exactly ten kilometres later I was dropped off in another village called Barriales, how I learned much later, and all of a sudden the road stopped.

I had been trying to get a ride for about an hour without luck when an elderly lady approached me: “I see you are not from here,” said the lady, “and you have been standing in this place for a long time. Please come to my house.”

She did not ask too many questions, my country, Estonia, she had never heard of before. Yet there was something in her invitation that did not need too many words or explanations, so without second thought I followed her.

“My name is Argentina,” she said as we were still walking down the street. Did I mishear? Did she say she was from Argentina?, I thought, but said nothing. “Yes, just like the country – my name is Argentina and my daughter is a traveller and receives travellers - that is why I came for you,” the woman explained.

“My name is Carina, nice to meet you,” I said.
“Carina? - well that is also my daughter´s name,” said Argentina.

Argentina´s home was small and humble, crowded with memories of the old. There was a sewing machine by the wall, a bunch of clothes on a sofa, a lot of souvenirs decorating the fire place, the walls and the shelves of the cupboards, a long table full of papers in the middle of the room left a small passage to get to the kitchen, two bedrooms and a bathroom.

Argentina apologised for the mess: “I live alone and am rarely here, besides I have a lot of work to do,” she explained referring to the sewing machine and the clothes.

“Have you had lunch yet?” she then asked.
“No, not yet,” I replied honestly and my kind host served me a pumpkin filled with tuna and rice.

It was three in the afternoon I saw from the clock on the wall – what time would I be back on the road, I wondered, but said nothing.

“You could stay here for a week or for as long as you want,” said Argentina, “wash your clothes, rest, do whatever and I shall take you around. And when my daughter returns from her trip you could go to her place in Mendoza. Would you like that?”

I hesitated to answer, truly I did not know what I would be doing staying in one place for a week – it seemed an awfully long time to do “whatever”.

I think she read my mind, because before I could speak she added: “I dance folkloric dances and I have a rehearsal today, then we would go to a birthday party of a friend and tomorrow I teach pottery to mentally disabled people – if you wanted you could go everywhere with me.”

“Are you a potter?” I asked.
“Yes, I practice indigenous pottery,” said Argentina and started filling the table with her works – plates, bowls, vases, wind-chimes, necklaces. I recognised they were made in same technique I had learned when living with the Chorotega people in Costa Rica.

While Argentina was busy finding space on the table to display all of her work she told me a bit of her family history: her grandmother, an indigenous woman of the Land, was taken hostage and then enslaved by the Spaniards, later she married her master, but became soon a widow. She brought up her children, among them the father of Argentina, according to the old ways. Argentina remembered little of her grandmother – she was only five when the woman passed away. One of the few memories she could recall was that the old woman had a snake around her waist, or more likely it was a belt made of its skin, so the little girl was afraid to go too near her. It was Argentina´s father who taught his children the story of their family and passed on the feeling of pride of belonging to the original people of the country.

That tale reflected not only the story of Argentina – the kind woman who took me into her home, but also the story of a Argentina – the country and its nation – a granddaughter of an indigenous woman married to her enemy. He changed her name and her religion and took her away from home. Then he passed away leaving her a widow to teach her children the Truth. Yet the story was never to become their life – for they were lost in that new place that they lived in and did not know the way back. So they learned to be in peace with the foreigners who still once too often mistreated them for the colour of their skin and their heritage. Had they then forgotten who was a guest and who the host and who the land really belonged to?


See also: http://www.iwgia.org/sw17294.asp

From the necklaces Argentina allowed me to pick one for a present. I missed clay, I loved to dance and I did need to wash my clothes. I had been on the road without a break for ten days, always sleeping outside and my acquaintances had not lasted longer than a ride, so I said: “yes, I would love to stay, though I do not know if for a week for I live a day at a time.” I told Argentina that I too had worked as an art teacher and had learned pottery from the indigenous people of Costa Rica, but I did not say anything about my birthday thanking her for the invitation and for the present.

Argentina then prepared a room for me, I swept the floor and not too long after we left. The bus took us to Junin from where Argentina showed me the way to a culture house and its wide hallroom. There were about fifty people and all welcomed me – to them it was an honour to have an international guest among them. I was asked to come forward and introduce myself. Was I dreaming? I wanted to say that it was my birthday and that all of them were my present, but instead I said I was happy to be there and I did not say anything about my birthday.

Soon we began to dance. Cueca, Zamba, Chacarera were some of the names of the compositions. In these folkloric dances there was hardly any physical contact between man and woman and the choreography was quite easy to follow.



After the rehearsal all got into cars and left for the party. Our car had some trouble starting so we arrived a bit later. The celebration took place in the house of Walter who on that day was celebrating his 50th birthday.

I introduced myself and congratulated the merry gentleman who came to open the door. Then we sat behind the long table together with other guests, forty or fifty people, all rejoicing and celebrating. 

“We have international guests today,” said Walter and presented me to all. 

“Cheers to Carina!” shouted someone and everyone lifted their glasses.


When the party was over and all started leaving, also ourselves went back to the car, someone asked me: “So when is your birthday?” “Fourth of October”, I said after a small pause.
“Fourth?..., but it is today!,”realised everyone, “We have to go back!”

And we did and those who had not yet left were also called back. “So why did you not say anything?” asked everyone, “we would have celebrated!”
“But you did!” I exclaimed, “I danced and ate and drank and received guests and you sang and cheered and rejoiced, only you did not know it was my party.”
“But we shall sing again and we shall celebrate your birthday tomorrow!” promised all and indeed another party took place the next day.

At night I slept in bed and when I woke up in front of the house I saw a beautiful lily had started blooming. So I also received my flower.