Fruit Man!

I have a head cold. I still managed to get a few errands done today, and when I came home, I saw the fruit man right in front of our house. He has a big glass cart, filled to the brim with fresh fruit...mango, papaya, watermelon, oranges, bananas, cantalope, pineapple... He has a knife and a juicer. That's about all. I thought about how good some fresh fruit and juice would taste. I knew I had at least 100 pesos on me...an amount less than $10. So I threw caution to the wind and ordered a plastic container of pineapple mixed with papaya. Watching the fruit man at work was amazing. He peeled a pineapple, carefully putting the peel and juice into a garbage bag he had rigged to his chopping block. Then he quickly, cut the pineapple into perfect, bite-sized pieces. He followed with the papaya. I didn't see how he could possible fit all of the pieces of fruit into the container...but he did. And then, not satisfied, he cut more papaya! When he began to cut oranges for the juice, I figured he would never need them all. But, he put all of the fresh juice into a plastic cup, then got a fresh cup, and strained the juice into that one. The juice didn't quite reach the top, so he cut, squeezed, and strained another orange. When I asked the price, I couldn't believe my ears. Thirty pesos...about $2.50. I had taken out a fifty peso note. I was thinking about how much the fruit and juice would cost anywhere in the U.S. He quickly handed me my change of twenty pesos...I asked him if he had children and he said yes, so I said that twenty pesos was for them. Twenty pesos was so little to me, and a lot to him.

I had learned from one of our friends here that in order to make ends meet, all members of working class families have to work. I imagined that this man had risen before dawn, gone to the market for his fruit, carried that on the pesero and subway, picked up his heavy cart, and began his route...street by street. Many people have to travel over two hours each way on the subway and pesero to get to where they can work. They work far into the night. Most nights, just as we are dozing off to sleep, we hear the whistle of the yam man. He and his wife push a charcoal roaster that cooks yams as they walk street by street. They also bring a selection of condiments for the yams like cinnamon, butter, and sweetened condensed milk.

Early in the morning, we hear the loudspeaker of the tamale man as he announces his breakfast menu. People set up street cauldrons of steaming atole, a sweet, thick corn-based breakfast drink flavored with vanilla, chocolate, strawberry, rice or nut. If a food can be carried or moved, however, someone here will make sure to find a way.

The sound of the yam whistle or the tamale loud-speaker are, to me, the sound of happiness.