• The Long Trek

17 children embarked on their long trek from a gathering area on the first floor to their classrooms on the second. I stood on the landing, waiting like a pedestrian at the crosswalk. If every morning began like this, I would be content.

Today, I was in El Alfarero, a kindergarten and community kitchen located in the Barracas neighborhood. This community center fills an important gap left by a lack of government funding by providing working parents necessary supervision and an opportunity for young children to kickstart their education. The kitchen is operated by women, cooking for the children as well as members of the community. 

• Mondays with Maren

Four weeks of being in Argentina was beginning to rub off on me. I sprinted from my subway stop to meet Maren, arriving at the Congreso stop. Maren is a gap year from a small Norwegian city on the West Coast, weighing psychology against physiology come fall. This was Maren’s last day. She had already been here for five weeks. On the bus, she shared her experience in Buenos Aires with me. “There’s not many vegetables here,” she told me with a laugh as she recounted some of her favorite meals.

From the bus stop, it was about three blocks to El Alfarero where we were greeted by Maxi, the secretary, and Denise, one of the teachers. Maren and I split here as I was given a tour of the center. On the first floor, there is a classroom, a cafeteria that is connected to the community kitchen, and an outdoor playground within the center. On the second floor, there are two more classrooms plus an indoor playroom for rainy days like this. The rooftop seems painted green by a lush, herb garden. After coming down from the rooftop, we stop at the stairwell. Here comes the procession.

• They Got to Me

The class began with morning songs: some students were born performers, others preferred to listen. Maren was a giant sitting, knees to chin, in the tiny chairs made for the five year-olds. Although she speaks little Spanish, she works well with everyone in the project. The teachers trust her, the children naturally drift towards her. 

Sometimes actions carry messages where language cannot. 

The class then moved into an emotion check-in. One-by-one, students walked to the door and pointed at a poster where there were six emotions: alegria, miedo, enojo, tristeza, calma, amor. My job was to photograph and take notes, so I took station across the room, shifting angles when needed. This was disrupted as two students came to me to look at my camera. From there, I was quickly led by a hand wrapped around my finger to a seat five sizes too small for me: I was roped in. 

After a cereal snack, the teachers passed out playdough and the little artists were freed to pursue their creative visions. I was given many pizzas and potatoes to try; snakes and ghouls chased me around the table. The classroom then quieted down as the students moved to the other side of the room. The teachers had spread out leaves, branches, cups of seeds, and tiny stones on a mat for a lesson in nature. The teachers raised each item and the students answered in unison, mostly. After about five minutes, the signal was given for play time, and play they did. Cups of seeds were offered to me as cups of milk, “leche?” My hair was brushed with a feather; I felt bonito. Branches were used to churn butter and duel to the death. 

The students played until they were rounded up once again to wash their hands and begin the long trek downstairs; lunch time. Students filled two long tables in the cafeteria, chatter bounced off every wall. The meal included soup, milanesa de pollo, and cheese and jelly sticks. The teachers spread out among the students, encouraging the reluctant eaters, fetching water, and wiping off soupy faces. 

• Under the Cover of the Nap

The only suitable place for stuffed kindergarten students is a mattress. After finishing their last plates, the students returned to their classroom already prepared for nap time. Like muscle memory, each child fell into their mattresses. The adults sat between the students patting their backs as they fell asleep, some much faster than others. Maren sat with one restless student, drawing on a sketch tablet. Soft music played in the background, the curtains only let a small ray of light in. There was a faint smell of bark and playdough left in the air: the weird, oddly comforting smell of a classroom. I, too, could have laid down and slept. Maren and I snuck out then. Before we left the classroom, the teachers handed Maren a poster with a printed picture of her and the class and a long message written on the back. She smiled.

We returned to the kitchen for a lunch of milanesa de pollo and pasta with tomatoes. Then Maren bid farewell to the women in the kitchen. One woman who felt like she could be everyone’s abuela began to tear up. She left Maren with an open invite to return to El Alfarero. “Family is always welcome here.”

As Maren and I walked back to the 37 stop, I asked if she would miss the children. There was a pause as Maren contemplated the best phrase to encapsulate everything she felt in the moment.

“Yes.”