Tesho

"Do you want some chicle?"

This is the question Cristobal always asks me right before he pops a pinch of chewing tobacco into his mouth, then shakes and laugh when I tell him "Another day."

He understands very little Spanish, so I've been forced to learn Guarani on the fly. But his good nature, humor, and kindness translate even when I haven't the slightest idea what he's saying.






He stands a few inches under six feet. His skin is weathered like rough tree bark, and splotchy from a lifetime of exposure to the vicious Paraguayan sun. He likes to walk around bare chested, and his belly proceeds him by several inches, stretched tight and wobbling like a human pendulum.

I am writing this piece in late August, so it is the beginning of a new planting cycle. After a month of relative inactivity, "Tesho," rises at 4am, sometimes even as early as 3:30. He gulps down a liter or two of mate infused with chamomile, and then walks a kilometer to his chacra.

On a recent trip there, he climbed the freshly charred hill to plant mandioca and maiz. There are a myriad of chores: Some days he hacks away at the saplings that have taken root, other days he harnesses his two oxen to plow the field. On still other days, he spends hours hoeing the ground into a crumbly dust instead of the iron-like tierra common to Paraguay.

Though I have lived with five families so far, TeSho's is the first one that relies almost exclusively on farming for its subsistence. (Teofilo is a bricklayer, Antonio is a teacher, others have been cowboys or store keepers.)

Like many here, Tesho's family is complicated. He lives with Na Dora, a brazen, feisty, and defiant grandmother with a mouth that would put even the most macho Paraguayan man to shame. TeSho, in his mid 50s, had 4 daughters with Na Dora (who had four or five children during her first marriage.) Her first husband has since died.

Two of Na Dora's grandchildren live with her - Andres, 17, and Rodrigo, 15. Andres rises before dawn to work for other nearby farmers, while Rodrigo spends his time with his head glued to both of his cell phones (One for each of the two major phone carriers) as he texts away.

At midday, (for Tesho, already 8 hours old), he returns to the house - built room by room over the years as money and resources allowed - painted a brilliant white that seems to amplify the glare of the noon sun. After lunch, he walks back to the chacra to put another four hours of work in, or he tends to chores around the house.

His day ends around 8pm with a cup of sweetened milk or mate and a piece of bread. He's got to sleep, after all - he'll be up in just a few hours.