Meet Carmen

Carmen & her little shop

Some of you reading this post will already know who Carmen is and her involvement in my life in Iquitos. For others, I’ll introduce you to Carmen Del Rosario Ruiz Sanchez—or what I like to call her Carmencita (little Carmen). Carmen is a street vendor and craft artisan who works on the main promenade of Iquitos, called the Malecón. Within weeks of moving into my apartment in January 2009, Carmen befriended me in a way that I could never resist.  I barely spoke a word of Spanish then and certainly couldn’t understand it--but that didn’t stop Carmen from providing me with a glowing smile. Her coy little giggle and greetings of “hola, gringita” continued until we could finally exchange names. I’d see her on my corner or along the street as I came and went through the years. She’d always inquire about me and give me her toothless smile, picking up on my moods and insisting on hugs and kisses. Despite her obviously minimal circumstances and difficult life, she never asked me for anything. (Mind you many people over the years have befriended me, or tired, but it was more about being a handy ATM rather than a sincere desire to know me). Even through the years, as I learned to communicate with Carmen at higher and higher levels and better understand her troubled life, she almost always presented me with her bubbly personality and easy going style.

Besides suffering a lot of city bureaucratic rigmarole, an economic downturn in 2010-2013 that seriously reduced the number of visiting tourists (her customers) and ultimately the complete destruction of her vendor stall (along with about 30 others) by a raging fire, Carmen got up everyday, come into the city to work and continued to fight and move into each new day as best she could. She has no other means of support or way to cover expenses other than these small sales made from the natural products she makes herself.

Isn't she lovely?

About two years ago, there was a particularly vicious storm that passed through town. With high winds and rain, many people lost their roofs and/or walls, as the poorest house are made of minimal materials and cobbled together, at best. Carmen lost part of her roof and a whole back wall in the rental lean-to in which she lived. The landlord took no notice to make repairs and the patched together house offered her neither protection from the weather or security from thieves, both of which are common--especially for old, venerable people.

For the first time, she asked me if she could borrow some money in order to buy used, replacement corrugated metal for her roof and plastic tarp for the walls. I agreed and somehow, some way she paid me back over time. She’d told me that she had a small plot of land that was hers, located right next door and someday wanted to build a house there. I decided to check it out and see where she lived and the plot of land, too. Her house turned out to be no more than the most ramshackle, tumbledown building that you and I wouldn’t house a pig or cow in, let alone a human being.  But this was the best she had and proudly showed me around with no embarrassment.  After that visit I started stewing on her situation, attempting to find an easy solution--one that would somehow help her and ease my own conscience about the excessive good fortune in life. However, as the months passed and I kept interacting with her, I knew that half-measures would never do.

Carmen's original home

With crowd-sourcing groups catching fire, I decided to try a personal appeal to my own family and friends, describing the project and the person who would benefit--sort of a personal Habitat for Humanity idea.  Not surprisingly, people stepped up with large and small donations, which quickly added up to enough to build Carmen a very simple home. In February, construction began and was completed in about 8 weeks. Since then, Carmen has moved her things in and made it a home. I’ve tossed in some paint and bought her a few pieces of furniture. And she’s now making her various crafts at home under a very bright fluorescent light fixture. She has plants rooting in buckets, created a small kitchen in the corner and added some homey touches on the walls.  In the meantime, she continues to go downtown each day, 7 days a week to sell her products and do the best she can.

Who is Carmen? I didn't know as much as I should so with a friend, we trekked out to her house one Sunday afternoon to chat. Everyone has a story to tell and Carmen is no different.  Born January 3, 1950 in Iquitos, Perú, she has lived her whole life in the city and never gone or lived elsewhere. She was the oldest of 5 children and it was clear as she spoke about her parents that they were a kind and loving family unit. Unfortunately, when Carmen was 13 years old, her father—a radio operator for the naval station in Iquitos—was working when lighting struck. He was wearing headphones and the electricity came down the tower to his head. He was rushed to Lima for treatment but died a day later. This left Carmen, her mother and 4 siblings with no means of support.  Her mother had no skills and could only sell scavenged fruit on the street. A classmate’s family bought Carmen her schoolbooks until she was 15 and gave the family S/5 a day for food for years. Carmen cried as she told me how she was so careful with her books and notebooks. They were very precious to her and she knew her mother could not replace them. A few years later, Carmen left school but continued to care for her brothers and sisters so her mother could scrape out a living.  

Relaxing & catching a breeze

In her twenties she took a three-year vocational course for the production of artisan crafts from an institute in Iquitos. Along the way she had a husband in her life but that didn’t last and he left her with three small boys. She provided for her family by selling these artisan crafts and still does to this day, maintaining a fierce independence. All her children have moved to Lima and for whatever reason she rarely sees them but now and then they do call. However, her old classmate--whose family helped her out all those years ago--comes to Iquitos every Christmas to visit family. She always seeks Carmen out on the street and brings gifts of Christmas bread (panetones) and chocolate. Also, her younger sister calls her every day from Lima to check in and stay connected. These two women provide a lifeline and network of people who care about Carmen and her well-being.

In 1996 she was hit by a motorcar and severely injured her leg, which troubles her to this day. And her toothless grim is to be blamed on a thief in the night who broke in her house 8 years ago, stealing clothes and personal items, including her front bridge. And I don’t know to what extent, but she’s suffered more than once from malaria, dengue fever and giardia, just to name a few risks that living on the edge will present here in Iquitos and the rain forest.

Home, sweet home!

I asked Carmen with such a troubled, seemingly limited life how she maintains her happy, positive self.  With so little to call her own, she still shines through with light and joy. What’s her secret, I asked? She gave me her shy smile, not sure what to say but eventually stating the most healthy of sentiments. She simply fights to keep going each day because life is still good. Her friends and fellow vendors on the street are her family. They watch over her and love her. When she has a sad day, she goes to bed to rest and the next day feels ready to take on a new day. She puts each day behind her—letting the past go--and does her best to look for the good in her life, counting all the things that are right, not wrong.  She inspires me!

Considering her age and health, I don’t know how long Carmen will be around and who knows what will happen to her little house when she’s gone. But it gave me incredible pleasure to provide one kindly old woman who befriended me a home to call her own for as long as she lives. Where our relationship will go from here, I don’t know. When I have to leave Iquitos now, we say our goodbyes and she cries even as I assure her I’ll be back. When I do return, it’s a reunion of pure joy. One day I will leave here for good and say my final goodbyes, but that’s a ways off and in the meantime I’ll continue to share her joy in the simplest of desires—a home of her own.

NOTE: A final thank you to everyone who pitched in with donations for this project. You know who you are and I will always have a special place for you in my heart.  Sintita