Mamita Charo

When I was a child, I lived with my grandmother. For me, she was my mother. She was an amazing person. She worked so hard. She prepared food to sell in the flea market. Her name was Rosa Matilde, but her friends called her Mama Charo. She took care of me because my mom was only 16 years old when I was born. “Mama” or “Mamita” means mother. I liked to call my grandmother “Mamita.”

When I was a child, I called my real mother “sister” because I lived with my grandmother’s family. My grandmother had six children, five boys and one girl. I was her only granddaughter at that moment.

I loved my grandmother. She was a strong woman, and she worked so hard for her family because her husband went away from her home. She gave me good advice when I was a child. She told me, “You have to respect your parents and adults; don’t steal; be as good a student as you can; and pray to God and be thankful for everything you have.”

Every day, she woke up at 3:00 a.m. to prepare food: caldo de patas, arroz dorado, seco pollo, seco de carne, empanadas de queso, chocolate, and café y agua de fresco. (All this is Ecuadorian food.)

I have never forgotten how she woke me up at 5:00 a.m. to give me an agua de fresco to drink. When I woke up, I always smelled the delicious food, and I felt my stomach wanted to eat. She dressed me every day before it was time to go to the flea market. When I was there, she put me in a small box with blankets under the table. She always said, “Back to sleep again, my little girl.” She protected me all the time. She asked me every 30 minutes, or when she had a chance, if I was okay or hungry. Sometimes, she carried me in her scarf. I knew she loved me, but I loved her more than I could show her when she was alive.

One day, when I was five years old, she got sick. She had surgery. I have never forgotten that because after the surgery, she didn’t get better. She got stomach cancer because the surgeon left a piece of gauze inside her stomach.

A few months later, Mamita died. I will never forget what she whispered in my ear while she was hugging me: “Promise me you will be a good girl and help your mother.” Then she blessed me and kissed me. She told me, “It is time to go. You must never forget that I love you so much, my little girl.”

When I went outside, I sat on the floor. I saw that my family was crying. I remember one of my uncles was yelling, “Not Mom! Not you!” I understood that my grandmother had passed away.

At the burial, I saw Mamita for the last time. I loved her. She was everything in my life. Now she is still alive in my heart.

>

>

Author portraitElizabeth Calle writes, “I’m from Cuenca, Ecuador. I came to New York in February 2019, with my husband and two children. I was inspired to write ‘Mamita Charo’ in memory of my wonderful and amazing grandmother. She was a strong woman who worked hard to support her children. She was both mother and father; she protected and loved her family, so they grew up in the right way. Words can’t describe how much I love her. I’m currently a student in Jay Klokker’s class of the ESOL program at CUNY’s City Tech.”