Fundraising with Maestra Ana

The beautiful Pollera, national dress
of Panama. Image thanks to Skyscraperlife.com

The teacher’s call forced one of the few Westindian students in the school to gather his belongings off the desk. As quickly as I could I put up my papers and the book I was reading. I stood waiting outside the classroom door while my teacher and Teacher Ana Sanchez finished talking.

Suddenly, as they concluded their conversation, my regular sixth grade teacher Doña Francisca smiled at me as our eyes met- a totally different attitude towards me than the one she’d shown since the first part of the year. Standing close by I had noticed the conspiratorial attitude of both my teachers and it intrigued me.

At that particular moment in my life this behavior meant very little to me. If anything, it could mean just another lecture or a sound upbraiding from Teacher Ana, which is what I expected. Surprisingly, we started walking briskly towards the staircase without a word being exchanged between us. Much later that afternoon I would receive a valuable lesson from Teacher Ana since I found out that she and I made up the only fund-raising committee for that year’s school fair and dance. Without further hesitation and very little conversation we were soon out on the street roaming around the City of Panama looking for donors to our cause.

Our first stop that afternoon was a commercial establishment the kids at school and I knew only as “the milk farm” or “Lechería.” Although it would be the first time that I would have any contact with that commercial installation I would discover that their operation housed two types of businesses. As we entered the place I immediately assessed the well lighted interior looking for what was sold there. I did notice that they also sold household items to decorate the interiors of houses.

My eyes quickly took in all the stuff that was on display. I was impressed since I had never seen these rather ornate, finely crafted kinds of decorative items as well as construction materials. While the teacher walked right up in her self assured manner I thought of the milk business I had seen shortly before we entered and the milk that I never before had the privilege of tasting.

As we sized up the place Maestra Sanchez greeted one of the persons present who rose to greet her. “Can I help you, Señora?” he said and they immediately got down to conversing while the man nodded affirmatively not looking once at the colored boy who accompanied the lady. The man turned out to be the owner and he immediately began ordering some of his men around even before my teacher had finished her delivery.

We followed behind the proprietor who had decided to donate some things that we immediately assessed would be too heavy for us two to take with us. There was a set of large artistically etched glass doors with designs of a beautifully dressed woman displaying a “Pollera,” the Panamanian national dress- something we all knew so well.

More interested in the artwork than in the donated cases of milk for the hundreds of kids at our school I couldn’t dissimulate the awed look on my face. I then heard the owner say, “We will have these items delivered for you, Teacher,” as the Maestra thanked them all for their generosity and thoughtfulness all in one breathe.

Still flabbergasted at the power of the scene I had just witnessed, we proceeded to leave. I still couldn’t believe the whole thing but Teacher snapped me out of it. “Come on son, we have much more ground to cover!” she said in her perfect American English being the Maestra Ana I had known for most of my young life, even before I had entered Spanish School. She had been my neighbor forever it seemed. Then she became our English teacher at Pedro J. Sosa School. As we moved towards the doors, the men smiled reassuringly and said, “Don’t worry Maestra, we are happy to help in any way we can.”

I was still marveling at the events that had just transpired before my juvenile eyes and continued walking beside my teacher trying to keep up with this woman whom I really started to admire. I had always thought I knew her and I began calculating that I was about four years of age when I first met her and her two daughters. They had been my first neighbors among the many I met in that year of 1940 when my parents had come to settle in Panama City’s district of Calidonia.

This story will continue.