La Fábrica de Chocolate

By the time we got back to the 27 charcos center I was much calmer. We had a nice lunch (though I don't think I would eat there again, as you'll find out later) and then sat in the sun to dry off. It was glorious, really. I could have sat there and chatted all day.Off to the chocolate factory next, and I mostly napped and read on the way. I knew I still needed to keep myself in check, to relax. The factory isn't quite what you'd expect. Six women in this remote campo grow cacao. They roast the beans themselves in a little fire outside, dry them, crush them and combine them with sugar to make this fantastic natual chocolate. It's crumbly and soft and delicious. It doesn't have anything added except sugar: only the natural oils of the cacao bean. You can eat it like candy of grate it into hot chocolate--which we also got to try. They make cocoa for cooking too.
After the demonstration we all sat around talking for awhile. But inevitably the waiting around got dull and conversation moved on to other things--books, I think. I had just returned from the latrine to a flock of girls in a circle, their conversation punctuated every couple of sentences by a chorus of self-affirming "Yeah, me too"s. My herding instinct kicked in. My first thought, you see, was to join the already swollen group where I knew I would be bored. Something stopped me. Right in front of me, one of the women was sitting at a table cutting chocolate into bars and wrapping them. I had overlooked her.Why had I overlooked her? Because no one else was talking with her? Because she seemed so different from myself? She'd been available since the demonstration ended. Did I value her opinions less than those of my compadres?I immediately began engaging her in discussion about her work--with the help of a peace corps volunteer who helped translate. The success of the business had waxed and waned over the last twenty years. They sold primarily to the local area. When they did well, they were able to help out their community, donating chocolate to the local church and school, sometimes helping to make sure the school had lunches for the kids. By the tiem we finished our conversation, everyone else was in the vans waiting for us.
I shared some of my enthusiasm with those back in the van. The factory was clearly an important force in the community, it seemed. Why didn't they export the chocolate? we wondered. Why didn't the Catholic church send it to churches in the staes, like my church does with Rwandan coffee?Settle down, I told myself, you can't save the world. I've got my own mission back home. That's the thing, I think, that I've got to remember: I'm not here on vacation. I'm here for specific reasons, reasons that have real meaning for my life in the states. And sometimes hanging on to that means I have to suppress my herding instinct, however counterintuitive it feels.