Kra

September 6, 2019

Antonio arrived to guide me to a community west of Curva del Río which I'll call Krabtä. His father worked was working on the road that was under construction out that way, and he and his mother alternated their time between Krabtä and Lado Oeste. Additionally, it was the community volunteer Shelby "Gely" had been assigned to.

After an hour hike or so, we arrived at Krabtä and to the home of Martín, Shelby's guide and host father. Martín is quite friendly, and a leader in the community. He often asks that we (volunteers) visit him every time we're in town. Shelby wasn't initially home, so Martín and I got acquainted with each other. The specifics of the conversation, I cannot remember. Meanwhile, Antonio sat impatiently.

Eventually, Shelby arrived and was accordingly surprised about my visit. She recounted that recently another volunteer had been to visit by chance as well. After a brief reunion, she took me on a mini-tour of the community and eventually into what I call the House of Kigä. In a small shack, there was an operation taking place where pita (kigä) plants [Aechmea magdalenae] were scraped away at to obtain the fibers beneath. The fibers would eventually go through a process to become string. The string would then be used to weave kra (chácara). I asked if I could participate, which they found funny. After all, this was women's work! But when they saw that I was serious, they humored me and sat me down at a station. They sat Shelby down at a station besides mine.  Before me lay a pita leaf and I was given a scraping tool made of wood with which to... scrape. I tried a few passes but the leaf was unfazed.

"Más presión!" I was advised.

After several more tries, I finally managed to scrape just a little bit. Slowly but surely the chlorophyll rubbed away and the stringy fiber was revealed underneath. Where I had pressed too lightly, Shelby had placed too much pressure on hers. The result was damaged fibers. There was thus a delicate balance between placing enough pressure to scrape the exterior but also softly enough to maintain the integrity of the fibers. Though I had moved painfully slow, they were pleased with how smooth the fibers remained. After scraping another or two, they thanked me for my visit and gifted me a kra.

Shelby completed the tour by the river. Out of the corner of my eye, lay a stream that drained into the river, but within the stream were some peculiar branches. As I focused upon them I realized I was, in fact, looking at a snake.

My First and Only Live Snake Sighting

I pointed the snake out to a kid who had just come back from an attempt at fishing. He grabbed a stone and tried to drop it on the snake. The snake quickly fled across the stream, onto the land, and disappeared into some grass. Fortunately, the snake did not match the descriptions of any venomous species we were told about. Nevertheless, the people take no chances and grant no mercy to any snakes.

Afterwards Shelby and I debriefed at her host family's home before I departed back to Lado Oeste with Antonio.

Kra-making in Lado Oeste

My host-mother, Juliana, is well-versed in kra making, being able to make kra of various patterns. In fact, much of what she learned came from those who live in Krabtä. While kra are traditionally made of pita plants, they can also be made from colored tape. This provides the benefit of creating kra of more vibrant colors, as well as offering unmatched durability. Natural kra, as an example, maintain their integrity for around 10 years and fray when wet (such as by rain). It was a plastic kra that Juliana gifted me for my day to day. Expertly crafted with various colors, and large enough to carry my liter bottle and more, I took it almost everywhere I went. However, some of the old guard turn their noses up at such plastic kra, and one woman in Curva del Río gave me three (3) kras because the sight of my tape kra repulsed her so.

Kra Juliana

Photo Credit: Michael Horner-Ibler

I asked Juliana if I could learn to make kra the way Shelby, who would become something of an expert herself, had. She politely declined, saying that making kra was not something men do. She then tapped on some wooden baskets, made of a wooden vine known as bejuco.

"Esto es que hacen los hombres" she told me.

Because as we all know, basket-weaving is the epitome of masculinity. Cutilio would take me out to harvest bejuco during the latter part of my service. While he did show me how to make a basket once, it was certainly not something I could say I learned.

From time to time, I would come across women making kra and express my interest, but they would just chuckle and shake their heads. I had considered petitioning for lessons in Krabtä, as they had seemed amenable to teaching me, but it ultimately became unnecessary when I finally found a teacher.

Beatríz had come from the South CNB. As such, she was something of an outsider and also someone who understood what it was like to be far from home and family. When I told her I was interested in making kra, but that nobody would teach me, she shook her head.

"Siempre quería enseñarles a mis hijos a hacer kra, pero nunca querían. Ahora aquí tu estás pidiendo para aprender pero nadie te enseñará."

She agreed to teach me, as soon as she got more string. Ultimately, my evacuation arrived before I could learn. The closest I got was to help prepare string for kra of the larger variety, which are usually used to transport items, such as a bushel of tubers. The string is prepped by grabbing various strands and rolling them along one's leg. Ultimately, it was something I wasn't physically very capable at, given that my legs were so hairy. The best I could do to at the time was roll the strings across the side of my knee where hair was scant.

There's only so much that can be done
on the side of a knee
Photo Credit: Remijio Montezuma

Though I ultimately never learned how to make kra, I was grateful that someone was willing to teach me.