Caravana al Norte: La larga caminata de Misael // Caravan to the North: Misael’s Long Walk

author: Jorge Argueta

translator (English): Elizabeth Bell 

illustrator: Manuel Monroy 

Groundwood Books / House of Anansi Press, 2019 

grades 4-up 

Pipil Nahua, Salvadoran

On the mostly black-and-white line illustration that wraps around the jacket, an anonymous group of people gathers in the Plaza Divino Salvador del Mundo. Most wear caps and lug drawstring sacks or backpacks or duffel bags or rolled-up sleeping bags, several carry toddlers or babies in slings, and one has a guitar. All of the people are brown and they face the same direction. Except for one man who is turned to the south, waving goodbye, all bodies and eyes are focused north.

In the group’s center is a young boy. With one hand, he holds a duffel bag and with the other, he grasps his father’s hand. While everyone else is depicted in white and is outlined in black or blue inks, this child wears a red t-shirt and his gaze is directed at the reader. He is the only one depicted with a mouth. His name is Misael Martínez, he is nine years old, he is part of the caravan to the north, and this is his story.

Through narrative verse in a voice that will resonate with young readers, Misael tells them why he and his family are leaving for the north. 

Hemos decidido porque en mi pueblo ya no se puede vivir. No hay trabajo ni oportunidades. Lo que hay es violencia, maras.

We decided to leave because you can't really live in my village anymore. There's no work. There's no way to get by. What there is, is violence, gangs.

As the families walk the 2,500 miles through Central America to the Tijuana border where they hope to cross into the US for a life that that will be safe and secure, Misael remembers his home—the good times and the beauty of simple things:

Yo quiero mucho pero mucho a mi país. Me encanta hacer siembras, ver crecer el maíz y los frijolitos

I love my country so, so much. I love to plant the fields, see the corn come up and the little beans sprout.

Readers also hear the voices of Misael’s parents. When they talk about the gang violence, their hearts are full of empathy for “those poor babies,” nobody’s children anymore but the gang’s. They talk about a neighbor’s son, killed by the cops.

Pobre cipote, se murío llorando y llamando a su mamá. A uno de tata, eso le duele.

Poor kid died crying and calling for his mamá. As a dad, that really hurts.

Misael remembers the good things about their home, the beautiful things: 

Cuando cantan las gualcalchillas canta mi corazón y yo sé que canta el corazón de nuestra Madre Tierra.

When the gualcalchillas sing, my heart sings and I know our Mother Earth’s heart is singing too.

Each short chapter begins with a title and a black-and-white line illustration that sets the scene for the narrative that follows. For the interior illustrations, Monroy used a calligraphy pen and Chinese ink on rustic rice paper, and for the cover, he processed the illustrations digitally to add color. This technique works beautifully with the spacious book design, hinting at detail and leaving room for readers’ imaginations—encouraging them to pause, examine and reflect—and identify with young Misael, his relatives, and the other asylum seekers.

Through these simple line drawings and beautiful narrative poems that need no interpretation, young readers will see the impossible conditions, the violence that is continuing to drive thousands of refugees into the mouth of the shark. And they will also see the impossible beauty of the land that young Misael has left—and the warm arms of his relatives and the beauty of the countryside and the beauty of a kernel of corn sprouting up, breaking the soil and saying “hello.” 

As they walk, the young refugees dream about what they’ll do when they reach the border. Misael fantasizes bathing in warm water and having a washing machine. Another boy wants to work and send money home to his mamá. Another’s ambition is to become a lawyer or a doctor, and yet another is happy to settle for just getting to the north. 

On their long, difficult journey, the refugees are often met with kindness from strangers along the way. In Chiquimulilla, Guatemala, 

Aquí nos regalan agua y comida. Lo más sabroso son las sonrisas de la gente.

They give us water and food. The smiles that people give us taste best of all.

And in Mexico City, a man at the shelter makes pupusas for everyone:

¡Vaya, las pupusas! ¡Pupusas revueltas de sueños, pupusas revueltas de arcoíris, pupusas revueltas de cantos, pupusas revueltas de amor!

“Come get your pupusas! Pupusas filled with dreams, pupusas filled with rainbows pupusas filled with song, pupusas filled with love!”

But when the large caravan finally reaches the US border they are confronted by the foreboding barbed wire-topped wall. Suddenly, cops and soldiers descend on them, attacking the families with tear gas and batons. The screaming, panicked, choking, people run every which way. 

That night, as Misael falls into a fitful sleep, he dreams that he’s flying, that he’s a song, that he’s a butterfly, that he’s a fish and a wave. And then he dreams 

el sueño más dulce: en vez de llegar al Norte llegué a El Salvador.

the sweetest dream of all Instead of going to the North I went back to El Salvador.

Although both Caravana al Norte and Caravan to the North employ language as spoken by a child, they don’t talk down to child readers. Argueta wrote this story in Spanish, and Elizabeth Bell’s spot-on English translation maintains both the poetic rhythm and Misael’s deep feelings. Monroy’s simple, evocative drawings, combined with the desperate narrative of a frightened child, show young readers what it is to be confronted with the real terror of the Central American asylum seekers desperately attempting to get to El Norte. 

*Highly recommended for home, library and classroom collections.

Argueta has a great talent and a gentle heart. Whether he’s writing in Nahuat, Spanish, or English, he knows his responsibility to the children of El Salvador and the children of the world—and he joyously takes it on. 

*Also highly recommended for home, classroom  and library collections are Argueta's Somos como las nubes / We Are Like the Clouds, translated by Elisa Amado and illustrated by Alfonso Ruano (Groundwood, 2016); and Dos conejos blancos and Two White Rabbits by Jairo Buitrago, translated by Elisa Amado and illustrated by Rafael Yockteng (Groundwood, 2016).

—Beverly Slapin

(published 10/5/19)

Gracias a mi amiga y colega, Lyn Miller-Lachmann.

Fuego, Fueguito / Fire, Little Fire / Tit, Titchin

author: Jorge Tetl Argueta

illustrator: Felipe Ugalde Alcántara 

translators (English): Jorge Tetl Argueta and Madeline Maillet, 

translators (Nahuat): Jorge Tetl Argueta, Genaro Ramírez, Pacita Paz Pérez, Valentín Ramírez, Carlos Cortez 

Piñata Books, 2019 

preschool-up 

Pipil Nahua, Salvadoran

In just about every Indigenous culture and language, there are millennia-old teachings about fire and water. Wherever and whenever these teachings are spoken or sung, children learn from their elders that, without air, fire and water, no living thing can exist. 

In this breathtaking trilingual poem that complements their earlier Agua, Agúita / Water, Little Water / At Achipiga At (Piñata Books, 2017), Argueta and Ugalde Alcántara team up to gift youngest readers and listeners another chapter in the story of life.

Narrated by a little one who likes to be referred to as “la chispita” or “little fire” or “titchin,” Fueguito is born from a tiny spark “on our Mother Earth / beneath our Father Sky” and flits around like a firefly. On a journey everywhere, Fueguito becomes bigger and smaller and bigger again and can be seen “in the volcano / in the mountain / in two sticks of wood / rubbing against each other.” Now Fueguito is on a stone striking against another stone, now in a bolt quickly flashing across the sky, now burning wood to provide heat—and always singing, laughing and dancing:

Yo, Fuego, Fueguito 

soy llama, llamita.

Chispa, chispita,

soy la alegre energía de la vida.

Fire, Little Fire,

I am a flame, a little flame.

A spark, a little spark,

the joyful energy of life.

Ugalde Alcántara’s gorgeous, stylized full-page bleeds, using watercolor and acrylic on paper and then finished digitally, complement Fueguito’s enchanting song. On a luminous jewel-toned palette of mostly reds, oranges and yellows, with occasional highlights of blues, turquoises, and greens, the artist vibrantly depicts Fueguito’s many forms and responsibilities. 

On one page, for instance, as Fueguito sings “among the stones,” Alcántara Ugalde shows readers the breathtaking Tse’Bii’Ndzisgaii, the Navajo Nation’s Monument Valley. Here, the angle of the sun behind them lights up these enormous, sacred sandstone formations that span Utah and Arizona. 

The Spanish and English texts on the left-hand pages fall on textured, sandy-yellow backgrounds, with each pair of texts divided by a small symbolic representation influenced by traditional Mesoamerican art. So while Fueguito sings, young discerning readers can take in the amazing design and color and movement on the right-hand pages, and they can also identify these stylized details and relate them to the images on the opposite page.

Argueta first wrote this awesome song in Spanish, his second language. Later, he wrote the English version, with neither being a direct translation of the other. In this way, both hablantes and English readers will appreciate the beauty and rhythm of whichever version they choose to read. As well, bilingual readers will see how a song can have subtly different lyrics and still maintain its wholeness and beauty. 

It’s unfortunate that the Nahuat version—Argueta’s first language and the language of the Pipil Nahua, Indigenous people of El Salvador and Mexico—is given short shrift. Relegated to one page at the end of the book, with no illustrations except for the opposite full-bleed depicting a roaring blaze, the Nahuat version is impossible for children to follow. There are no visual cues, and no way to compare it with either of the other two languages. As well, the Nahuat title on the front cover is smaller than the Spanish and English, and there’s a small line at the bottom that reads, “Includes a Nahaut version.” Although it’s listed in the summary on the CIP page, there’s no other reference to it. Since Argueta acknowledges and thanks four Nahuat speakers for their assistance, this decision was apparently made by the publisher.

This book design—as with that of Argueta’s and Ugalde Alcántara’s previous work, Agua, Agüita / Water, Little Water, which had the same problem—could easily have accommodated the Nahuat version, and since this poem / song is a First Nations’ teaching, placing it in the primary spot would have empowered Indigenous young children to see an Indigenous language on par with two colonial languages. Nevertheless, for the great beauty and teaching that it encompasses, Fuego, Fueguito / Fire, Little Fire / Tit, Titchin is highly recommended.

*Highly recommended for home, classroom and library collections. 

—Beverly Slapin

(published 9/22/19)

Agua, Agüita / Water, Little Water / At Achichipiga At

author: Jorge Tetl Argueta

illustrator: Felipe Ugalde Alcántara 

English translator: Gabriela Baeza Ventura 

Nahuat translators: Jorge Tetl Argueta, with Genaro Ramirez, María de la Paz Pérez and Paula López 

Piñata Books / Arte Público Press, 2017 

preschool-up 

Pipil Nahua, Salvadoran

In just about every Indigenous culture and language, there is a millennia-old teaching: Water Is Life. Wherever and whenever this teaching is spoken or sung, youngest children learn that, without water, no living thing can exist.

Narrated by a bead of water, a tiny drop who likes to be called “Agüita” or “Achichipiga,” or “Little Water,” this exquisite story of life begins deep in Mother Earth, where una gotita emerges singing. Drop by drop, as she grows, la gotita, passing through roots and rocks, traveling through light and darkness, climbs to the surface. Here, she rests “by hanging / on the tips of leaves, / on spider webs / or on flower petals.” During her journey, the little drop transforms into Agüita, “a sigh of morning dew,” “a sweet, tender and strong song.” She transforms into a river, a lake, an ocean, and climbs to the sky, becoming a cloud and, ultimately, as rain, returns to Mother Earth. And throughout her journey, throughout her many changes, she remains indescribable: “Soy de todos los colores / y no tengo color. / Soy de todos los sabores / y no tengo sabor. / Soy de todas las formas / y no tengo forma. / Soy Agua, / soy Agüita.”

Listen: Can you hear Agüita singing? Water is Life. All life is sentient. All life is a circle. We are all related.

Ugalde Alcántara’s gorgeous, stylized full-page illustrations, using watercolor and acrylic on paper and then finished digitally, complement Agüita’s song. On a luminous jewel-toned palette of mostly cool blues and greens, and sometimes warm reds, oranges and golds, the artist vibrantly depicts the many colors and shapes of little water. As one becomes many, Gotita / Agüita shows herself as part of everything that is: a blue rivulet cascading out of clouds and purple mountains through a green expanse, a blue-green river washing over brown rocks, white drops falling from clouds onto bluish land, and, as part of a waterfall, she provides a life-giving drink in a blue-white pond. 

Argueta’s poem in Spanish and Nahuat, together with Baeza Ventura’s translation into English, flow with grace and beauty. 

It’s unfortunate that the Nahuat version—Argueta’s first language and the language of the Pipil Nahua, Indigenous people of El Salvador and Mexico—is relegated to one double-page spread at the end with no accompanying illustration. As well, the Nahuat title, At Achichipiga At, is absent from both the CIP data and the cover (which has, instead, a small line at the bottom that reads, “Includes a Nahuat version”); and it’s shown, only in very small type, on the title page. The book design could easily have accommodated the Nahuat version, and, inasmuch as this poem / song is a First Nations’ teaching, placing it in the primary spot would have empowered Indigenous young children to see an Indigenous language on par with two colonial languages. 

It’s also unfortunate that the cover illustration, which focuses on a deer drinking from a pond, diverts the attention of young readers from Agüita herself. 

Nevertheless, for the great beauty and teaching that it encompasses, Agua, Agüita / Water, Little Water / At Achichipiga At is *highly recommended for all home, classroom and library collections.

—Beverly Slapin

(published 2/24/18)