As a child, I had many favorite people with whom I enjoyed spending time. Most of them were girls, just like me, classmates and playmates. But among all those girls, there was one adult woman who was very special in my childhood and adolescence, with whom I not only had fun, but also learned a lot. That favorite person in my world was my paternal grandmother.

As I have said before, my paternal grandmother was an illiterate Indian woman, but what she lacked in formal education, she made up for in her knowledge of the world. My grandmother was an excellent cook, seamstress, proverb maker, storyteller, and even a witch. She had concoctions for all kinds of ailments: coughs, fevers, headaches, toothaches, stomachaches, and even for the pains of the soul she had an antidote.

Since we were little girls, my sisters and I were looked after by my grandmother, as my parents worked from 7 a.m. to 6 p.m. At that time, my grandmother disciplined us so that we wouldn't destroy the world, but she was also able to invent stories and games so that we could continue to be the happy girls we always were.

For example, my grandmother made clothes for our dolls and let us use pieces of cardboard and fabric to make dollhouses in her well-kept garden. And although we were forbidden to enter the kitchen while the adults were cooking, our grandmother taught us to cook, sew, and even iron under her supervision. These household activities would become the seed for all the household activities I do today.

But if there was one thing I enjoyed, it was her stories, which were really interesting. In the afternoons, after my nap and while eating a snack, or in the evenings, when the whole family was together, my grandmother would start telling real stories and others she had made up. It all began with, “Once upon a time,” and that phrase was enough to capture my attention, to make my little heart beat with anticipation, to make my little body remain still, and to make new and unreal worlds begin to form in my mind. I enjoyed listening to those stories so much that my friends often asked me to go out and play, but I preferred to stay home and listen to my grandmother. Later on, those stories would fuel my creativity, my imagination, and my thirst for knowledge.

The best and most beautiful thing of all is that my grandmother took great care of me and spoiled me, and because she once got lost on her way to one of her children's houses, I was entrusted with accompanying her everywhere, so I spent a lot of time with her. I sometimes say with great pride that I taught my grandmother to write her name and numbers up to ten, but I must humbly admit that my grandmother taught me ancestral knowledge that only those who love can teach: that hugging takes away pain, that holding someone's hand provides support, that wetting the tip of the thread with saliva makes it easier to thread the needle, that you talk to plants so they grow and to stones so they hide secrets, that eating pasote on an empty stomach eliminates parasites and salt dries the tonsils, that after the phrase “Once upon a time” comes magic, and that telling stories to children gives them a place where they will always be happy.