Zanja (n.): "the gutter," in Castellano. Zanjas usually run down both sides of a given dirt road in Argentina, in front of houses and buildings. Standard depth for a zanja is about waist-high on a large thoroughfare, for smaller roads, they usually reach the mid thigh. Zanjas are generally known to accumulate all manner of refuse, both solid and liquid, which mixes to form a slick, black sludge. If a dog bites you and then drinks from the zanja, you pity the dog, and hope it won't bite you again. When the street lights are dim, you worry about accidentally stepping, or worse, falling into a zanja. You've heard tales of people that have done so, the tales are not pretty. You may have helped once or twice when a given community has gathered to clean its zanjas; and while your optimism has noticed a curious brotherhood that this activity elicits among its participants, you must admit (though not pessimistically) that your nose has never be the same. You picture teenagers with black mud caked on bare arms to the elbow and bare legs to the knee.
Not all zanjas are filled with black ooze, some are quite dry and clean. Into these you fall frequently as you dismount your bicycle. And although it is a dry zanja, its cultural associations still curl your upper lip as you fall and produce not a few eeewww's to accompany the unbridled laughter of your spectators.
You wonder sometimes if anything lives in the zanja.
Some of your friends say they hate the zanjas, but you know they really just hate being away from home.
Once you may have witnessed a group of people pulling a middle-aged man out of the zanja. It was a grassy zanja that surrounded a large field. It was deep and he was heavy; he was also unconscious, delirious at the least. Drunk he may have been; he may have been drinking a bit and swooned, it was a fairly hot day. We heaved and heaved, it was difficult to get much leverage given the angle of the zanja. I can't remember now if he said anything during the entire process.
In front of each house there is a small bridge over the zanja. Most are wooden bridges, though sheet metal and care tires are also frequent. Some bridges you trust more than others. There is always a moment of doubt when crossing a zanja bridge. You have been repeatedly astounded at the strength of wood due to your experiences with zanja bridges. In your mind you often compare them to kingly drawbridges, though no drawbridge could compete with the simple, practical creativity of these small walkways.
It is customary, after crossing over the zanja, to stop at the house's gate and clap. Sometimes you secretly take pride in the loudness of your clap.
Sometimes when you clap, people let you in and give you some hot chocolate. They will usually take tea or drink mate. You sit by the fire because it is cold outside and sometimes the conversation makes you feel even warmer, like a brightness spreads within the room and polishes the best qualities of the hearts within it. You feel meaningfulness and smile often at the bliss of new understanding. One day you may have been there, in front of such a fire feeling the tugs of a shared gratitude growing in your heart. Sometimes your friends forget that feeling by the time you come back, but not this time. We could tell that he remembered and that he wanted us to come in. But his wife had said no. We were sad for her, he was especially sad. We never saw him again.
