Aloe vera and the Brits.

Being the only gringa in a small city means you are automatically an expert on anything English, even if it means translating the process of how aloe vera is harvested and made into a gel to put into lotions, makeup and certain health foods. Yes, that was definitely why I was selected to represent my country on a Fulbright: my expertise in aloe vera.

Thursday, I was called into the director's office and asked a favor. Could I do some interpreting on Friday for a Discovery Channel documentary on sábila. I have no idea what sábila is, but I try not to turn down opportunities that involve meeting Discovery Channel film crews. Actually, I really never turn down any opportunity here, and it hasn't failed me yet.

I learn sábila is the plant containing that magical gel called aloe vera. The director's secretary assures me it is no big deal and dials the engineer who is in charge of this project. She talks for a bit and then hands me the phone; the engineer says we need to meet so he can explain the process. I realize at this moment, it was really stupid of me to say yes.

I can communicate pretty well in Spanish, and understand probably 75% of the time. Sometimes, they use synonyms I've never heard of, or just mumble too much. I find I understand women more than men, and if they are super atractivo, forget it, no hablo español. I have problems with double-meanings; it's an art form here and really, it's just dirty-minded speak (it even has a name, albur) - Never, ever, ever tell someone you want them to iron for you, especially in front of their grandmother...I still, to this day, have not lived this one down.

To ease my mind, I agree to meet the engineer to get some background information on this product at 9:00 pm. When the engineer finally shows up at 11:00 pm to explain his process, I learn aloe vera has 19 of the 23 amino acids the human body needs; it has powers to regenerate cells and to kill bacteria which makes it great for healing wounds quickly. After asking the man to repeat himself and looking to Coco to help explain, I also learn my farm and factory vocabulary is greatly lacking. This was a huge mistake.

The crash course ends at 1:00 am. Finally, after 4 hours of tossing and turning, I get up at 5:00 am and start correcting the papers I had planned to work on in my free time that afternoon. At 8:00, I'm off to my new job as aloe vera expert and interpreter.

We meet at a restaurant and order a much needed cafe. Discovery should be there at any moment. In a previous post, I wrote about the magic of convivir. Mexicans value people over time, especially when it means chatting over a delicious meal. So, when the two-person film crew sends in the driver to tell us there's no time for breakfast, I think, these people are obviously not Mexican. One sip, we leave our drinks and haul our empty stomachs into their van.

They are British. They don't actually work directly for Discovery Channel; they are a free-lance journalist and videographer who travel the world doing interesting projects such as this for channels like Discovery. They have been in Mexico for three weeks filming the processes of tequila, sugar cane and now, aloe vera.

Emma and I chat about life in Mexico on the way to the campo where the aloe vera will be harvested. She says in a great accent, "Have you seen a man in a big sombrero on a donkey; wouldn't it be lovely to see a man on a donkey!" and 20 minutes later we are turning around the film van, chasing down a man on a donkey to get some footage for the documentary. Although I am very entertained, I am also slightly mortified.

When we get to the field, the workers are waiting for us. It is here that I realize I am not there to explain the process of aloe vera, but rather to shout orders to the men so Pete can get a perfect shot.

Emma: I need them to be working, tell them to work!

Me - super friendly: Please, could you guys pretend to be working? Thank you so much!

She asks the head of the crew to talk about the process of cutting but to keep it short. Obviously, she has not had many conversations with Mexicans. They have master the art of indirect communication, dancing around in paragraphs before they actually get to the point of a story. I have come to love this about my friends and neighbors. Short is not possible in this language. We film this interview 5 times, each time I smile bigger asking for just a little more cortito...

Emma: We have to do it again. Who is talking on the phone? NO PHONES!

Me - even more sweetly - Please, could you all turn your phones off; Thank you so much.

I learn Puebla state is an ideal place for aloe due to its mild temperatures (the climate here makes it's an ideal place for any living thing, including me). The plant is ready to harvest after 12-14 months; the workers then come in and cut 10-15 mature leaves full of gel, leaving 6-7 behind to regenerate and be ready for another harvest in 3-4 months.

Workers in the field - it's actually very warm out but no one here
works without protecting his skin from the powerful sun

A beautiful drive to the fields - there's Volcan Popo in the distance.

It was entertaining to watch the videographer
get into position for the perfect shot.

They cut, and then pretend to cut the leaves again, and again, for the camera. They load the truck and shut the doors (4 times just to get it right). Then they film the trucks leaving the fields, heading to the plant (but they have to turn the trucks around first, because "that would just look silly" if they left the fields in reverse).

After five hours of this, I am hot, hungry, and thirsty; I'm also thankful these demanding people  are not from the US.

We stop at another field to film the irrigation system needed in the dry season when it hardly ever rains.

We arrive to the factory and put on our cubiertos - (hair nets, nose and mouth covers). The workers here take extreme measures to ensure they enter their jobs uncontaminated.  The engineer prides himself with his extremely clean and hygenic factory. I cover my hair, mouth and nose, thinking this may make yelling orders in Spanish a bit more difficult. Emma's cubierto is just around her mouth, the videographer doesn't even bother, and it sits below his chin.

The truck backs in to the factory (three times to get some good shots) and two workers start unloading the leaves onto a conveyor belt. The belt dumps the leaves into a jacuzzi like pool that disinfects them. They are then pushed by the current up onto another conveyer belt that plops them into another pool to be rinsed. They travel into another super sanitized room where five women cut the ends of the leaves and others shove them into a machine that squeezes out the goo. Three other women sift through the gel for debris, and discarding random parts of the leaves.

Leaves are loaded on to the first conveyor belt which
dumps them into a pool to be disinfected.

After the jacuzzi bath, they travel on
another belt to be rinsed 

Then the leaves go into a tunnel where they end up
in a super sanitized room to be cut and de-gelled

These machines squeeze out the gel.

These workers sift through the gel
to take out any unwanted debris.

Afterwards, the goo travels 6 meters through a crazy cold freezer that lowers the temp from 20 to 5 degrees centigrade in seconds.  It is almost frozen so it can travel up to 18 hours without damaging the gel or changing its color. Then, it is squeezed through a spout where two men wait to take samples and then direct the rest into a large barrel, ready for delivery. The samples are where the Universidad Tecnologica de Izucar de Matamoros comes in. We test for bacteria and fungi that could wipe out the entire crop.

That is where the Mexican aloe vera story ends. Apparently, after it leaves Matamoros, it is carried to a factory that makes it into a powder so it is easier to haul. Then it is shipped to South Korea, Europe or Japan where it is processed into cosmetic use.

And now, you too know all there is to know about aloe vera.