La Pila is a concrete institution of every casa Guatemalteca. It’s a sink with three sections: a side designated for washing laundry and another side designated for dishes/los trastos. The usable water sits in the main division, usually in the center. That water stays clean, always. There are two plastic bowls on standby to use to pour the water over the dishes or laundry. La Pila reaches back to the dawn of time, or at least the beginning of dishes and laundry in Guatemala. It is truly historic and rich in tradition.
My host family has a red L-shaped pila with a beautiful statue of Mary installed above the faucet, waterfall style. Mother Mary even has an electric light above her, we can turn it on while we do dishes if we want her to be on display. But most pilas, to my knowledge, are flat rather than L-shaped. I guess this one has extra flare.
This concrete installation looms large in the center of every Guatemalan home. As a generalization, the women of the household orbit around the pila. There are also community pilas where the women go to wash their clothes, usually with babies tied to their backs in colorful Mayan fabric. The community pilas were necessitated from homes without running water/electricity. The pila can’t really be compared to anything in the States. It might be the only place the water flows if there is no bathroom. It’s not simply a sink, it’s a conduit to performing all household tasks.
After doing a poco reading on “La pila,” the term is derived from electric currents= batteries. Considering this, it makes a lot of sense that a historic washing station would also be called la pila. I’m fascinated by the connection with electric currents because the water from the pila has it’s own sort of power like electricity. Naturally, the women of the Mayan culture would want to learn how to best use this energy to perform their domestic tasks.
Interestingly, a slang word in Guatemala is ‘bienpilas’ meaning ‘smart.’ I don’t know if this is connected to the word La Pila but I wouldn’t be surprised.
The two washing areas, one for dishes and the other for laundry, don’t have faucets. You dip the plastic bowls into the water from under Mother Mary and pour it over the dishes or clothes or cualquier cosa. It’s also where I spit after I brush my teeth (and use a plastic bowl to wash it away!).
My host mom has a stainless steel sink in her kitchen with a normal faucet. I wonder if she uses it to clean the produce before meals. I’ve never seen her clean dishes in the stainless steel sink. Instead, she relies on the pila like all the other Guatemalan homes.
I should mention that it’s sad to me that, upon google image searching “Community Pila,” a bunch of pictures of white kids using la pila popped up first. I postulate that Guatemalans don’t care to take their picture by La Pila: it is the normal course of life. Do we take pictures of ourselves mowing the lawn, just because? But I still wish it was preserved for Guatemalans only on google, even though the picture below is me with My Pila. Sigh.
What I like most about the pila is my time alone with it. After dinner is over, I collect the dishes and stack them in the left compartment of La Pila. I run el pashte/the flat sponge over the plates/cups/silverware/pots and pans one by one and use a plastic bowl to dip water from the center section and pour it over the soapy dishes. I’ve learned how to pour the water so that I can get more mileage out of it. My hands are always dry from the soap after I’m done.
I want to contribute since my host mom cooks all of my meals, so I do everyone’s dishes at night and breakfast and lunch on Saturday if I can. During the weekdays, Rosa Maria has a domestic helper who helps with the dishes.
It’s a simple process, meditative for me. I turn on the “Oh Hellos” or Sia or whatever music feels right and wash los trastos. I am far from home, joining the Guatemalan women over the pila and taking things one dish at a time.