I came many years ago
from my dear Santiago.

When I was 11 years old,
I arrived here, in Buenos Aires.

Because here lived a brother of mine,
Ramón was his name.

And well, I arrived here
in search of Ramón.

After loosing my mother, and my dad.

My father had abandoned us,
and, well, we were just a few.

There were 3 of us,
little Martin that was 13 years old,

myself, 11 years old,
and Nilda, 7 years old.

I arrived in Buenos Aires alone.

Martín got up one morning
and said to me,

"Gri, we're going to leave this place.

You should go to Buenos Aires,

and I'll go to Tobas to look for work.

Some day, when we're older,
we'll meet again."

Well, I had to leave Nilda in Añatuya,

because we lived in the countryside,
uphill, in the timberyard.

I did everything that Martin told me to,
and I sat on the train station,

and I began to cry.

Then the train arrived,
the Estrella del Norte,

so I got up quickly, the only thing
I was carrying was a transparent bag,

a little gossipy bag, as I call it,

and in that little bag there was a dress

with big flowers,
that my mom had made me.

So, I got quickly on the train,
and I sat on the train's cargo wagon,

and I arrived here in Buenos Aires,
after a 12-hour train ride.

My idea was to get to José C. Paz,
where my brother lived.

I thought that getting on
the train and arriving --

That when the train stopped,
I'd be in José C. Paz.

Not that I had arrived

to the first and biggest train station
I had seen in my life,

it was Retiro station.

When I got to Retiro, after travelling
among the kid goats and chickens,

because back then, people could send
live animals to Buenos Aires

and the families would pick them up.

I got off the train and said to myself,
"Ok, I'm here in José C.Paz,"

I remember asking a man,
I can't recall whether it was a policeman,

and he told me, "You have to get on
that train, and when you reach a big arch

that says 'José C. Paz',
that's your stop."

I got on board the other train,

that left swiftly,
stopping in many stations.

I remember that when it was just reaching
José C.Paz station, there was an arch,

and he had told me "When you see the arch
saying José C. Paz, that's your stop."

And I saw that the train kept going,
who knows where it was going to take me,

so I did the best thing I could think of,
and jumped off the train.

And well, that was the worst thing
that happened to me, because the next day,

I woke up, without a single tooth,

covered in gauze, because
I had broken my ribs,

my little arms, my little knee,
I was very battered.

The worst part was not having
any teeth left.

But I did have my brother,
who was waiting there for me.

At that time I believe that I didn't care
about not having any teeth or being sick

and having two broken ribs,
it didn't matter.

The most important part was
that my brother was there.

As time went by, I met my husband,
Isidro, relationship from which

we have many children of the heart.

We've also done something quite important
in our lives, that has been

placing the soup kitchen Los Piletones,
where at the time

when we came from José C. Paz,

the idea was not to put a soup kitchen,

because we already had one,
given we had 10 kids --

So, it wasn't to place a soup kitchen,
but instead work to raise our children,

to provide them with an education,
so we had to work.

Both of us worked,
and in spite of it all --

Well, the important thing was
to raise our kids, like I said.

But also, when we arrived in the slum,
we saw that there were a lot of needs.

The need was that there were a lot of kids

that went out to scavenge
with their parents,

in a cart, some pulled,
some with horses,

and I didn't like that, that parents
would take their kids scavenging.

I remember Isidro came home one morning,
like always, with his cart and horse,

and the kids, the little neighbors
would come help him unload the cart,

and on that day, October 7, 1996,
he told me,

"Magui, why don't you make some mate tea

and heat up the biscuits
and make breakfast for the kids?"

They were 15, plus my ten.

Isidro didn't finish the sentence,
and I was already lighting the fire,

on a big clay oven that we had,
and I was already making mate tea.

And after the mate tea,
there came a big lunch,

for the kids, for us, especially for me,
seeing the kids sitting at the table.

And among them was José Silva,
that was one of the grandparents.

Thus we began with our soup kitchen,

in 1996, feeding 15 children
and a grandfather.

Today we feed 1500 people,
and they're not just fed,

they also receive medical care,
where people get pediatric help,

clinical medicine, gyno, dentistry --
in out own medical center,

where we provide for it
with donations from people.

There is no city
or national involvement.

We just keep it with the help
of private foundations,

like UAI that works
in clinical medicine and pediatrics,

Maimónides works
in dentistry and psychology.

And then we also have a day-care center
for grandparents,

a library, a computer room,

a kindergarten with 110 kids,
that's where we spend most of our day,

and knowing the families

getting to know the little kids,
that need so much love, right?

And last year, we built a carpentry,
always with the idea of generating work,

people need to learn how to work,
not have everything handed to them.

And we've built the carpentry
to give work to people,

but especially, to teach a skill
to the young ones.

We built the carpentry, and also,
we made a big sewing workshop

where around 15 mothers
attend everyday, to learn.

And the sewing workshop's been in place
for some years now, around 8 or 9 years.

Around 500 moms went through the workshop

and they learned how to handle
a sewing machine, dressmaking, sewing,

and also, they take with them as a present
a set of complete patterns

of all the clothes
that they can make at home.

And now, we're working a lot because --

Well, we're always working so much, right?

But we're working to get the women
out of household violence

so that they don't have to wonder,
"If I leave my husband, what would I do?"

So we're teaching them
how to make jewelry,

teaching them to keep their minds busy,
so they can generate their own work.

So that they have an important job option,

because I always say,

with no offense intended,
but I always say that

generating work and working,
is not a sin, on the contrary.

It stimulates you because today,
what we least want to do is work,

because we are given everything,
so we can't really create jobs for anyone.

So, that's why, everyday
we create new things,

and are constantly with our minds busy,

and keeping the women busy,
so they too can have a job.

Also, in the soup kitchen we have a bakery
where we make bread on a daily basis

so that people can have, it's not sold,
but they receive it with meals,

everyday.

We have 30 women working with us,
that I always say that are exemplary,

because they don't get paid
and work completely for free.

They come in at 6:45 a.m., and leave
at 8 p.m., every single day.

They're an amazing group of people,

that are with us on a daily basis,
ensuring that the soup kitchen works

everyday.

It isn't easy tending to 1500 people
everyday and feeding them,

and worrying that we have
what we need for breakfast

worrying that we have everything
we need for dinner,

worrying that we have everything
we need for lunch.

And that anyone that comes within schedule

or outside schedule,
has a hot meal at their disposal.

So, I'm going to tell you
a story, to finish up.

I always say
that solidarity is not taught.

You're not born with it either.

But you can learn it.

I've learned everything
I know from my mother.

I remember that when I was a kid

my mom used to leave a served dish
at the center of the table

like a centerpiece.

And one day, I asked why did she leave
that food there if we couldn't eat it.

So I asked her, "Mom, can we eat
that food?" and she said no.

So I asked her why.

And she answered,

"If God were to come and ask you
for food, what would you give him?"

So I always waited for God to come.

One day, I came home running
from tending the kid goats

and I saw a man eating the food.

So I ran up to my mom and said,
"Mom, he isn't God".

And so she asked me,
"Do you know God?" "No".

"So then, he is God".

Maybe that's why to anyone who comes
to the soup kitchen, everyday,

we never ask them where they come from,

because I always say that's God,
that's come to eat.

Thank you very much.

(Applause)