Who is Who on the Streets? Elías, the Knife Sharpener

By Natalie Taylor

San Miguel is a noisy city. From the mariachis in the Jardin, to the screeching brakes on the old buses, from soothing chirping of birds to the eardrum-shattering explosions of fireworks, we are treated to sounds day and night. And then there are the regular sounds: the hourly tolling of church bells, the ringing to announce the garbage trucks, and the high-pitched whistle of the knife sharpener.

The afilador de barrio is a staple in many Latin nations, and the sound of their whistle is also identical. I recall hearing the same sound in Buenos Aires and stepping outside to call the man on a bicycle to sharpen our knives or scissors.

The knife-sharpening trade was brought to Latin American countries from Galicia, in northwestern Spain, during the colonial period. The whistle itself is unique.

The traditional instrument is a tiny reed or cane flute; in México it is sometimes called the armónica de afilador—the knife sharpener’s harmonica. That sound, then and now, is the afilador’s calling card. Before you see him, you hear the melody and know he is nearby.

A few weeks ago, I heard just such a sound as I was walking along Ancha. Familiar with it from my childhood, I immediately looked for the afilador. Sure enough, there he was, riding his bicycle on the other side of the street. I crossed over, and we arranged to meet the following week.

Elías Campos Bustamante comes here from Celaya by bus on Mondays, Thursdays, and Fridays. On other days, he travels to Dolores, Querétaro, and other communities. He has been doing this work for nearly forty years.

As a child, he was fascinated by sharp knives and often watched a neighbor at work. One day, the neighbor turned to him and asked, “Niño, ¿sabes afilar?”—Boy, do you know how to sharpen? Of course, he didn’t. But he soon learned the trade from his neighbor, and it became his life’s work.

Elías works hard, not only in his trade, but at home in Celaya. He and his wife sell botanas, and she has other work as well. Despite his humble beginnings, Elías has instilled in his children a desire to better themselves through education. One son is a chef working in a restaurant. Even as a little boy he always hung out in the kitchen and declared: “Cuando sea grande, voy a ser chef!”—when I grow up I’ll be a chef. A daughter is finishing Prepa and wants to become either a dentist or a teacher.

I asked Elías what the hardest part of his work is. He said it is the heat and the sun. Riding his bicycle under the blazing sun all day can be exhausting, leaving him weary by the end of the day. He protects himself with a hat and long sleeves. And what about the rain? No, he said, that is much easier to deal with. You get wet, then you dry off, and often you can find shelter.

We sat outside at a coffee shop, where he could keep an eye on his bicycle. He ordered only a coffee. He confided that he has diabetes, and avoids baked goods. The disease has caused him to lose sight in one eye, but he perseveres.

To test his skill, I brought him two pairs of scissors and a knife. I watched as he ran each one against the sharpening wheel, adding water from time to time to keep the blades from becoming too hot. When he finished, they were as sharp as razor blades. Elias knows his trade.

He is also part of our urban landscape—another street entrepreneur carrying on a tradition that has been passed down for generations.

He speaks little English, but somehow manages to communicate with his foreign customers, many of whom call him periodically.

If you would like Elías to sharpen your knives or scissors, you can reach him at 461 108 6126, and he will come to your home.

Natalie Taylor is a bilingual published writer, editor, journalist, translator and a regular columnist at Atención News

www.natalietaylor.org