A “Gringo” in "ever-changing" Quechua-land
Long-standing, traditional beliefs are hard to break. These
are largely what forms our ‘worldview’. For example:
·
I never knew how much of a Northern Californian
I really was, until I left Northern California;
·
I never knew how much of a Northwesterner I
really was, until I left the U.S. Northwest;
·
I never knew how much of a U.S. citizen I really
was, until I left the U.S.; AND (wait for it)
·
I never knew how much of a North American
(Northern Hemisphere) I really was, until I went to South America!
My fifteen years away from home and my many comfort zones were life-changing and transformative. So why should I have expected it to be any different for the Conchucos Valley Quechuas during this time of great change, not only to their personal lives, but also to their families, towns, and culture as well?
How much did it change in Cajay Village? By the end of 1999:
· Ashphalted roads began to arrive in the southern part of the valley (by 2000)
· Sewer systems were installed and some even had indoor toilets!
· Electricity connections from house-to-house
· Cell-phone and microwave towers were installed resulting in access to the Internet
· Finally, the Ministry of Education officially
sanctioned a full Quechua/Spanish public education program!
As Western North Americans, we were generally considered to be “at the top of the socio-cultural food-chain.” However when these coastal returnees met us in their own home towns, they at first “assumed” we were bringing “the best of the West” to their culture (money, modernization, even English in the schools). Many, who were convinced of this, openly criticized our presence and practices, without question. Others, when they did ask and then realized this was NOT our intentions, criticized us for wasting time and resources, exalting their ‘minority culture’ at the expense of modern/industrialized opportunities. The latter had declared that they had already ‘thrown –off’ what they considered to be the oppression of their subservient social position as mountain Quechuas. Although we had all of the accreditation and documentation from government authorities, etc., we were caught in a vortex of socio-cultural change we really didn’t understand. Of course we spoke passionately on behalf of the richness of their own traditions and folklore and its subsequent educational value. But it wasn’t until the children themselves spoke. Those between 7 and 17 years of age--
In community after community these children themselves provided the bridge between cultures. And we made sure that the credit in no way fell on us, but rather on the classroom teachers and catechists whom we trained: A grassroots effort which simply took-off! We desired nothing more than to be catalysts, giving freedom for this ancient culture to express itself through the authorized learning-cycle of its future generations.
But only until a few of our Quechua friends began to open up to us, did we then realize just how difficult it was for this change to happen. The ‘catalyst’ was from “the outside” just as most agents of change have been for them for the last 500 years.
From the time the Conqueror Francisco Pizarro landed on the shores of Pachacamac, south of Lima, in 1533, where he and his galleon of soldiers were blinded by the Inca’s castle/fortress guilded of gold, the people of Perú have been forced to submit to the changes required of the next wave of domination and control. These too were “white-skins” [mishticuna] who, once having taken control, sought out a systematic submission or, if not, extermination. Mishti or misti is the more neutral Quechua term for the Spanish word Gringo.* However the colloquial and broadly thought of term for a ‘gringo’ in the Andes is [pishtaco] from the Quechua verb [pishtacur] to slaughter or to butcher (much used for a pig or a steer). Legends abound of conquistadores slaughtering whole renegade Incan villages. The folklore in the mountains is that ‘white-skins’ are connected to the spirit-world and at night seek refuge in the caves, streams, and waterfalls where other spirits rest [“Why else would their skins be so white?!”]. Let me tell two true events from my experience to support the fact that such legends and beliefs are ‘alive and well’ in the folklore of these Quechua communities.
My second story involves a particular passion of mine: running. I had met and befriended a black Alliance pastor from Lima, Victor, who was assigned to a church in Huaraz, regional capital in the valley west of Conchucos. One day we agreed to run together. By now you understand that there weren’t too many gringos in these smaller mountain communities. And, although Peru has had it’s fair share of blacks on the coast, very few ventured to live permanently in the Andes. But I moved out ahead of Victor, since he was a coastal Peruvian and his lungs hadn’t adapted as well as mine at the time. On a dirt path outside of Huaraz, I approached a ruku (old Quechua man) walking with a cane and he was cucata chagcheycar [chewing oja de coca or coca leaves]. As I passed him he spoke aloud but seemed to be speaking to someone else saying, “Cösa, mishtega päsacuykan” [“Wow! A gringo’s passing by!”]. Now I didn’t hear what he had said when Victor passed him, but as were heading back together, there he was again, this time saying, “Wow, look! The gringo and his shadow caught up with each other!” When I translated this to Victor we had to stop from running because we were both laughing our heads off!
Let me end this with a joke about Gringos a mountain Quechua school teacher once told me.
What three things are: Cute and tender when they're young but ugly when old?
Answer:
__________________
* Gringo, a term of uncertain origin although the Diccionario castellano con las voces de Ciencias y Artes y sus correspondientes en las 3 lenguas francesa, latina e italiana (Castilian Dictionary including the Words of the Sciences and the Arts, and their Correspondents in 3 Languages: the French, the Latin, and the Italian, 1787), by Terreros y Pando, claims its origin from the word griego (Greek).
All of this occurred within, what has been considered Peru’s
modern decade of development.
Politically Peru was able to purge itself from terrorism (Sendero Luminoso, as well as MRTA),
and began its slow ascent back to positive GDP import/export development. What
did this practically mean to Conchucos Valley? For one thing, many Quechua
farmers had sacrificed much to provide educational opportunities for their sons
AND daughters, both regionally, and even to sending them to some of Peru’s most
prestigious universities (La Molina, U. San
Marcos, U. Católica, etc.). However there were cultural and familial
consequences: Many returning to their mountain villages had changed to a
largely Spanish-dominant mestizo
lifestyle and ideological perspective. Their grandparents simply did not recognize
them. And some couldn’t even communicate with their grandparents!
As Western North Americans, we were generally considered to be “at the top of the socio-cultural food-chain.” However when these coastal returnees met us in their own home towns, they at first “assumed” we were bringing “the best of the West” to their culture (money, modernization, even English in the schools). Many, who were convinced of this, openly criticized our presence and practices, without question. Others, when they did ask and then realized this was NOT our intentions, criticized us for wasting time and resources, exalting their ‘minority culture’ at the expense of modern/industrialized opportunities. The latter had declared that they had already ‘thrown –off’ what they considered to be the oppression of their subservient social position as mountain Quechuas. Although we had all of the accreditation and documentation from government authorities, etc., we were caught in a vortex of socio-cultural change we really didn’t understand. Of course we spoke passionately on behalf of the richness of their own traditions and folklore and its subsequent educational value. But it wasn’t until the children themselves spoke. Those between 7 and 17 years of age--
- They read;
- they sang;
- they composed … all in beautiful Quechua.
In community after community these children themselves provided the bridge between cultures. And we made sure that the credit in no way fell on us, but rather on the classroom teachers and catechists whom we trained: A grassroots effort which simply took-off! We desired nothing more than to be catalysts, giving freedom for this ancient culture to express itself through the authorized learning-cycle of its future generations.
But only until a few of our Quechua friends began to open up to us, did we then realize just how difficult it was for this change to happen. The ‘catalyst’ was from “the outside” just as most agents of change have been for them for the last 500 years.
From the time the Conqueror Francisco Pizarro landed on the shores of Pachacamac, south of Lima, in 1533, where he and his galleon of soldiers were blinded by the Inca’s castle/fortress guilded of gold, the people of Perú have been forced to submit to the changes required of the next wave of domination and control. These too were “white-skins” [mishticuna] who, once having taken control, sought out a systematic submission or, if not, extermination. Mishti or misti is the more neutral Quechua term for the Spanish word Gringo.* However the colloquial and broadly thought of term for a ‘gringo’ in the Andes is [pishtaco] from the Quechua verb [pishtacur] to slaughter or to butcher (much used for a pig or a steer). Legends abound of conquistadores slaughtering whole renegade Incan villages. The folklore in the mountains is that ‘white-skins’ are connected to the spirit-world and at night seek refuge in the caves, streams, and waterfalls where other spirits rest [“Why else would their skins be so white?!”]. Let me tell two true events from my experience to support the fact that such legends and beliefs are ‘alive and well’ in the folklore of these Quechua communities.
On Sundays from 1989 to 2002, it was our habit to drive into the provincial
capital of Huari. Much of its then teeming population of about 6,000 would always
go to market in the mornings before going to misa (Catholic Mass). Cajay
Village was about a 40 minute drive (30 min. walk) to Huari [walking down the
mountains, one is able to cut out a lot of the switchbacks required by our 4x4
Toyota Hilux!]. After a pleasant lunch in town, we’d head back, but not before
negotiating with about a dozen neighbours (including their various bags from
the market) for a ride back in the bed of the truck. I noticed some of the
older women were using canes and were slower in getting back home, so I would
often stop along the way to invite them on board—always met by their brisk refusal. I
wondered why until I began to understand some of their murmuring in Quechua: “You’re
not getting my fat for your auto-fuel, Gringo!” They honestly felt that my
truck had some way of ‘melting away fat’ from Quechua chacwas (old women)! After about 5 years of discussion, prodding
and relationship building, some relented; but only some! [By then of course even those who still refused would at least hand us their
bags to take up and then pick them up at our village door.]
My second story involves a particular passion of mine: running. I had met and befriended a black Alliance pastor from Lima, Victor, who was assigned to a church in Huaraz, regional capital in the valley west of Conchucos. One day we agreed to run together. By now you understand that there weren’t too many gringos in these smaller mountain communities. And, although Peru has had it’s fair share of blacks on the coast, very few ventured to live permanently in the Andes. But I moved out ahead of Victor, since he was a coastal Peruvian and his lungs hadn’t adapted as well as mine at the time. On a dirt path outside of Huaraz, I approached a ruku (old Quechua man) walking with a cane and he was cucata chagcheycar [chewing oja de coca or coca leaves]. As I passed him he spoke aloud but seemed to be speaking to someone else saying, “Cösa, mishtega päsacuykan” [“Wow! A gringo’s passing by!”]. Now I didn’t hear what he had said when Victor passed him, but as were heading back together, there he was again, this time saying, “Wow, look! The gringo and his shadow caught up with each other!” When I translated this to Victor we had to stop from running because we were both laughing our heads off!
Let me end this with a joke about Gringos a mountain Quechua school teacher once told me.
What three things are: Cute and tender when they're young but ugly when old?
- Eucalyptus tree
- Ashnu (the donkey), and (yes!)
- El Gringo!
__________________
* Gringo, a term of uncertain origin although the Diccionario castellano con las voces de Ciencias y Artes y sus correspondientes en las 3 lenguas francesa, latina e italiana (Castilian Dictionary including the Words of the Sciences and the Arts, and their Correspondents in 3 Languages: the French, the Latin, and the Italian, 1787), by Terreros y Pando, claims its origin from the word griego (Greek).
No comments:
Post a Comment