Celebrations and Mournings

I’ll begin again with the world of the Quechuas huarinos or as many have called them, mishi canca runa. Before I do, a disclaimer. If you’ve been following previous blogs you’ll note that Quechua is a multicultural “nation” stretched across five South American countries: Ecuador, Perú, Bolivia, Chile, and Argentina. As such, it has a richness of diversity even when comparing one variety of Quechua with another—be it culture, economics, world view or language.  Therefore I’m not here to impose

blanket statements about these cultural varieties, but rather simply to add my thanks and appreciation for what I personally have experienced.  I’m also grateful for SIL International which trained and assigned me to these mountain communities. ‘Nuf said.

I’d like to say that, after 15 years of living and visiting these Conchucos Valley communities, I’m officially a graduate from “the school of hard knocks.” Academically today one needs a master’s degree or PhD in North America to teach in the universities (op. “The world is getting dumber by degrees”). NO SINGLE DEGREE can measure up to what I have learned on the backside of the Peruvian Andes—AWESOME!  I recently had TESL Canada deny my level 3 certification because my experience in the Andes “only” amounted to an M.A. in Social Sciences/leadership. If they could only have taken the time to read my master’s thesis they’d have seen scholarship and professionalism written all over it. No matter.

Those “hard knocks” were primarily reflective of all of the political-economic ‘negotiating’ as a result of living in those remote and inaccessible communities. However for this blog, let me turn to how the Quechuas themselves experience some of these challenges. More often than not, their answer to the how would have been, “by luck.”

At the outset a Quechua farmer seems phlegmatic and a bit austere. Such a man reminds me of the Cree on the prairies of Canada. Let me explain with a contrast. As you participate in a Catholic church in major Latinamerican cities, you come to the part of the “impartation of peace (greeting).” It is customary for a man, for example, to shake hands with those of mild acquaintances, and  to give an abrazo (short embrace) to those who are neighbours, closer relations or friends. With women, it’s a peck on their right cheek (go to your left and you found it!). Of course that’s really a ‘press of the check’ and perhaps a ‘kiss’ in the air close to the ear. In contrast, the Quechua Eucharistic ‘peace exchange’ for both sexes is a mere mutual ‘right hand fingers-two-knuckles-up touching yours’ and maybe the left hand slightly touching the colleague’s right-side of the shoulder: NOTHING MORE. In a single country, notice the differences between the two cultures (Quechua – Mestizo).

Harpist a a funeral

Regardless of this seeming diffidence, Quechuas in general, I find, have a strong cultural sense of what the Spanish call consentimiento. “Sympathy” is the translation and it works, as long as we understand it literally as 'feeling with' – a cultural sense of commiseration with another person.  Again, it is culturally endowed. These men work hard and, as I said before, they party hard.  When they do, their sense of sentiment, good or ill, seem to come to the fore.  Some may say it’s a result of the liquor—be that as it may, its occurrence is consistent enough to note. Most clearly this happens within the context of a growing crisis.

Crises. This could be as a result of accidents, natural disaster, sickness, birth, death, or general politico-economic upheaval and tension.  As we continued living in the village, we were approached for all kinds of projects and motives for help, usually by the mother or father on behalf of their land, harvest, animals or family (yes, it might be in that order). One night, for example, at about 2 AM a neighbour awoke us incessantly pounding on our front patio rustic  eucalyptus door. His wife was having a baby! We rushed down knowing that previously a Shining Path terrorist insurgence had emptied the valley of all professionals and foreigners (medical and otherwise), except the Catholic bishop … and ourselves of course. We entered the musty, candle-lit bedroom only to find a dead fetus on the floor and blood everywhere. The fetus had already been dead for at least two months, meaning that the woman continued to carry it to term in her womb. We participated in velorios (funeral), rezos (prayer service), and entierros (interment into the grave). These had effects on us and on the community: After that we then seemed to be recognized as having become a part of its pain and its movements. The men showed a distinct respect for us that previously they hadn’t given us: They understood that we had SHARED in their pain and suffering.

Then came even more questions, “Why are you REALLY here, Gringo? You must have a better life in Canada than you do here. Why?” It was only when they saw us training other Quechua leaders, empowering and freely giving the skills sets away, did they begin to understand us in a unique way. It was then that they mutually began to invite us over: For meals, taking part in their family celebrations, fiestas and harvest celebrations AS WELL AS to help in the birth, baptisms, graduations, and weddings of the families.

“You felt our pain, now feel our joy!” It was then, for example, that the primicias, the first tastes of ASWA (corn beer) or the best of the JAKAKUY (guinea pig in peanut sauce) would be offered. Their agrarian life-cycle centres around planting and harvest, birthing sheep and pigs and, well, butchering them as well-- all concurrent with the seasonal fiestas of their hamlets, districts and provinces: A never-ending ebb and flow.

Learning a bit of the different kinds of dance in the area: PALLAS, SHACSHA, YURIWAS, and DANSA, was also a joy. These are performed in costumes and in special celebrations. But above all, a favourite celebration annually occurs at the end of Christmas: PASTORCILLOS. This is an unabashedly sympathetic convergence of past, present, and future hopes, particularly for the next generation.

Celebrated on the “Three Wisemen’s Day” (Jan 6^th) PASTORCILLOS is a children’s Christian, yet deeply Mestizo-Quechua performance, totally performed by children from 4 to 18, depicting the coming of Jesus to dispel the evil enchantments of the devil over the valley. A clearly syncretistic expression of the two dominant Andean cultures, the teens are dressed as rucucuna (old men) using coca chaqchay (chewing coca leaves) and function as the spiritual intermediaries and harbingers between the two realities. It’s a mystical performance, where, group after group, in community after community march in full masquerade to the provincial capital of Huari and finally perform before regional authorities for prizes such as burro-loads of dry-goods and money for future schooling. I have never seen such a fully communal, dry (non-alcoholic) festival in our 15 years’ residence in Perú. What a hopeful start for the New Year!

So for a people relative distant and cold on the surface, their homes and lives are, by-and-large, vibrant, endearing and full of hope for their children and grandchildren.