We sat in on the grass, suspended between the Earth below us and the clouds swirling around us, moisture gracing our faces. Esperanza sang from her belly, a song of the Chakra, or the physical space where Quechua peoples traditionally grow their food. Esperanza sang the Chakra song with a spriteful cadence and a deep knowledge of its meaning. The Chakra, is a space that provides both food security and sovereignty for Andean families and a sacred space that protects ancient cultural and spiritual beliefs about relations to land, to food, to Earth, to ancestors.
As she sang of the Chakra, I listened with curiosity as I looked down at the Lares valley below me, seeing the high Andean ecosystem transform into a tropical environment where bananas and oranges grow, just down the valley. These mountains we sit on grow potatoes, carrots, maize, and cereals. Enough to survive on, the only things that need to be purchased are sugar and salt. And in fact, on Mondays, many of the communities gather in Lares for a barter market in which they exchange bananas for maiz or oranges for potatoes. No money, only intercambio, or exchange. Non-economized forms of social life, a tenet of ‘Buen Vivir.” Esperanza stops singing and sighs with particular joy, saying she will take un sueño or a nap. I follow her lead and rest my body on the soft grass, the Andean sun strong on my skin and the sounds of Esperanza’s sheep in the distance. For now, we rest. Later in the day, after a lunch of vegetable soup and mote (a type of maiz), Esperanza asks if I’d like to visit her chakra. With eagerness, I say yes. We begin our walk to the chakra, through the hilly, remote village of Cachin. As we walk I see women sitting in the grass in their yards, working on their weaving, an artistic specialty of the Lares region. As we climb upwards through Cachin, Esperanza points out a plethora of plants and their medicinal properties. She knows so much about every plant, and touches them with gentleness, recognizing their power. “Una descansa” she says, and plops down on the side of the hill. In the distance, the eucalyptus trees sway, almost as if they will break in half, their trunks are so thin. And again, Esperanza begins to sing a song of the past. This song is about Eucalyptus, one she remembers from long ago, she heard it when she was a child. She sings: “Eucalytpo mi primero amor vas a igualar Lo que comido en mi plato Que vas a poder igualar Lo que dormido en la cama que vas a poder igualar” The eucalyptus trees shimmy, feeling grateful to be acknowledged, as her song travels into the afternoon breeze, making their leaves spin and dance. We rise and walk a few more steps, and we have arrived at the chakra. The chakra is covered in alfalfa, to feed the hundreds of cuy (guinea pigs) that Esperanza owns. The cuy love alfalfa but also eat any sort of food left over from cooking, leaving a waste-free household. Can you imagine? Esperanza lays out a woven blanket and encourages me to sit, and she diligently cuts the alfalfa, placing it in the other blanket. Then she shows me her methodology and hands me the blade. I cut the alfalfa and throw it into the blanket. Next, we harvest carrots, “only the big ones”, she says. She mentions that she received the carrots from Andes, the organization I am collaborating with. And we dig our hands into the soil to retrieve the orange roots, proving more difficult than expected. We throw the carrots into the blanket and Esperanza shows me how to tie the blanket on, gently placing it on my back, full of alfalfa and carrots, and tying a knot by my collar bone. We are ready to return home, both carrying full loads on our backs. On our walk home, she walks me past a weaving center, that was built here just a few years ago by an organization I had recently interviewed. Here she gathers with other weavers of the region of Lares. There are beautiful pictures on the walls of all of the women dressed in their traditional clothing that they have woven. When we return to Esperanza’s home, she puts on the kettle, and traipses out into the garden to pick an herb for our tea. Camomile today, their white flowers wilting in the boiling water. Together we remove the pieces of dried maize from their stalks, and she pours them into a pan with a pinch of oil and salt. Canchitas! We sit at her table, munching on canchitas and sipping camomile tea. She teaches me to put a handful of canchitas in my mug, so they pop into my mouth as I drink the tea. Now she begins to speak about Sumak Kawsay and Ayni. Esperanza explains Ayni, which is broadly translated as “reciprocity” or “today for you, tomorrow for me.” “Ayni is in all. Cooking for each other in the chakra. Getting medicine for each other. Helping with the sheep or with weaving. When we are in Ayni we make Chica of maiz together in the chakra.” ‘Sumak Kawsay’ es para compartir (to share). You cannot have Sumak Kawsay without reciprocity (anyni). But how do people live Buen Vivir or Sumak Kawsay? It is both deeply related to their traditional customs, ways of being and knowing, and to land. Ayni, reciprocidad, they clothes they wear, the land they cultivate with respect, the chakra, relationships with family and with land. Really, sumak kawsawy is about how humans relate to each other, meaning familial relations, relations with neighbors, relations in the community, and extending beyond humans. In my first homestay in Lares with a woman named Maria, she clarified that everything they do concerning the land is with deep respect. Esperanza also mentioned this, describing how she always provides an offering of coca leaves when she visits her chakra. These values are embedded in cultural systems and territories, and the knowledge of how to take care of the land, produce food, and live well is passed down from generation to generation. From what I have witnessed through living through the daily lives of people in the High Andean region and being in relationship in this way, it is much more challenging to ascribe meaning and categories to indigenous ways of being and knowing, related to Andean cosmovision. For Sumak Kawsay “is the dance, the language, the food, it is all.” (Interview with Daniel, 2022). Vida en plentitud. Buenos vivires. It is a simpler task to understand how civil society organizations use concepts like Buen Vivir or Sumak Kawsay to further the rights of indigenous peoples in Peru. Or how some governments use the term Buen Vivir in lip service to the rights of nature and the rights of the Pachamama and use the term in order to justify further extraction. In reflecting on my shifting understandings of Buen Vivir and Sumak Kawsay, it is difficult to consider how a cultural value system can be an “alternative” to mainstream development and progress. What are the implications and limitations of naming a way of understanding the world and our place in it as an “alternative”? And how might we center and valorize these ancient knowledges that respect that there is no difference between Nature and culture and emphasize the reciprocity of life, “being in relation” and living in harmony? I am laying in the grass with Esperanza as she sings a love song to the land, the air she breathes. What love songs do I sing to the Earth? How I might carry forward that spirit of respect and reciprocity to all that sustains life? And then, I begin to sing, the clouds carry my song and my ñanay (sister in Quechua) Esperanza’s.
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Turismo Vivencial en El Parque de la papaA few weeks ago I spent a few days in “tursimo vivencial” in the Parque de La Papa, a biocultural territory dedicated to conserving the cultural and biological diversity in the Andean mountains. In the Parque, I came to better understand the Allyu system, and the complexity of sumak kawsay, or “harmonious living.”
After working with the culinary collective during the day, we are driven by one of the técnicos, or locally trained experts, to Paru Paru, a small village. It is dusk, and as we arrive, passing a young woman dressed in traditional Kichwa clothing herding alpaca. She shimmies over to the van and hops inside. “Soy Rosa” she says with a warm smile, shaking our hands and plopping in the back seat of the van. A few minutes later we arrive at Rosa’s home, a rosy pink adobe home with a clay tile roof, nestled in between two lakes and mountains, the property speckled with eucalyptus trees. From Rosa’s home, the lakes shimmer in the distance, and the mountains take on a new shadowy form in the dark. After dropping our bags off in our rooms, Geoffery, another ANDES intern, and I are welcomed into the kitchen, where Rosa starts a fire with eucalyptus bark, to boil water. She sets a pot over the fire and pours a plethora of oil into the pan and a handful of corn kernels. After a few minutes, the cacophony of ‘pops’ overwhelmed the small room, and we are handed a wicker basket full of popcorn or “palomitas.” The crunch and saltiness of the palomitas are welcomed after a long day in the Andean sun. Rosa also provides a sprig of muña or Andean mint, which she just snipped from a plant in her yard to seep in steaming water. Good for digestion. Good for altitude. The wisdom of healing plants is second nature to Rosa. I would continue to be struck by the place-based wisdom of Kichwa people in the Parque- of their home, of all the plants, animals, and beings that exist in the space they share. After a day of introductions in the Parque, learning about the agricultural calendar, the thousands of types of potatoes in the park, and repatriation efforts with seed banks, we end up in Pampayacha, a distance from Paru Paru. We set off with Daniel, a técnico, as our guide, for a walk through the mountains of the Parque. Daniel guides us with no hesitation, only a peaceful candor and a constant smile. Daniel walks confidently through the tall grasses, and up the hills, pointing out specific plants and their properties. This yellow flower is good for a cough. This soil can be used to paint homes. He breaks open a purple-colored seed and brushes the pigment onto my nail bed. For painting, he says joyfully. I look down at my thumb which is now colored in a purple pigment, struck with awe for the ways in which Daniel understands his immediate environment. It is not separate for him, as he walks he does not conquer the path, but rather gently points out the wisdom of the beings that surround him. He stops, looking up at the pajaros in the sky, pointing them out with a sigh. We then take a descansa (rest), laying on the earth, glancing down at homes, terraces, trees, and the mountains in the distance. We continue onwards, and as the sun wanes in the sky, making our way into the village of Paru Paru. Rosa prepares a warm dinner of rice, papas, huevos, and fresh tomatoes, accompanied by papa relleno, or stuffed potato. We eat in the warmth of the kitchen, Rosa’s two daughters, ages 11 and 4, glance up at us with curious eyes and endearing smiles as they munch on their papas, too. On the last morning of the stay, I am abruptly woken up by a knocking on my door. Daniel shouts “Sammi, estás listo?” Shivering in my bed I muster the courage to respond, “Sí, un minute, necestio cambiar!” I was a bit nervous to hike in the dark, but with Daniel’s guidance, my worries faded. We begin our ascent, the stars, bright as can be, lighting our path. Daniel carries onwards into the night, up mountain passes. I light my flashlight to the right, spying a steep cliff and the shimmering of water in the distance. After about two and a half hours of climbing through the night, Daniel says “Estamos cerca.” At this point, the mountain shapes are highlighted by a deep red. The sun is on its way. I glance down to see a laguna in its full form, the mountain above reflecting its immense rugged glory in the still water. And then Daniel points to the left, it is the Apu, Pitusiray, a sacred mountain, covered in snow, shimmering in the pre-sunrise glow. We make it to the mirador and Daniel says with joy “Ya hemos ganado” or “we have won” referring that we made it before the sun rose. We sit down in the yellow grasses, waiting for the warmth of the sun to grace us. Daniel pours some tea, for strength, he says. Suddenly the sun peeping above the mountains in the distance its rays at first timid, and suddenly overwhelming, wrapping our bodies in warmth. We then climb to a higher point, to have a view of the Sacred Apus: Pitusiray and Salkantay, each of which has its own spirit. At this point, Daniel asks that we take a few minutes to introduce ourselves to the two Apus that surround us. He says that we may ask for guidance for our lives, that we may lay ourselves before their spirits to gain wisdom. And so we sat on the mountainside, praying to the Apus. I have never before prayed to a mountain. Surrendering myself to the moment I was able to connect with the spirit of the Apus around me. I felt peaceful and warm despite the growing wind. The Apus had much wisdom to share with me, and I felt grateful to be in their presence and for Daniel’s willingness to guide us. Then Daniel began to speak about Sumak Kawsay. Daniel begins… “Sumak kawsay is the dance, the language, the food, it is all. Vivir en Harmonia. Our traditions our customs, our animals, our wild animals, the plants. We must be cautious and live with the mountains. This is sumak kawsay for us. Now we are here observing mountains, lakes, and walking. We are above 5000 meters in altitude. You have come from a different place to observe sumak kawsay. Ayni, and reciprocity. This is sumak kawsay. Living together and sharing our experiences, now this is harmony. Like siblings. We are observing the sun. Many thanks. Protect me, mountains, in my walk, in my life. Pachamamma with the Apus… this is sumak kawsay. We can dialogue about sumak kawsay. This is reciprocity. We are free to live. We are tranquil. Live in harmony. This is sumak kawsay. It is beautiful.” As we begin our descent back to the village of Paru Paru, Daniel stops and breathes in deeply, “El aire libre…. este es el Sumak Kawsay.” Breathe in deep. Feel the wholeness deep in your bones, allow the clean air to fill your soul, and purify it. Ask the mountains for guidance on your path. Allow the plants to heal you. May you be held, and free. From what I learned that week in the Parque, sumak kawsay is multitudes. It is complex. It is contested. It is deeply cultural. It is all. And yet I continue to wonder- is sumak kawsay or buen vivir lived? Is it used? Is it taught? From speaking with individuals in the Parque I learned that sumak kawsay is indeed passed down, as the wisdom of plants, the alllyu system, how to weave, care for livestock, is knowledge passed down from generation to generation. Rosa will pass all that she knows on to her two daughters, they already know how to weave small pieces. But Rosa also shared that the ability to live sumak kawsay is shifting with climate change. There is a reorientation that must happen in the context of climate change that is viscerally felt within communities. Not everything is beautiful, not everything is harmony. And how can the rest of us learn from Andean cultural values? To deeply know and understand the ground on which we stand, the soil that holds us, the plants that offer us healing, the animal species that provide wisdom and guidance in their own subtle ways. The water moving through rivers, lakes, streams, asking for help from the sacred Apus, growing potatoes and vegetables in the earth, sharing food that we’ve grown. Reciprocity to each other, to all beings. Compartir, to share. Rosa told me, “now is the moment to transmit this knowledge.” To center it, and share it, not to romanticize or essentialize it. But now is the moment to reorient to different ways of being and knowing, learning balance and harmony through reciprocity. “Somos la continuidad de a tierra, miremos desde el corazón de la tierra” |
Sammi Bennett I am a dancer, singer, creative non-fiction writer, yoga teacher, outdoor lover, and book-binder. Archives
August 2022
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