A Cultural Snapshot

Apologies for the long silence. Things were busy with Lindsey and Brian's visit followed by Teresa Krug and Jeff Rothblum's brief tour. I swore I wouldn't do this, but it's not looking like I'm going to have time to sit down and write much about travels with Lindsey and Brian so I think I am just going to direct anyone who is interested to their blog. They've made a lovely start on sharing the highlights of our trip, and I know Lindsey won't rest until they make it through Cusco. www.brianlindseyjungman.blogspot.com. I promise to provide an update of the goings-on of Ñaña as well in the next couple days, but tonight I am going to write a little about Peruvian culture from a more personal perspective in honor of Independence Day celebrations this weekend.

After work Friday evening, I visited one of the knitters, Sebastiana, in her home to have tea. She leaves for Cusco next week ("her land," as she calls it) to visit her parents, and when I declined her invitation to join her on the two-week trip, she invited me over to chat before she left. I was surprised when she told me she had invited me because she wanted to tell me her story and share the customs she grew up with in Cusco. She spread out a pile of photos on the table: pictures of her with her three sisters and brother harvesting potatoes; another of an open expanse of land against a blue sky; others of her dressed in beautifully colored dresses for carnaval. Using the pictures, she began to tell the story of her life, which is the story of many in Peru (I'm afraid I don't have the pictures with me now, but I am hoping to scan them when she returns so I can share them with you. For now, please use your imagination).

As I've written before, nearly all of the knitters came to Arequipa from neighboring rural departments (more or less the equivalent of a state). Many came when they were young, leaving their families behind to look for jobs as empleadas (housekeepers or childcare providers). Others came with their families in search of better medical care or education. All of them brought strong and varied traditions from their respective regions—music, dances, clothing, food—but also left much behind.

Sebastiana, one of the younger members of Ñaña, first came on her own from Cusco when she was just eight years old. She found work in Arequipa taking care of the children of various families to help support her own family. Whenever possible, she returned to Cusco and the land where her family tended sheep and alpaca and grew potatoes in the mountains. The home in her photos was made of adobe, the roof thatched with icchu, which is the same grass eaten by alpaca to give them their special insular wool.

Photos of the open expanse of land reminded me of Iowa, but she explained that the lush green only appeared during the rainy season. In the dry season, life was hard, and in years when it extended longer into the next season the alpaca and sheep often died and money was not sufficient to support five children. This is why she first began working in Arequipa.

The alpaca, the gentle relative of the llama, whose warm, soft wool is used by the knitters of Ñaña (the Colca Canyon posting in Brian and Lindsey's blog has photos), is central to the culture of the Andes. Sebastiana pointed to perhaps a fortunately blurry photo of herself bent over an alpaca, holding a knife and smiling for the camera. She shrugged and made a cutting motion across her neck. As important as the wool is in knitting their clothing, the meat and skin of the alpaca are of equal importance, and their death a fact of life. Whatever was left after her own family's use was sold to others in their town.

Mixed in with the other photos were several of carnaval, a celebration brought by the Spanish which takes place in February, about 40 days before Easter. In many of the photos she is dressed in a beautiful dress and hat with multi-colored braids spilling over her shoulders. She explained that the braids are special to the Cusco celebration. During the celebration everyone from the nearby town gets together to dance the tupay, a traditional dance which she has passed on to her own daughters. They make an offering of a single potato to Pachamama, Mother Earth, a ritual called "paying the earth." As this celebration shows, religion in Peru is highly syncretic, which means that indigenous religious traditions have blended with the Catholicism practiced by 90% of the Peruvian population to form a very distinctive mix. Thus, what began as a Spanish celebration related to Lent is now also an occasion to make offerings to the Pachamama.

Then she pointed to two photos, one of herself in a hooded sweatshirt and jeans, the other a younger version in a brightly colored sweater and skirt with thick woolen leggings. "This is what I wore when I first got here," she explained, pointing to the skirt and leggings. "I didn't have the more modern clothes that they wear in the city, but bit by bit I changed and eventually left the other clothes at home in Cusco." I asked her if she still wears the clothes she grew up with when she returns home, and she laughed saying that she puts them on first thing after she arrives each time.

Language is another aspect of life that is often left behind. There are many indigenous languages still spoken in Peru, but the most prevalent is Quechua, the official language used by the Incas to rule various tribal groups. This was the language Sebastiana spoke exclusively until she was 8 years old and came to Arequipa. At that time she was forced to learn Spanish without ever learning to read and write in Quechua. In the city, she would sometimes speak in Quechua, but stopped because people seemed to look at her suspiciously. She still speaks it with her parents when she returns home, as they never learned Spanish, but her daughters know only enough to understand what is said, not to respond. As she told me this, she wondered aloud what would happen to her culture if Quechua died out. For example, the words they use in their offerings to Pachamama are Quechua and would lose their meaning translated to Spanish.

She told me at the end of our visit how happy she was to have finally shared her story with someone. Surprised, I asked if she had ever told the other knitters what she had just finished telling me. She responded that they all have pretty much the same story, so they don't really see much point in sharing with each other their lives before they began working in the workshop.

“I have suffered a lot in my life, but there have also been a lot of wonderful times.”