PEOPLEWATCHING

PEOPLE-WATCHING


19.01.1994

We have now got a telephone in the house in the Chapare.   Well, we have got a telephone when it works, which is not always, but it is better than nothing, I suppose.

UNESCO is proving to be a faithful friend.  They have sent me 2 small jobs so far and this week I hope to receive a larger one: three chapters for the History of Mankind encyclopaedia.  They are all about archaeology between 700 and 1,500: one on sites in Central America and the Caribbean, the second on sites in the Andean region and the third on sites in the Amazon region.  Of course, they will be all the more interesting since I am actually here.  The only problem is that the second translation nearly never appeared because the courier company simply didn't tell me anything about it.  I managed to get it because the driver went to collect a packet they had notified me about on March 8th.  Four visits proved fruitless and on March 18th. we all went to Cochabamba, but the courier office was closed.  I managed to spy someone in the parent company office and got him to go with the driver to get the key and open up the courier office (the following day there was to be a civil strike, so I HAD to get it that day).  Knowing how things work (or don't), the driver personally went through every envelope and packet in the office and found my translation which, officially, I knew nothing about.  I hope the same does not occur again.  They ought to be a little more careful next time, because the day after the strike I went in myself and tore strips off the poor guy who didn't know what had hit him.  He was further embarrassed because there were people waiting to send or receive packages and they could all hear what I was saying.  He kept wanting to provide some justification, but I just didn't let him speak at all (As far as I was concerned, there was none).  I was FURIOUS!  Just at this moment I have a problem in that my laser printer has developed a fault and I have to get it repaired - and pronto.

In between times I am teaching the campesino association members how to use Wordperfect, so that when their computers arrive for their agroindustrial plants someone will be in a position to use them and they won't be so much waste material standing around. Once they get the hang of that I will probably have to teach them basic book-keeping.  It is quite an experience to see those hands, some of them more used to wielding a machete, manipulate a mouse!  Some of the least expected people are the most adroit.  My best pupil so far is a little lady in full traditional dress who took to the computer like a duck to water - no fear, nothing, she just dived in head first.  Quick of mind too.  

Sitting around in public places - and I have been doing a lot of that since I've been here - is highly educational.  The place where I have spent most time is at the telephone company's office to send faxes.  Here you realize pretty rapidly that the world of instant communication and the global village are rather distant concepts.  


To send a fax you have to fill in a fax request form (there are also request forms for long distance calls and telegrammes) which you take to a queue, and when you reach the head of it you hand the request form, along with your fax, to the man (it is usually a man, whilst the telephonists are usually women) who charges you a deposit of 25Bs. and tells you to take a seat.  The document is then taken to the telex and fax office, which is around the corner and down a corridor, where it is handed to the operator who, in the fulness of time, will send it.  When he or she (the fax operator can be of either sex) has sent it, all the transmission information is entered and the fax, together with the transmission printout, is returned to the first man who then enters the data in his computer which proceeds to print out the bill.  Your fax is then returned to you with the bill and, usually, some money, because a 1 page fax to Europe works out at 22.5Bs.  This procedure may take anything from 15 minutes to an hour and a half. It will be interesting to see how much a similar fax will cost from a private telephone line, but I have not had the chance to find out yet.  (A one page fax to Europe costs 10.14Bs. from a private phone, so quite a little profit there for the telephone company).

It is during these long vigils that I have the opportunity to observe the other mortals who are waiting to make telephone calls, send faxes or telegrammes.  Apart from the people who are sending faxes, who are usually employees from small companies which do not possess their own machine, most of the people waiting are indigenous people trying to call their families.  Since most of them come from small villages where there is usually only one phone box, they have to wait endlessly for the person they wish to speak to to be located.  

"Juana Mamami!  The person you wish to speak to is not available.  Will you wait?"

“·Yes, I'll wait"

"Julián Valencia, no person of that name is known there.  You must have the wrong number" ..... and so it goes on, and they wait uncomplaining and shrouded in infinite patience until their call finally yields its fruit and they are told to proceed to one of the call boxes.

A large number of the people are trying to call their sons who are doing their military service.  He is not on duty at the moment.  He has gone out.  Call back in three hours .....  But then they do manage to make contact and when the father comes out of the box he relays the information to those waiting.

"He says he took the train from Santa Cruz to Tarija and the fare was 30Bs.  He says he is well and is surrounded by his companions and friends.  He says to tell Mother not to worry.  He is fine."

This business of the military service is quite a phenomenon.  On the whole the sons of the ruling classes, due to their "enchufes" or other privileges conferred by their class, manage to evade this "patriotic duty", with the result that the majority of the people who do military service are poor and, generally speaking, indigenous people (the two almost inevitably go hand in hand).  This is amazingly shortsighted on the part of the authorities, it seems to me, because in the event of civil strife and an uprising the only people who have been taught the use of arms are the indigenous communities who, in my view, are the ones who would want to take up arms.  However, they don't seem to have thought of this minor detail!


One day, as I waited for my fax to be processed, a little Indian girl came up to play with the dogs and we got engaged in conversation.  Her name was Esther, she was 10 years old, and she had a dog called Lisa which she bathed every Saturday. She, together with her father and mother, had left home at 6am. to put a call through to her brother who was doing his military service.  They had been waiting for 2 hours already.  She was very curious about where I was calling to, and when I told her I was sending a fax to France, she exclaimed "France!  Oh, it must be beautiful there!"  (As it turned out, she didn't have a clue where France was and I had to explain to her). I told her there were beautiful things and horrible things everywhere, but she didn't seem convinced.  Then she wanted to know how I had reached Bolivia. The idea of travelling in a plane was most seductive: that really had to be the most wonderful thing in the world!  Then she asked me if I liked Bolivia.  When I told her that I did, she looked amazed and said, "Well, I don't."  Why not?  "In Bolivia everything is filthy and I hate filth.  I would like to be a doctor when I grow up to teach people how to be clean."  

The various stages of "acculturation" or "cultural disintegration" (depending on how you look at it) are also apparent at the telephone company: from the Juana Mamamis with their polleras or wide pleated skirts covered by a full length apron, their hair beautifully plaited and topped by a magnificent brown bowler hat with beige trim around the brim and a little beige tassle hanging over the left side to the little indigenous lady wearing western dress, every step is represented.  Generally the first identifying feature to disappear is the hat, then the voluminous skirt and then the plaits.  The very last symbol to disappear is the colourful woven cloth or awayu worn over the shoulders, presumably because it is a useful article in which babies and wares may be carried without hindering arm movements.

On the whole, the men wear western attire from the moment they come to the city.  Only old men, who have lost hope of ever finding employment and have given themselves over to mendicancy, continue to wear their ch'ulos, and they will never be making telephone calls - only sitting on the steps at the entrance begging.  Young male children also wear these colourful woollen hats with ear flaps.  When they grow up they abandon them.  In a way the mode of dress, indicative of the degree of (at least outward) acculturation, reflects the relative positions of men and women in the chain of cultural transmission.  The men must conform to the pressures of the society in which they are trying to make a living while the women cling to their origins and are the main links in the chain of cultural continuity.

The position of women in Bolivia is quite interesting.  There seem to be many women (of the privileged classes) in remunerated work and in positions of responsibility: the new chief of customs is a women.  Among the  indigenous community I believe that the machista philosophy is not a native one.  Rather the concept of the "couple" - of a "whole"  - is the one which is respected.  However, ill-treatment of women is quite commonplace nonetheless, and not only among the lower classes.  According to an article published in the paper the other day a large percentage of the women who report ill-treatment are from fairly well-to-do homes.

Now, here's the rub.  Apparently Bolivian legislation "authorizes" the progenitors and direct descendants of any woman to "chastise" her.  This privilege also extends to brothers-in-law and other more distant male relatives if they all live under the same roof!  Naturally the article was asking for this anachronism to be removed.


The ubiquitous baby is another phenomenon.  Almost every indigenous women is carrying a baby on her back.  They are swaddled like mummies and, wrapped in their cloths, lie unprotesting on the ground or wherever their mothers happen to leave them while they earn their living selling or whatever.  We have been here for more than a month and today, January 19th, I heard a baby cry for the first time.  There must be a secret somewhere which western mothers ought to learn!