PAY DAY AT THE DAIRY

PAY DAY AT THE DAIRY

31.05.1994

Every month the dairy pays the milk producers for their production during the previous month. On one occasion I was asked to help out with the payments because they were short of staff and sometimes I go just out of interest, because it reveals a lot about the people.

Since the milk is collected from quite far-flung places, the people hire a "trufi" (mini-bus) or a truck and around 8.30a.m. on payment day they start to arrive at the dairy.  The earliest comers take their place in the queue while the later arrivals tend to sit around under a tree until the queue diminishes, but even those in the queue tend to squat on the ground rather than stand.  They make quite a colourful crowd, particularly the women with their bright skirts and straw hats.  There are always loads of children running around, and when I take Simon and Paddy out for a walk they are a great attraction.

Since it seemed to me that a large proportion of the people coming for payment were women and many of them could not sign their name, I decided to do a little sociological survey to see whether my observations were accurate or not.  These are the results.

Out of a total of 153 people who came for payment 87 or 56.8% were women and 43.2% were men.  However, only 18.9% of the women had the cows registered in their own name.  This would seem to indicate, though, that it is the women who hold the purse-strings just the same.  

Of 73 women who came on one particular day their social status divided up as follows:

a.     Married                              52     71.2%
b.     Single without children                    14     19.2%
c.     Unmarried with children                3      4.1%
d.     Steady relationship/no children                1      1.4%
e.     Steady relationship/with children           2      2.7%
f.     Widow                               1      1.4%

Categories c & e are really the same.  It just means that the women's perception of their status is different. Basically they are people who have not been able to afford a wedding.

Literacy figures for this group came out as follows:

Literate               50          68.5%
Illiterate          23          31.5%

Literate in this context means that they were able to sign their names and when asked said they could read and write.  However,  I doubt very much whether the majority would pass the UNESCO's test for functional literacy but am in no position to test this out.

The literacy breakdown by age was as follows:

Illiterate          10-20              0%
20-30            6.25%
30-40           30.43%
40-50           60%
50-60          100%
60-70          100%

Comparing the illiteracy rates with the quality of the milk produced, I found that there was no relationship between these two factors.  The milk is graded as class A, B & C.  

A          B          C
Literate               57.5%          35%          7.5%
Illiterate          70%          25%          5%

However, there was a direct correlation between the personal hygiene of the people concerned and the quality of their milk.

Interest in improving the quality of their milk was not affected by literacy levels either.  This is more an economic factor, because they get paid more for better quality milk.

Of the men, only 1.5% were totally illiterate and 4.5% could sign but with such difficulty it was clear that this was all they knew how to do.  Of the remaining 94% only further investigations would reveal how many were really functionally literate.

Conspicuous among the throng of campesinos is a small group of tall, white people.  These are Russian orthodox Jews who have a colony about 70Kms. away and sell their milk to the dairy.  The men wear collarless Russian shirts tied at the waist while the women all wear long ankle-length dresses or pinafores with a long-sleeved blouse underneath.  They all have their heads completely covered using scarves but they do not shave their heads.  Their cattle is the best maintained of all the people who sell milk to the dairy.

LORINI

LORINI


30.05.1994

The other day a man came from La Paz to look at some machinery in one of the plants.  His surname was Lorini and he turned out to be a fairly interesting character. His great-grandfather had come to South America with Garibaldi in the nineteenth century.  I did not know that Garibaldi took part in the Wars of Independence in South America.  Apparently after he had united all of northern Italy, King Vittorio Emmanuele did not want him to continue south and he was issued with an ultimatum to the effect that either he got out of the way or he would be eliminated.  So, off he went to South America where he met his wife who was Argentinian.

Well, the great-grandfather of this man was a chemist and eventually made his way to La Paz where he set up a pharmacy in the main square just opposite the government building.  One day a military officer who was coming out of the government building fell down the steps and hurt himself and great-grandfather Lorini was called upon to help him.  He did his best.  While he was attending to the officer he noticed that he had a wound on his ribcage which was bound with a kind of leaf poultice and the wound was healing and looked very good.  He was curious about this and later called upon the officer at his home or barracks or wherever, ostensibly to find out how he was faring, but also to find out a bit more about these leaves.  They turned out to be coca leaves and he decided to do some chemical research himself to discover what properties the leaves had.

After some time he developed a kind of medicinal syrup which he sold in his chemist shop.  An American company later came and offered to buy the patent of this syrup from him and he sold it.  This company then sold the patent on to - yes, you guessed it! - the Coca Cola company and the syrup was the basis of the modern drink.

Another aspect of this story is that Mr. Lorini had a chemist friend in Germany, and in their correspondence he mentioned this miraculous leaf to him.  His German friend asked him to send some leaves so he could do some experiments, and he obliged.  This German chemist was the first person to make cocaine hydrochloride which is the basis of cocaine.  

So, you see, it's a small world.  A friend of the family in La Paz has all the documentation regarding this.

THE FENCE

THE FENCE

25.05.1994

Although the dairy plant is set in 82,000 square metres of land, there was no place to let the dogs run free, so we decided to have a fence built just around one side of the house so that we could let them wander around.  At first we got quotations from various  joiners but (seeing that we are "gringos") they wanted to make us a fence using "almendrillo" which is a precious Amazon hardwood and extremely expensive. This was acceptable neither from the ecological point of view nor from the economic one.  It was then suggested that we should have a fence made by one of the tribal people, a Yura, who are the traditional enemies of the Yukis that I went to visit.  This sounded like a good idea so, one of the workers at the dairy whose "wife is half-Yura" (according to him) - in fact, they are both full-blooded Yuras, but he does not want to admit this in case people think he is "less" than they are - brought along his brother-in-law to give a quotation.  He did and it was one third what everyone else wanted, so we told him to go ahead.  That was just before the nationwide barricade.

He started cutting the wood.  This is done on the banks of the river where he cut straight branches and saplings, stripped off the bark and cut them to size.  He then brought them up by canoe to his house near the village.  On account of the barricade he could go no further than that, and once the barricade was over his mother-in-law died so proceedings stopped for a few days.  She had had pains for a long time, he said, so she was better off.

When he started work he brought along two little boys, one aged 5 and the other 10.  These are his youngest children.  He has had 7 and his wife is expecting another one any day now which makes 8.  The third child, a daughter, died of chickenpox when she was 10 months old.  His eldest son is 21 years old.  He himself does not look much older than that, because here men have very little beard (a genetic feature attesting to their Mongol origin when the American continent was part of a larger landmass)  and very fresh faces.  In fact, he is 36 years old, so he had his first child at the age of 15.

He measured away and with extreme precision situated the master posts.  He and his eldest son, who came on subsequent days, dug the holes which they filled in neatly once the posts were in place.  Then he prepared the horizontal pieces and, once they were in place, the uprights were attached.  Traditionally they would have been attached using a cord made from tree bark but he opted to use a more modern (and less effective) method, so we subsequently used wire to hold them in place once the initial shrinkage had taken place.  In any event, he is the most meticulous and perfectionist worker we have come across in Bolivia.  Robert went out to congratulate him, because he had reached the conclusion that such workers did not exist in the country.  He was very pleased at that.

We had given him a one third advance to get the work going and when the job was about half-way through he asked if he could have 100Bs. to buy groceries for the family.  The remainder he got when the work was completed.  


Since the children came with him every day, I asked if they did not go to school.  He replied that he had wanted to send them, because he himself did not go to school, but so far he has not had the money to do so.  On the last day, I asked him how much it cost to register the children in school.  THE EQUIVALENT OF TWO US DOLLARS! - about a pound, so I gave him  the equivalent of five pounds extra on the condition that he was to use it to register the children in school and buy their books etc with it.  He went off very happy, so I only hope he has in fact done that.  

It was interesting to speak to him, because, when I congratulated him on his excellent care and workmanship, his reply was that he had worked for three years with the Brazilian road-building company that builds the disasters in the country.  When I insisted that he may have learned about measuring and so forth  there but that his knowledge and skill for working in wood must be part of his heritage, he reluctantly admitted that this might be so.  Of course, he still had not admitted that he was a Yura.  He agreed that he had been brought up "in the country" - not the jungle, mind you, the "country".  When I said that I had made a trip down the river and thought that the area was magnificent, he was pleased at that and said "Thank you, Ma'am, thank you".  Then I asked him if he knew how to make canoes and he proudly asserted that he was also a "navegante" or navigator and was skilled in making canoes.  Then he warmed to his subject and explained how they made the canoes water-tight by applying a mixture of pitch.  This was as a result of my saying that I did not want to paint the fence because I wanted to see the natural colour of the wood and therefore would prefer to protect it with diesel. Up-market people here paint their fences, you see.  Still he did not admit that he was a Yura.  The nearest we got was that his wife was part Yura, so it would seem to be all right for wives to be "part" tribal.  Interesting how these reactions occur as a safety mechanism to protect people who are different.

A real giveaway of their origins, however, is that fact that they did not take part in the barricade and consequently were fined by the town committee.  Logically, they would not take part, because their jungle culture has no ties with the cultivation of coca leaf and they feel no attachment to it, with the result that they do not get involved in the protection of it.  They are not agriculturalists, since their jungle culture is based on hunting and gathering, so when they come up to the "village" they do all kinds of odd jobs as and when they come up, specializing in river navigation and woodworking when they get the chance.  

Attitudes to work can be strange.  Filippo and Monica have got a maid in Chimoré.  Her name is María and she is a typical little indigenous girl with her "pollera" (wide skirt), bodice blouse and two long plaits down her back.  She comes in and does nothing until she is told what to do.  When she finishes one job, she will wait until she is given another, but does nothing on her own initiative.  In the middle of a job she might just sit down and look out the window or go out and have a look around and then come back later.  When Filippo and Monica went to Santa Cruz to the Agricultural Fair she did not come back, and when inquiries were made she said that there was nothing to do in that house because it was too clean.  Dusting and tidying and removing cobwebs and organizing bookshelves are peripheral minutiae and what does it matter anyway?  Cleaning means sturdy washing and such things.  This is one of the reasons why I do not have anybody to help me, because I would rather just get on and do it myself rather than have to follow up what someone else is doing.  

THE FENCE

THE FENCE

25.05.1994

Although the dairy plant is set in 82,000 square metres of land, there was no place to let the dogs run free, so we decided to have a fence built just around one side of the house so that we could let them wander around.  At first we got quotations from various  joiners but (seeing that we are "gringos") they wanted to make us a fence using "almendrillo" which is a precious Amazon hardwood and extremely expensive. This was acceptable neither from the ecological point of view nor from the economic one.  It was then suggested that we should have a fence made by one of the tribal people, a Yura, who are the traditional enemies of the Yukis that I went to visit.  This sounded like a good idea so, one of the workers at the dairy whose "wife is half-Yura" (according to him) - in fact, they are both full-blooded Yuras, but he does not want to admit this in case people think he is "less" than they are - brought along his brother-in-law to give a quotation.  He did and it was one third what everyone else wanted, so we told him to go ahead.  That was just before the nationwide barricade.

He started cutting the wood.  This is done on the banks of the river where he cut straight branches and saplings, stripped off the bark and cut them to size.  He then brought them up by canoe to his house near the village.  On account of the barricade he could go no further than that, and once the barricade was over his mother-in-law died so proceedings stopped for a few days.  She had had pains for a long time, he said, so she was better off.

When he started work he brought along two little boys, one aged 5 and the other 10.  These are his youngest children.  He has had 7 and his wife is expecting another one any day now which makes 8.  The third child, a daughter, died of chickenpox when she was 10 months old.  His eldest son is 21 years old.  He himself does not look much older than that, because here men have very little beard (a genetic feature attesting to their Mongol origin when the American continent was part of a larger landmass)  and very fresh faces.  In fact, he is 36 years old, so he had his first child at the age of 15.

He measured away and with extreme precision situated the master posts.  He and his eldest son, who came on subsequent days, dug the holes which they filled in neatly once the posts were in place.  Then he prepared the horizontal pieces and, once they were in place, the uprights were attached.  Traditionally they would have been attached using a cord made from tree bark but he opted to use a more modern (and less effective) method, so we subsequently used wire to hold them in place once the initial shrinkage had taken place.  In any event, he is the most meticulous and perfectionist worker we have come across in Bolivia.  Robert went out to congratulate him, because he had reached the conclusion that such workers did not exist in the country.  He was very pleased at that.

We had given him a one third advance to get the work going and when the job was about half-way through he asked if he could have 100Bs. to buy groceries for the family.  The remainder he got when the work was completed.  


Since the children came with him every day, I asked if they did not go to school.  He replied that he had wanted to send them, because he himself did not go to school, but so far he has not had the money to do so.  On the last day, I asked him how much it cost to register the children in school.  THE EQUIVALENT OF TWO US DOLLARS! - about a pound, so I gave him  the equivalent of five pounds extra on the condition that he was to use it to register the children in school and buy their books etc with it.  He went off very happy, so I only hope he has in fact done that.  

It was interesting to speak to him, because, when I congratulated him on his excellent care and workmanship, his reply was that he had worked for three years with the Brazilian road-building company that builds the disasters in the country.  When I insisted that he may have learned about measuring and so forth  there but that his knowledge and skill for working in wood must be part of his heritage, he reluctantly admitted that this might be so.  Of course, he still had not admitted that he was a Yura.  He agreed that he had been brought up "in the country" - not the jungle, mind you, the "country".  When I said that I had made a trip down the river and thought that the area was magnificent, he was pleased at that and said "Thank you, Ma'am, thank you".  Then I asked him if he knew how to make canoes and he proudly asserted that he was also a "navegante" or navigator and was skilled in making canoes.  Then he warmed to his subject and explained how they made the canoes water-tight by applying a mixture of pitch.  This was as a result of my saying that I did not want to paint the fence because I wanted to see the natural colour of the wood and therefore would prefer to protect it with diesel. Up-market people here paint their fences, you see.  Still he did not admit that he was a Yura.  The nearest we got was that his wife was part Yura, so it would seem to be all right for wives to be "part" tribal.  Interesting how these reactions occur as a safety mechanism to protect people who are different.

A real giveaway of their origins, however, is that fact that they did not take part in the barricade and consequently were fined by the town committee.  Logically, they would not take part, because their jungle culture has no ties with the cultivation of coca leaf and they feel no attachment to it, with the result that they do not get involved in the protection of it.  They are not agriculturalists, since their jungle culture is based on hunting and gathering, so when they come up to the "village" they do all kinds of odd jobs as and when they come up, specializing in river navigation and woodworking when they get the chance.  

Attitudes to work can be strange.  Filippo and Monica have got a maid in Chimoré.  Her name is María and she is a typical little indigenous girl with her "pollera" (wide skirt), bodice blouse and two long plaits down her back.  She comes in and does nothing until she is told what to do.  When she finishes one job, she will wait until she is given another, but does nothing on her own initiative.  In the middle of a job she might just sit down and look out the window or go out and have a look around and then come back later.  When Filippo and Monica went to Santa Cruz to the Agricultural Fair she did not come back, and when inquiries were made she said that there was nothing to do in that house because it was too clean.  Dusting and tidying and removing cobwebs and organizing bookshelves are peripheral minutiae and what does it matter anyway?  Cleaning means sturdy washing and such things.  This is one of the reasons why I do not have anybody to help me, because I would rather just get on and do it myself rather than have to follow up what someone else is doing.  

THE SANTA CRUZ DOG S

THE SANTA CRUZ DOG SHOW

11.05.94

The weekend after the blockade ended we went to Santa Cruz.  This was my first trip to the "city" since I came to the Chapare in February.  The reason why we went at all was that there was to be a dog show there and Simon was registered to take part, so off we went.  We stayed at the Hotel Asturias which Robert had found when he went on business.  It was founded by a man from Asturias and now belongs to his three daughters.  We got permission to have the dogs in the room and there is a nice garden all around the hotel with a swimming-pool too.  Filippo and Monica also came because Robert was going direct to La Paz by plane on Sunday evening and I didn't think it was a good idea to make the long journey back by myself.

On Saturday afternoon we went to a huge street market where you can buy virtually anything under the sun.  It all comes in as contraband from Brazil, so the prices are not too bad.  The dogs were exhausted after traipsing around there in the heat all afternoon.  So were we.

The feeling you get is that Santa Cruz belongs to a different country.  You feel you are not in Bolivia at all.  It looks towards Brazil and is quite different.  The majority of the population are immigrants, from Brazil, Argentina, Korea, Japan, China, Germany, Yugoslavia - you name it, they're here - even Indians and Pakistanis, as well as migrants from other parts of Bolivia.  This makes for a very dynamic society and all the commercial activity of Bolivia is centred here.  That is why Robert has now reoriented the project to look towards Santa Cruz rather than Cochabamba.  It is also cheaper

After that I went to get my hair cut because it was over three months since I had had it cut and it was all long and straggly.  Monica had found a place called "Pippo's - Peinador de Reinas", so we went along there.  Of course, it wasn't royalty whose hair he cut and combed but beauty queens and carnival queens.  What an amazing place!  Great carved wood rococo mirrors at each place, photographs of carnival and beauty queens all over the walls and Pippo himself combing away!  They asked me if I wanted Pippo to cut my hair himself.  When I asked how long I would have to wait for that, I was told that he had two brides to do and three fifteen year-old birthday girls as well.  Here when (middle-class) kids reach the age of 15 they have a big party.  I suppose it is reminiscent of the rights of passage at puberty. I decided that too long a wait was out of the question so I said anyone could cut it but they had to know what they were about, and we sat down to wait.

The amazing thing about the women in Santa Cruz is that they are all coquette in the extreme. Watching them preening is an education.  Every move the hairdresser made when she was applying the dye to one woman's head was carefully scrutinized in a hand-held mirror.  Then when the dye was on and she had to wait for a while she went around all the hairdressers asking them what they thought about it.  While their hair is getting cut, combed or whatever, they all have their nails done too.  A lot of back-combing was going on, and when each layer had been back-combed a great waft of Aquanet lacquer was applied liberally before the next layer was done.  Then the whole affair is combed into place and more Aquanet tops it off.  I think it mustn't move in about a month after all that.


I kept thinking about the hairdresser that went to Eileen's and cut all our hair in her kitchen.  I was wishing I could conjure him up out of a hat!  

Then a manicurist asked me if my hair was clean or did I want it washed, I replied that it was clean but that I wanted it washed all the same. While she was washing it she asked if I wanted it "armado".  A bit of quick thinking was required here.  I want it cut and blown dry - just simple, great stress on the simple.  Total disinterest after that.  I realized that "armar" was what they said when they meant having it set on rollers rather than blown dry.  The prospect of a backcombed "armature" was just too much.  Luckily in the end a girl called Sara cut my hair and she did a pretty good job of it.  After that we went for a pizza.

We also went to a new Chilean owned supermarket called HIPERMAXI.  It isn't anywhere near the size of the Spanish hypermarkets but after being in the Chapare for so long where the choice of everything is extremely limited it was like landing on the moon.  There were all kinds of things that I had almost forgotten existed at all - like marmalade and whole meal bread and other such things.  We had a wander around there and did a fair bit of shopping.  There was hardly room to move in the car by the time we had finished.

On Sunday afternoon it was the dog show.  There was supposed to be a monographic German Shepherd class at midday and then at 2p.m. the other classes would begin.  However, at 12 o´clock everyone upped and left.  At 2p.m. the judges and organizers began to reappear but, since nobody had done any of the organizing in the meantime, everything had to start from scratch with the result that the German Shepherd class began about an hour and a half after the programmed 2p.m. start.  The judge was a lady called Mrs. Blum from Brazil.  There are lots of people of German extraction in Brazil.  She certainly seemed to know her stuff.  However, after a few dogs had paraded to and fro, she began to shake her head, grabbed the steward and took him to the judging desk.  They had mixed up the various classes so she had to start all over again.  This happened twice.  I thought the poor woman was going to kill one of them.  However, this is Bolivia and nobody knows how to do anything right.  That's just the crux of the matter.

Then came the Old English Sheepdogs.  Poor things, particularly one which had been on its grooming table for hours being backcombed and lacquered (shades of Pippo here) and chalked and God knows what.  Even as it was waiting to go into the ring the stupid guy was teasing out its moustache and fluffing its head and the poor animal stood in patient resignation.  I wouldn't have blamed it if it had bitten his hand off.  I think he used to dog to show himself off!

Then it was our turn.  In we went.  Great rounds of applause.  Simon trotted around looking bemused.  Then the judge examined first his eyes and then his teeth (not so amusing) and then checked to see whether he had "two fully descended testicles" as it says in the rules.  This was the final indignity.  He looked at her in shocked amazement and then looked at me.  Another circuit.  This time he caught sight of Paddy and Robert, Filippo and Monica and  did the full circuit with his head twisted around looking at them and wagging his tail.  More applause.  


By this time it was after 4p.m.  Robert had to catch a plane and I had to get going to get past the unsurfaced part of the road before night fell, so we could not wait till the end.  A shame really, because I think he would have won a prize.  This suspicion was confirmed some months later when I took the dogs to the vet´s to have their vaccinations.  He lamented the fact that Simon could not wait because the judge was very impressed with him!

I got a bit of faryngitis so I had to go along to the health post.  I must say that they attended to me very well - took my temperature, blood pressure, sounded me, peered down my throat, asked me innumerable questions and finally packed me off with a prescription for a cough mixture and some antibiotics after paying the equivalent of 50p. For us that is cheap, but for many people it is quite a lot of money.  At the chemist, the man tots up the cost of the prescription and asks you if you are prepared or can afford to pay that amount before he doles it out to you - 2 pounds 50, so a fortune for most people.  How you can get faryngitis with a temperature of 30ºC beats me, but there you are.  I suppose it is because at night it gets cool because we are in winter, of course. Yesterday was northern hemisphere’s longest day of the year and our shortest.  From now on days north of the equator will start to get shorter and ours will get a little longer.

A QUECHUA WEDDING

A QUECHUA WEDDING

17.05.1994

Last weekend (May 14-15) we were invited to an indigenous wedding.  In fact the wedding was supposed to have taken place on May 4th. but, because of the nationwide blockade, it had to be cancelled because neither the guests  nor the food and drink could be brought in.

The bride and groom were 36 and 38 years old respectively, have been together for 18 years and have 7 children.  However, until now they could not afford to get married, because the bride and groom must pay for their own wedding which should be the most memorable day in all their life.  Now their oldest daughter, who is 16 years old, has a baby and they want her to be married but they have to get married first, hence the great effort.

The reason why we were invited at all is that the agronomist who runs the project dairy, has known these people for years and he offered to help them out with the wedding.  He was therefore a "padrino" (the nearest equivalent is a best man - but not quite) and, since he knew that I was interested in all these sociological things, we were invited as his friends.

The church marriage ceremony took place at 8a.m. followed by the  civil ceremony at 9a.m.  Between these two events the couple are driven around the village being greeted and showered with confetti by all the people.  

Unfortunately, we missed all that part, because at 7a.m. a message came through that one of the drivers had had an accident and he had to go and investigate.  It turned out that Oswaldo was blinded by a lorry's lights as he was driving to the dairy after dark.  He veered off the road into a ditch and his head was split open by the window and he got a cut on his lip.  He must have been unconscious because he did not manage to call on the radio, with the result that the following morning he was discovered by some project personnel who were on their way to Santa Cruz to the Agricultural Fair.  He had to be taken to the hospital and so on, so that took up a lot of time.

By the time we got there the light repast was over and the bride and groom had performed the tradition dance.  However, when we arrived we were served a glass of champagne (bubbly cider really) with coconut in it  and sweet biscuits and then the soup with potatoes and tripe.  The wedding was held in a large, rectangular canvas marquee erected on their land for the occasion.  Wooden benches made of  sawn tree trunks placed on other pieces of wood were placed all the way around the marquee.  At one end there was a table covered with bouquets of flowers and other flowers placed on metal stands: this looked just like an altar and is where the wedding mass was said.  Behind this, on the canvas wall, two traditional woven cloths (awayus) were pinned up and decorated with congratulations.  At the other end was the kitchen and the place for the band.  There were two bands: one was a traditional band playing altiplano instruments like the various forms of panpipes, quena,  drums etc. and the other one sang traditional dance songs but using an organ, guitar and other mdoern instruments with great amplification!


The bride wore a traditional "pollera" (the voluminous pleated skirt) in lovely pastel colours, the traditional white lace blouse and a western-style headdress and veil.  The groom wore a grey suit, white shirt and tie and the poor fellow looked as if he was about to expire any minute with the heat and constriction. This was compounded by the overwhelming responsibility of seeing that everyone was being duly attended to.  

There are SEVEN best men.  The first and most important one is in charge of the religious ceremony and the reception on the first day.  The second is in charge of the civil ceremony (in this case René) and the reception on the second day (Weddings last either two or three days here).  Then there is the "padrino de aras" who is in charge of the wedding rings, the "padrino de torta" in charge of the wedding cake, the "padrino de altar y mosaico" in charge of the altar decoration and having the photographs mounted and framed to form a mosaic, the "padrino de colitas y partes" in charge of the invitations and arranging for commemorative pins  and lastly the "padrino de champán y cerveza", literally the champagne and beer best man but in practice he is in charge of all beverages. The padrinos are accompanied in their duties by their respective wives.

The bride and groom sit behind the table/altar and the padrinos and madrinas sit on the same "top bench" in hierarchical order, except when they are performing some duty.  

The drinks person is kept busy all the time.  Apart from beer, the drink which is served in abundance is chicha, the drink made from fermented corn cobs.  This has to be brought from Cochabamba because in this area the temperature is too high and it ferments too quickly which means that the drink tastes bad.  I have now found out what happens after the corn is boiled and then the liquid is removed from the big cauldron I could see by the roadside outside Cochabamba.  The liquid is then put into barrels and left to ferment for eight days.  After that it is ready to drink, but it must ferment for 8 days and at the lower temperature of the altiplano.  The chicha is brought by lorry from Cochabamba and then stored in barrels.  At frequent intervals the drinks people would bring out rectangular containers with a handle, for all the world like cooking oil cans, full of chicha, which was then served in gourd or coconut "cups" called tutumas.  At first we were given ours in a glass, but we soon discovered that it tastes better from the gourd so after that we had ours in a gourd too.  The chicha is pale yellow in colour and tastes a bit like natural cider without the fizz but more vegetably.  Like cider, it is also a highly efficient diuretic!  It soon became necessary to unload some of this liquid, but, of course, there are no loos, so it was out to the nearest coca plantation to water the harvest.

All the guests, dressed in their best, sat on the benches around the marquee, everyone very serious and solemn.  The band then announced that it was time for the bride and groom and the first best man and his wife to dance.  They danced a cueca, which is one of the traditional altiplano dances performed with a handkerchief which is waved about.  Then another dance to be performed by more padrinos and so on.  The people are very solemn and take their dancing seriously - no smiling or laughing.  The interesting thing about these social functions is that the present population of this area is of altiplano origin: they are settlers who have migrated to this area.  This means that the cultural stamp is an imported one, hence the chicha and all the dances from their places of origin.  


At a certain point it is time to give the gifts.  On this occasion, padrino number 4 (in charge of the cake) asked René (No. 2) if the village lawyer could kick off the gift-giving.  René had no objection, so Mr. Lawyer approached the bride and groom and with great fanfare the band-leader announced that his gift was US$150.  After that a queue was formed and people deposited their gifts on the table/altar in front of the bride and groom.  After they had done that they embraced and the guest took a handful of confetti and rubbed it on the bride and groom's head and they did the same in return.  This was repeated with the "padrinos".  Then before they left the gift-giving ceremony a gourd of chicha was offered to each person.  As well as, or sometimes instead of a gift, each person pinned a banknote on the suit of the groom or on the bride's bodice.  The protocol is that if the guest is a relative or friend of the bride then he/she pins the money on the bride and vice versa.  In our case, after we had deposited our gift of cooking cauldrons, we put a note on each of them because we had been invited by both.  

After that the cake is cut and dancing begins when the guests can participate.  As the dancing goes on and people drink more chicha they pin more and more money on the couple's clothes.  The padrinos must keep a close watch to see who is accumulating more notes and it is the obligation of the chief padrinos to see that the score is evened up.  At the end of the night the gifts and money are taken and counted by the padrino concerned who, on the following day, must make up the difference so that neither side is the loser.  

We were expecting an important phone call so we had to leave early which was a great pity, the more so because when we got back home after the hour's drive the telephone lines were dead and so we could not take the call anyway.  The next day there was another disaster, so we missed the follow-up.  However, the second day's celebrations begin in the afternoon with the arrival of the civil ceremony "padrino".  The bride and groom process into the marquee once again and, still dressed in their wedding finery, take their places behind the table/altar, flanked by the "padrinos" except that on this occasion the place of honour is taken by the civil "padrino" rather than the religious one.  The gift-equalling ceremony takes place and then merrymaking begins once again until well after dark.  

DAY TO DAY

DAY TO DAY

11.05.1994

Days begin early here.  The sun is up and it is light by 6.15 a.m.  (except on cloudy days) - and Simon is standing by the bed at first light hitting me with his paw just in case I had not noticed that it was day already. In summer (December - March) night falls around 7 p.m.  In winter it gets dark around 6.30 p.m.  Both morning and evening bring flocks of green parrots which fly over the house squawking raucously.  Watching their gregarious activity drives home how cruel it must be for them to be confined to a cage all alone.  They love to wheel about and circle in groups calling all the while to one another.  Oropéndolas flute and trill in the trees, and, each time they do, it looks as though they are about to topple off their perch.  Yellow-bellied and paltry tyrannulets dee-dee-dee and cheeyip-cheeyip-cheeyip respectively, scolding their fellows as they go.  Simon gets a crick in his neck watching them all.  His other morning duty is to be on the look-out for bicycles.  As soon as he sees one, he leaps up and runs to the fence barking like a mad thing.

The temperature then rises steadily throughout the day to reach 30 odd or 26 degrees depending on the seasons.  May 10 was the first day that we did not sweat since we arrived here because the temperature only reached 20ºC and the day was overcast.  That was the onset of winter.  Now we are beginning to sweat again as spring settles in. Until now we have just been sweating all over all day since the humidity is high.  I often think of what one of my teachers at primary school said to us in class once: horses sweat, gentlemen perspire and ladies glow.  Not much glowing going on around here, just pure honest-to-goodness sweat!

Activity begins equally early.  People are out and about their business by 7 a.m. and activity continues steadily throughout the day.  No business hours prevail: people just sit and sell their produce until it is gone either in the village or by the roadside.  Cooking also goes on outside and people make great cauldrons of food which they eat themselves and sell to others.  

Housework is a bit of a pain.  There are no washing-machines, so I have devised a method whereby I have bought a big tub which I put the clothes in to steep.  After a while I get in and tread on them for  a while to beat them up a bit and then I rinse them.  There are no vacuum cleaners, of course, so it's the old sweeping brush.  Until a couple of weeks ago there was no floor mop either.  They are not to be found in any Latin American country except Mexico (we have had scouts in Paraguay, Argentina and Brazil) but even in Mexico there are no buckets to squeeze them out.  The method of washing floors is either (if you have a surfaced floor - most floors in the Chapare are dirt floors - but no furniture) swilling water on the floor and then pushing it out the door with a rubber thing on the end of a pole similar to what you would clean windows with except that for floors the handle is longer, or, if you do have a tiled floor and furniture (and most people here do not), then a floorcloth is wrung out and pushed around the floor with the rubber device mentioned above.  From my point of view, a very unsatisfactory method of cleaning floors, because you have to plosh in water all the time.  


However, a few weeks ago when Robert was in Santa Cruz, he came across a shop which sold mops and mop-pails (albeit rather small for the mops) which were brought in by a Spanish lady, so he bought a supply of mops for us and for Monica and Filippo, the Italian agronomist and his Texan born - of Polish and Swiss parents - girl-friend).  I have since seen that the Chilean supermarket also has mops, but they don't have the pails.  I think I am going to start a business importing mops and pails!  

When night falls, candles are lit and things go on as usual.  Outside the settlements, people sit by the roadside and chat.  I cannot fathom this fascination with the road: people sit by it and even lie with their torso and head on it. It is my ever-present horror that some time one will not get up and we will not see him and drive straight over him in the dark.  However, they usually do get up in time and I have never heard of such an accident taking place! I subsequently learned that the reason why people sit by the roadside is that the petrol fumes make for a mosquito-free environment!

In Ivirgarzama, the village closest to the dairy and where I go to shop, apart from a nun with a grey habit, I am the only "white person" to frequent the town.  This means that there is no opportunity to pass unnoticed.  With this white skin and fair hair I stick out like a sore thumb.  Being white and fair means that the nearest identification the people can make is that I am a "gringa" - not a good identification at all, given the appallingness of U.S. policy in Latin America.  However, it is a disturbing yet salutary experience to be the victim of discrimination.  Normally we equate discrimination with the poor and the black, and here I am white and very well off in comparison to most of the other people around me.  Here, however, both attributes work against me.  If I am a "gringa", then I represent the powers of physical repression which come in and try to put a violent end to their way of life.  And if I am rich, then I also represent the powers of economic repression which take from the people and give nothing in return, imposing neo-liberal economic remedies which are totally inappropriate for these countries (Are they appropriate for any country?) bringing nothing but increased misery for the poor. Since the dogs always go with me in the car, I am known as the "lady with the dogs".

At first when we were driving about trying to get to places and we stopped to ask the way, I found it strange that people never seemed to know where it was that we wanted to go.  I couldn't believe that they wouldn't know the villages in their own areas.  Later I came to realize that seeing "gringos" in the vehicle they simply refuse to provide any information, such is the degree of mistrust of their powerful neighbour to the north.


Perhaps the most ubiquitous feature is the bugs.  There are millions of them both big and small.  Not so many flies, but butterflies and moths of incomparable beauty, praying mantises, enormous grasshoppers which, I suppose, must come into the biblical category of the "locusts" of plague fame, beetles, bees and wasps and a host of other things which I cannot identify as yet.  However, perhaps the greatest variety is found in ants.  There are ants of every size and specialization.  At night a veritable army of one kind ascends one particular type of tree outside the house, each ant chomps its way through a leaf and carries its booty off to the anthill.  They have made a real highway across the grass.  Another large, elongated ant called a "tucandera" can inject a venom so strong that if it bites you you can have a fever for about 24 hours.  Then there is a diminutive ant which crawls around in the grass during the day.  If an unsuspecting foot gets in their path they swarm all over it injecting minute quantities of venom which within 15 seconds makes the injected spot start to itch.  But in the realm of itches, so far there is none to beat the itch resulting from the  bite of a tiny red spider.  It gets on people's legs and up their trousers biting all the way.  The itch is unbearable but it is fatal to scratch.  Then you are really done for, because you can't stop and you can scratch the skin down to the very flesh.  A bit too late I learned that the remedy is to apply alcohol liberally the minute you feel that you have been bitten, so we now keep bottles of alcohol in strategic places for use in emergencies.  With the onset of winter the many bugs diminished for a while, (That gave my legs some time to recover!) but they are on the increase again.