#004: Fieldnotes, Khonkho. 06/14/06
06-14-06
Began day rather late, 10am, and helped clean up work room, organizing shelves and sweeping and such. Very glad to have something to do. Bread, yogurt and tea for breakfast, then soup and rice for lunch. I meet W., our hired cook, a quiet, very young-looking woman with one adorable baby and another on the way. Some local folks come and tell us to come with them to have another lunch. I get in the car, not sure of what’s going on, and down the road a bit we arrive at the new deposito, a structure made of clay/mud bricks with a corrugated steel roof where the archaeological remains will be stored. No one is there yet, so we sit outside and I talk to an older man (seventy or so) named A.Q., about “que tal en Los Estados Unidos,” or how things are in the United States. We talk about how much a plane ticket costs, and what kind of food and animals we have there (Llamas? Potatoes? Quinoa? Pigs?). He’s very patient with my Spanish, and has a calm, understated sense of humor. The rest of the group, sitting a few meters away, laughs as they overhear him asking me when I’ll take him to the United States with me. It’s the first time I feel comfortable conducting a conversation en Spanish, or Castellano, as they call it here.
Everyone else arrives with the food, and we’re lead inside the rectangular building: dirt floor, benches line walls, cloth-covered table at one end. We are asked to sit at the end with the table and served bowls heaped with food – seasoned meat (llama? Very tough to chew), shredded lettuce and tomato, half of a sweet, purple-skinned tuber (manioc?), and a grilled or roasted plantain w/skin. I can only eat about half of it, I’m so stuffed. Everyone else served after us, and eats with hands, spitting out fat here and there. Co-directors presented with two cloth-spreads of coca leaves and about six cases of beer, big bottles. The drinking commences, with glasses poured by one of our archaeologists. Each person comes up to table to shake hands with the “Doktor” and take some coca.
I notice two people (one man, one woman) put the remains of their meat in their bags or pockets. Someone brings out a stuffed animal that’s a Snoopy look-alive, with Bolivian soccer gear on. Press belly and he sings some futbol song (“olay olay olay!”), and everyone laughs. One man says something about his “bull legs” and it is suggested to Prof. J. that he stay to better their race. Not sure whether it was a joke.
Here and there, more “hayaya”s for Doktor J. and El Proyecto. One mallku says that they have a presentation for us. He makes a short speech, then another mallku, then a few other male community members. Each speaks steadily and with pride, partly in Spanish and partly in Aymara, which sounds a little to me like French or Hebrew, with its rough throat-al sounds, but has more glottal stops. Each speaker shakes each of our hands after talking, and in a certain order – co-directors, then male student, then female students (I’m always the last). Doktor J. speaks, then V., about more of the technical details of the excavation. I’m worried that I’ll have to talk and scribble a few Spanish sentences in my notebook in preparation, but the time doesn’t come. Instead, more beer and coca, and then a few men break out their wooden/bamboo (?) flutes and a big drum (bomba?) and play music, and there are lots of warm feelings in the room, some dancing. I start talking to people, feeling comfortable enough to take pictures and video. Everyone, especially women and children, like to look at my camera and see the pictures.
W. (our cook) is there – I sit next to her and as we start talking she opens up a bit to me. She is nineteen years old and her husband works in El Alto, but she says they’re looking for a marriage sponsor so I’m not sure if they’re married yet. I take some photos of her and her baby (8 months old) at her request, and she asks me to go outside with her where there’s more light. She then asks (or demands, rather) that I go back with her to the campamiento.
Everyone comes back for tea, and I hear that I missed an almost-fight at the deposito, over where the misa ritual would take place. Conflict over who has power to say what happens when. We walk back to the deposito for Part 2 of the misa ritual. The shaman gets to work on a blanket on the floor, wrapping two batches of offerings – one llama fetus, another collection of fat and other substances – in large pieces of paper. I sit next to E., 10 years old, and ask her to explain to me what’s going on. I recognize her from somewhere – she was among our “audience” of kids that peeked at the window of the work room our first day there, watching us clean up or work on our computers, smiling and giggling and bringing their friends to see los arqueologicos, or the gringos, I don’t know. I don’t understand everything she says, but we agree that the ritual is very important. Later, we talk about what she is learning at school – mathematics (multiplication, division) and Castellano – and at church – Christianity, and “el palabra del dios,” or “the word of God.” She asks me where I’m from, but she’s never heard of Los Estados Unidos. I tell her it’s a big country in the north, and I’m from a city with big buildings. She smiles a lot, and we get along famously.
After that, one mallku brings a stereo in and some people start dancing, very fun. We go just outside the building to burn the offerings, it doesn’t take long. Beer sprayed all over, and everyone laughs, even more than last night. We stand around for a short while, admiring the embers. Three kids ask me to take their picture and I show them photos from that night’s fiesta, and earlier photos from La Paz – they never seem to get sick of it. Soon, the archaeologists and me head back to the campamiento alone, and the fiesta continues until about three in the morning.
Began day rather late, 10am, and helped clean up work room, organizing shelves and sweeping and such. Very glad to have something to do. Bread, yogurt and tea for breakfast, then soup and rice for lunch. I meet W., our hired cook, a quiet, very young-looking woman with one adorable baby and another on the way. Some local folks come and tell us to come with them to have another lunch. I get in the car, not sure of what’s going on, and down the road a bit we arrive at the new deposito, a structure made of clay/mud bricks with a corrugated steel roof where the archaeological remains will be stored. No one is there yet, so we sit outside and I talk to an older man (seventy or so) named A.Q., about “que tal en Los Estados Unidos,” or how things are in the United States. We talk about how much a plane ticket costs, and what kind of food and animals we have there (Llamas? Potatoes? Quinoa? Pigs?). He’s very patient with my Spanish, and has a calm, understated sense of humor. The rest of the group, sitting a few meters away, laughs as they overhear him asking me when I’ll take him to the United States with me. It’s the first time I feel comfortable conducting a conversation en Spanish, or Castellano, as they call it here.
Everyone else arrives with the food, and we’re lead inside the rectangular building: dirt floor, benches line walls, cloth-covered table at one end. We are asked to sit at the end with the table and served bowls heaped with food – seasoned meat (llama? Very tough to chew), shredded lettuce and tomato, half of a sweet, purple-skinned tuber (manioc?), and a grilled or roasted plantain w/skin. I can only eat about half of it, I’m so stuffed. Everyone else served after us, and eats with hands, spitting out fat here and there. Co-directors presented with two cloth-spreads of coca leaves and about six cases of beer, big bottles. The drinking commences, with glasses poured by one of our archaeologists. Each person comes up to table to shake hands with the “Doktor” and take some coca.
I notice two people (one man, one woman) put the remains of their meat in their bags or pockets. Someone brings out a stuffed animal that’s a Snoopy look-alive, with Bolivian soccer gear on. Press belly and he sings some futbol song (“olay olay olay!”), and everyone laughs. One man says something about his “bull legs” and it is suggested to Prof. J. that he stay to better their race. Not sure whether it was a joke.
Here and there, more “hayaya”s for Doktor J. and El Proyecto. One mallku says that they have a presentation for us. He makes a short speech, then another mallku, then a few other male community members. Each speaks steadily and with pride, partly in Spanish and partly in Aymara, which sounds a little to me like French or Hebrew, with its rough throat-al sounds, but has more glottal stops. Each speaker shakes each of our hands after talking, and in a certain order – co-directors, then male student, then female students (I’m always the last). Doktor J. speaks, then V., about more of the technical details of the excavation. I’m worried that I’ll have to talk and scribble a few Spanish sentences in my notebook in preparation, but the time doesn’t come. Instead, more beer and coca, and then a few men break out their wooden/bamboo (?) flutes and a big drum (bomba?) and play music, and there are lots of warm feelings in the room, some dancing. I start talking to people, feeling comfortable enough to take pictures and video. Everyone, especially women and children, like to look at my camera and see the pictures.
W. (our cook) is there – I sit next to her and as we start talking she opens up a bit to me. She is nineteen years old and her husband works in El Alto, but she says they’re looking for a marriage sponsor so I’m not sure if they’re married yet. I take some photos of her and her baby (8 months old) at her request, and she asks me to go outside with her where there’s more light. She then asks (or demands, rather) that I go back with her to the campamiento.
Everyone comes back for tea, and I hear that I missed an almost-fight at the deposito, over where the misa ritual would take place. Conflict over who has power to say what happens when. We walk back to the deposito for Part 2 of the misa ritual. The shaman gets to work on a blanket on the floor, wrapping two batches of offerings – one llama fetus, another collection of fat and other substances – in large pieces of paper. I sit next to E., 10 years old, and ask her to explain to me what’s going on. I recognize her from somewhere – she was among our “audience” of kids that peeked at the window of the work room our first day there, watching us clean up or work on our computers, smiling and giggling and bringing their friends to see los arqueologicos, or the gringos, I don’t know. I don’t understand everything she says, but we agree that the ritual is very important. Later, we talk about what she is learning at school – mathematics (multiplication, division) and Castellano – and at church – Christianity, and “el palabra del dios,” or “the word of God.” She asks me where I’m from, but she’s never heard of Los Estados Unidos. I tell her it’s a big country in the north, and I’m from a city with big buildings. She smiles a lot, and we get along famously.
After that, one mallku brings a stereo in and some people start dancing, very fun. We go just outside the building to burn the offerings, it doesn’t take long. Beer sprayed all over, and everyone laughs, even more than last night. We stand around for a short while, admiring the embers. Three kids ask me to take their picture and I show them photos from that night’s fiesta, and earlier photos from La Paz – they never seem to get sick of it. Soon, the archaeologists and me head back to the campamiento alone, and the fiesta continues until about three in the morning.
posted by kazmira at 9:21 AM
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