#010: Fieldnotes, Khonkho. 06/26/06
Monday
Not feeling well this morning, but decided to go with team to the site, since it’s the first day of excavation, or, digging new ground. It’ll make me feel better to walk around, I figured. Six of us drove out there, and arrived at 9:10am. No one was working yet; the women were sitting together, the men standing nearby talking.
I said my hello’s, “buen dias”’s to the workers (the “-os” in “Buenos dias” usually gets cut off). Shook hands with an older lady, and she didn’t let go for a few minutes, at least. Just looked at me with big, smiling eyes and told me something (greetings?) in Aymara. I asked her how the work here has been going for her, and what her name is, but she just kept saying things I couldn’t understand; “I don’t speak Spanish,” maybe. She just laughed, I laughed, we laughed together, still holding hands. I told her I’d find somebody to translate.
Said hello to another older woman as people got up and started moving around, forming groups. I asked the lady what they were doing – she said they were organizing people into quadrillas. My prof. came over to me then, told me how problematic it can be to form work groups when some people don’t show up for work and send a replacement instead. Many do, sending a family member, usually a wife in their place. It’s becomes so confusing, trying to keep track, my prof. says.
9:41 am. Sitting nearby one of the units with my backpack and notepad, observing. One of the project co-directors is there, talking with a quadrilla of middle-aged women, ready with their pickaxes and shovels. He explains something to them, and they begin digging into the ground.
I’m thinking about methodology, and questions to ask around today, informally. Want to talk about the mechanics and organization of the excavation – How does this work? What are people doing? (and why?) – with both maestros, or group leaders, and regular workers. The latter, referred to as “bases,” [bah-says] by the maestros, rotate out every week, while the former are community leaders or their leaders who have the privilege of remaining on the project all season. Comparing the perspectives of the politically connected and not could prove pretty interesting.
A while later, the Bolivian co-director came over to say hello. I asked if this is a new unit they were about to excavate. No, he said, “es anterior, del año pasado” (it’s from before, from last year). He tried to explain to me slowly, didactically, dumbing down his Spanish for me, that they’re trying to find out whether the artifacts in this unit date to the Formative period. Stooped down and demonstrated with two stones how they’re trying to understand the relationships between artifacts. I asked whether it’s a relationship of time, space, or the characteristics of artifacts. Time, he said. Explained more but I didn’t understand everything. I asked him whether the workers understand all this, too. “No, no entienden mucho,” he said in a more sympathetic than condescending tone. “They don’t understand much.” Explained how they’re used to farming potatoes, not archaeology. He then walked away to check on another unit. The ladies looked at me and smile, so I walked over to say hello, introduce myself. I asked them if they were excavating a new unit today. Yes, they answered promptly.
I wandered over to another unit, where the grad student in charge told me that the girls working the sifter are new. Asked if I wanted to go over and help them “crunch dirt” – they were picking through the chunks left after sifting, breaking them apart to look for bits of ceramic, bone, etc. I walk over to them and call out “Hola señoritas!” in a sassy tone I only feel comfortable using with people younger than or the same age as me. I ask their names and they look at each other and giggle. I ask them a series of questions and get brief “yes” answers: Do you like this work? Did you work here last year? Did you discover anything interesting? Yes, ceramicas and liticas (lithics, or stone tools). From what time were these artifacts? They don’t know. From a long time ago? Yes, from antiguas (ancient times). They then ask me my name, and whether it’s my first time here at Khonkho, and giggle more. A., the grad student, takes a picture of us from a distance, and says he’s “catching the ethnographer at work.” The girls giggle intensely now. I translate, loosely (“dice, ‘la anthropologa esta trabajando.’”), and they just keep laughing. I ask their ages (17 and 18), and whether they go to school, trying to take the conversation in a less anthropological, more friendly direction. One is a senior in high school, the other just graduated and wants to go to university in El Alto. I feel pretty comfortable, confident, talking to them. Might make good informants, but both seem like they might be too shy about talking, or just giggle throughout the whole interview.
Not feeling well this morning, but decided to go with team to the site, since it’s the first day of excavation, or, digging new ground. It’ll make me feel better to walk around, I figured. Six of us drove out there, and arrived at 9:10am. No one was working yet; the women were sitting together, the men standing nearby talking.
I said my hello’s, “buen dias”’s to the workers (the “-os” in “Buenos dias” usually gets cut off). Shook hands with an older lady, and she didn’t let go for a few minutes, at least. Just looked at me with big, smiling eyes and told me something (greetings?) in Aymara. I asked her how the work here has been going for her, and what her name is, but she just kept saying things I couldn’t understand; “I don’t speak Spanish,” maybe. She just laughed, I laughed, we laughed together, still holding hands. I told her I’d find somebody to translate.
Said hello to another older woman as people got up and started moving around, forming groups. I asked the lady what they were doing – she said they were organizing people into quadrillas. My prof. came over to me then, told me how problematic it can be to form work groups when some people don’t show up for work and send a replacement instead. Many do, sending a family member, usually a wife in their place. It’s becomes so confusing, trying to keep track, my prof. says.
9:41 am. Sitting nearby one of the units with my backpack and notepad, observing. One of the project co-directors is there, talking with a quadrilla of middle-aged women, ready with their pickaxes and shovels. He explains something to them, and they begin digging into the ground.
I’m thinking about methodology, and questions to ask around today, informally. Want to talk about the mechanics and organization of the excavation – How does this work? What are people doing? (and why?) – with both maestros, or group leaders, and regular workers. The latter, referred to as “bases,” [bah-says] by the maestros, rotate out every week, while the former are community leaders or their leaders who have the privilege of remaining on the project all season. Comparing the perspectives of the politically connected and not could prove pretty interesting.
A while later, the Bolivian co-director came over to say hello. I asked if this is a new unit they were about to excavate. No, he said, “es anterior, del año pasado” (it’s from before, from last year). He tried to explain to me slowly, didactically, dumbing down his Spanish for me, that they’re trying to find out whether the artifacts in this unit date to the Formative period. Stooped down and demonstrated with two stones how they’re trying to understand the relationships between artifacts. I asked whether it’s a relationship of time, space, or the characteristics of artifacts. Time, he said. Explained more but I didn’t understand everything. I asked him whether the workers understand all this, too. “No, no entienden mucho,” he said in a more sympathetic than condescending tone. “They don’t understand much.” Explained how they’re used to farming potatoes, not archaeology. He then walked away to check on another unit. The ladies looked at me and smile, so I walked over to say hello, introduce myself. I asked them if they were excavating a new unit today. Yes, they answered promptly.
I wandered over to another unit, where the grad student in charge told me that the girls working the sifter are new. Asked if I wanted to go over and help them “crunch dirt” – they were picking through the chunks left after sifting, breaking them apart to look for bits of ceramic, bone, etc. I walk over to them and call out “Hola señoritas!” in a sassy tone I only feel comfortable using with people younger than or the same age as me. I ask their names and they look at each other and giggle. I ask them a series of questions and get brief “yes” answers: Do you like this work? Did you work here last year? Did you discover anything interesting? Yes, ceramicas and liticas (lithics, or stone tools). From what time were these artifacts? They don’t know. From a long time ago? Yes, from antiguas (ancient times). They then ask me my name, and whether it’s my first time here at Khonkho, and giggle more. A., the grad student, takes a picture of us from a distance, and says he’s “catching the ethnographer at work.” The girls giggle intensely now. I translate, loosely (“dice, ‘la anthropologa esta trabajando.’”), and they just keep laughing. I ask their ages (17 and 18), and whether they go to school, trying to take the conversation in a less anthropological, more friendly direction. One is a senior in high school, the other just graduated and wants to go to university in El Alto. I feel pretty comfortable, confident, talking to them. Might make good informants, but both seem like they might be too shy about talking, or just giggle throughout the whole interview.
posted by kazmira at 6:50 PM
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