#011: Fieldnotes, Khonkho Wankane. 06/27/06
Tuesday
Woke up around 10:30 am after long, very entertaining night of archaeological drunkenness. Soul music, Echo & the Bunnymen, good talks about colonialism and archaeology and love lives around a bottle of Jack. I like this project.
Headed to site 1pm. On the way, some young kids shouted at me from the futbol field, “Hello! … okay!” First time I’ve heard English spoken by locals. It actually caught me off guard. I would’ve gone over to say hi, but felt self-imposed pressure to get to the site. Wasn’t sure I really wanted to go or that I’d get anything out of it (especially coming so late), but figured that I should use this time to talk to folks, build relationships … and even if I don’t talk to anyone, just being there is good – making my presence known, getting people used to me and my work (“work?”). So, I walked, thought good thoughts on the way about language and desire (my only certain profession) – feeling cheeky, confident.
Arrived and chatted with M___ (Bolivian archaeologist) about her findings, watched as she directed two male workers through measuring some nails and tying strings on them, in a line running perpendicularly across an excavated pit. Felt a little strange sitting there watching (too close in proximity) so got up and walked over to another unit, down the hill to the left.
Shook hands with two men in closer pit and chatted a bit with A___ (the grad student/project leader) and workers. “No hay nada” (“there is nothing”), still. “Que mal suerte” (“what bad luck!”), one of them kept saying, but with a cheery attitude that seemed to be infectious among this contingent of workers. One seemed to be in especially good spirits, and I soon asked him his name: J___ ____ _____ (Everyone here has two last names; taken from a stock, it seems, of seven or so names that everyone here has). I took out my notepad and had him help me spell it. He wrote the last name himself. Another man came over then see what we were doing – an older man whom the grad student said he’d been talking to, answering dozens of questions about the soil and what they were excavating, and hearing form him something about water and nearby canals (?) – A____ said it was difficult to understand the man’s Spanish because of his dental situation (single front tooth). This older man also helped me spell his name in my book. The two others working in this pit soon did the same.
I chatted with the men a little longer before walking over to the teenage sifters, my “amigas.” I help them crunch chunks of dirt again. They’ve found nothing all day, they say, and we joke about “que aborrido” (“how boring”) the work is. Everyone there talks openly about the boring work and bad luck in a half-joking way, and un-self-consciously, even in front of A___, their “boss”… which is great. Makes me feel so much more comfortable talking to them, as does the relaxed pace of their work – slow and break-filled, and everyone stops and chats often with A___, myself and/or each other.
The girls ask if I’m tired and I tell them about my late night, talking and drinking with the archaeologists, as we tend to do from time to time. One asks if we dance, too. I say yes, sometimes. I ask both what they do at night, go out dancing? Nooo, both assert; they sleep, don’t do anything. “And on the weekends what do you do?” I ask, and their reply is the same. I ask with a tongue-in-cheek nosiness if they have boyfriends and both reply “no!” rather assertively, then reciprocate the question. “No way, I don’t need one!” I say, and they laugh. Ag___ is more talkative and asks me about my family (whether they’re sad/miss me), where I’m from, where I plan to go after my time in Bolivia. Neither knows where the U.S. is; Ag___ asks how long is the trip from there to here, and is surprised to hear my reply of 6 hours.
Aculli begins at 3pm, so I sit down next to an older woman named E___ and A____ comes around with a Ziploc bag full of coca leaves (a duty reserved for bosses, mallkus, project directors). E____ and I talk about how much work she does – cleaning, cooking, washing clothes, and then excavating in addition – and she complains in a half-joking but earnest way about how her back hurts, her hands are chapped and cracked. I tell her I’ll bring in a good skin cream for her, made from aloe. She doesn’t know what aloe is, but says that sounds good.
We talk (half-jokingly) about how hard it is for the women, working so hard while the men do nothing. As we sit, F____ (her husband? – they throw Aymara commentary back and forth constantly) hands me some seeds that look like small sunflower seeds, picked from the bale of wheat-looking stuff he’s sitting near. I can’t understand his explanation (and all the workers watching our interaction laugh/giggle at my confusion), but E____ tells me that they are for cooking (“tostar” was the word she used) and that Am___ (her sister, our cook back at the camp) will cook them for me tonight. She rubs some stalks between her callused palms to loosen the seeds and hands me a couple dozen, then a couple dozen more, then a couple dozen more, and F____ does the same. I accept the little handfuls gratefully and put them in the Velcro front pocket of my overalls – the girls at the sifter giggle at this, and pretty much everything I do or say. The conversations shifts to dancing and clothes – E___ says something about a “faltita” (little skirt), a cholita and then a fiesta. I come to understand that they’re talking about the Fiesta in July, and wondering whether I’m going to dance. I say yes I definitely will. Everyone (sitting around, listening to our conversation) laughs. I ask E____ whether she’ll be dancing too, and she says no, no. I ask, “who does dance in the festival each year, just gringos?” They laugh. She says yes, gringos dance, but also cholitas* and (I believe she says) people from out of town, from la ciudad.
After aculli, one of the workers asks whether I’m going to excavate. I answer that I don’t know how to excavate, “soy una antropologa,” and A___ helps me explain my project to them – I’ll be learning about the excavation, we say, talking with the workers and trying to understand the interactions between community and archaeologists, and what role the excavation plays in the community. They seem interested, nodding. J___ affirms that I’m making a historia, no? A___ says yes, then tells me in translation that that’s what most people here call any kind of ethnography. F_____ then adds his interpretation: that I want to learn about the customs here, and what people eat, and things like that.
Another worker, D___, says that he wants to learn English and the other men agree. I ask him what types of words he’d like to learn and he says salutations, like “gracias.” I tell him the words, try to enunciate as well as possible. They sound so goofy and foreign coming out of my mouth. The men try to repeat but seem to have a bit of trouble. I take out my little book and write thank you in clear, bubbly handwriting and show it to D___. He tries to sound out the words, gives up and tells A___ in Spanish that he’ll never be able to learn the language. A___ laughs, and then I do.
One worker talks with A___ about language, and says that if it weren’t for Cristobal Colon (Columbus), we would all have to speak Aymara and wouldn’t be able to understand each other. They go on to talk about how the Spaniards brought a lot, but there was also a lot here in pre-Columbian times. The worker, J____ (standing in pit, taking a break as usual) explains in a somewhat didactic tone how there were round houses, and whole llama bones, which indicate that the people then ate meat straight off the bone. All this he told to A___, who translated for me, and added that these were all things he (J___) had learned from/through the excavation. J_____ used his steel trowel to demonstrate the point about the bones, guiding it along his forearm to represent the full, unbroken length of the found bones. He then talked about how people in the past made fire with stones, and demonstrated by tapping the edge of his trowel against a rock on the ground, about 1 foot away from him. As A___ translated this for me the two of us smiled, in mutual understanding of how cool this was.
J_____ also talked about the ceramics, and how they were a lot “stronger” then. But now they’ve got electric kilns, “un nueva tecnica,” he said, so the ceramics today are getting better in quality. A___ adds that J____ is a ceramicist, makes artisan pottery and, like many ceramicists in this area, uses images from books by Posnansky (an archaeologist who worked in this area in the seventies?) and from the monoliths at Khonkho as inspiration for his designs. I ask whether these designs are popular; A___ says they seem to be, then walks closer to J_____ to ask about his works, where he sells them, how many he sells. J____ says he sells them in La Paz, about 100 pieces a month. Pretty good, A___ says.
It’s a really good practice, I realize (contrary to initial expectations) to stay with one unit for the day – just hanging out and talking with these folks feels like I’m making progress, in a way. Also, this is the first time I feel truly at ease talking with male workers.
Conversation shifts to coca and cocaine. The men ask A___ what people use it for in the U.S. and why. A___ and I try to explain the reasons why – it makes people feel good, like alcohol, we say. J____ asks whether it helps people study and think. We say yes, but it’s mostly for fun. And it’s really addictive, and very bad for the health. I try to say that it speeds up the heart – A___ translates: “Her mother is a doctor, and she sees patients who use cocaine and their heart goes fast (hand rapping against chest). It also destroys the noise and throat, I try to say, and A___ translates. Es mal, es peligroso, we say, and the men nod quietly; “oh, ok,” they seem to say. “The young people, it makes them lose their senses,” F_____ says. I agree, “sí, sí.”
I feel comfortable enough at this point to make the move and ask these folks if they’d like to interview sometime. Although some (like J____) seem to have more to say about the excavation than others, I decide it’d be best to interview everyone in this unit – get a good variety of perspectives, but also avoid any tension, jealousy, etc.
I ask E____ first: “I’d like to interview the workers (me gustaría entrevistar los trabajadores aquí)…” There is some confusion about the verb “entrevistar” … I offer “talk,” “conversation, outside of work…” she’s still confused, so I call A___. over, he helps me explain. She says a word in Aymara, maybe for “interview,” and my purpose seems to be understood. I tell her I want to learn about the workers’ experiences, what the excavation means to them and what they learn from it. She starts talking about the ceramics she has that are in La Paz, and how she won’t be able to get them until September. Talks about all the work she has to do, how there’s no time … but sometime, I can come over to her house and she’ll show me the ceramics, in Agosto, or Septiembre. A___ tries to translate, but we’re both pretty confused at this point. “She’s still talking about September,” he says after a few minutes, and gets up to walk over to the pit and document some things before the work day is over. I remain, and struggle to understand her, make myself clearer. When can we go to her house here, in Khonkho, not La Paz, I ask, and she says something to the effect of “today, after work.” I tell her I’m not able to today, I don’t have my questions ready, but what day is best for you next week? She says Sunday. I say I can next Sunday, because this Sunday I go to La Paz (not quite true). Ok, it’s settled: next (not this) Sunday.
I get up, walk over to J___ and tell him the same shpeal about wanting to interview workers next week … he says yes, seems pretty enthusiastic. Next week, maybe Tuesday, after work? Yes, he says. D____ looks over and I barely have to ask. He wants to be interviewed too. Walk over to the girls at the sifter and ask them. They (Ag___) say they won’t be there next week – other workers will be rotating in. I say maybe we can meet next week, or at the end of this week. We’ll talk on Friday. The other sifter doesn’t say anything, but Ag___ seems pretty enthused. It’s five to 5 now. I help A___ pack a few things up. People start leaving … “ciao,” “hasta mañana”’s. Prof. shows up, with car and I drive home with the archaeologists. Feeling REALLY happy. This may have been the best day at the site yet … I’m beaming, truly.
Return 5pm, have tea and snack. After a while, drive with prof, one grad student, one mallku, and two other guys picked up on the way to D.’s house (a community member) for meeting about the pukara, the much-disputed area of land on a nearby mountain where the grad student wants to excavate. He owns half of it and is reluctant to let any archaeology happen there, so my prof will be trying to make compromise. I’m just following along with tape recorder. Pretty rough ride, driving over stone walls and dirt fields. Wasn’t sure we’d make it.
*Cholita = the diminutive form of chola, which in this part of Bolivia is a word for an woman who wears Indigenous dress. The masculine form, cholo, refers to someone who lives in city but has Indigenous roots, in a way which can also be derogatory (similar to our “white trash”). In other parts of Latin America the word has definite derogatory, probably racist connotations no matter its gender.
Woke up around 10:30 am after long, very entertaining night of archaeological drunkenness. Soul music, Echo & the Bunnymen, good talks about colonialism and archaeology and love lives around a bottle of Jack. I like this project.
Headed to site 1pm. On the way, some young kids shouted at me from the futbol field, “Hello! … okay!” First time I’ve heard English spoken by locals. It actually caught me off guard. I would’ve gone over to say hi, but felt self-imposed pressure to get to the site. Wasn’t sure I really wanted to go or that I’d get anything out of it (especially coming so late), but figured that I should use this time to talk to folks, build relationships … and even if I don’t talk to anyone, just being there is good – making my presence known, getting people used to me and my work (“work?”). So, I walked, thought good thoughts on the way about language and desire (my only certain profession) – feeling cheeky, confident.
Arrived and chatted with M___ (Bolivian archaeologist) about her findings, watched as she directed two male workers through measuring some nails and tying strings on them, in a line running perpendicularly across an excavated pit. Felt a little strange sitting there watching (too close in proximity) so got up and walked over to another unit, down the hill to the left.
Shook hands with two men in closer pit and chatted a bit with A___ (the grad student/project leader) and workers. “No hay nada” (“there is nothing”), still. “Que mal suerte” (“what bad luck!”), one of them kept saying, but with a cheery attitude that seemed to be infectious among this contingent of workers. One seemed to be in especially good spirits, and I soon asked him his name: J___ ____ _____ (Everyone here has two last names; taken from a stock, it seems, of seven or so names that everyone here has). I took out my notepad and had him help me spell it. He wrote the last name himself. Another man came over then see what we were doing – an older man whom the grad student said he’d been talking to, answering dozens of questions about the soil and what they were excavating, and hearing form him something about water and nearby canals (?) – A____ said it was difficult to understand the man’s Spanish because of his dental situation (single front tooth). This older man also helped me spell his name in my book. The two others working in this pit soon did the same.
I chatted with the men a little longer before walking over to the teenage sifters, my “amigas.” I help them crunch chunks of dirt again. They’ve found nothing all day, they say, and we joke about “que aborrido” (“how boring”) the work is. Everyone there talks openly about the boring work and bad luck in a half-joking way, and un-self-consciously, even in front of A___, their “boss”… which is great. Makes me feel so much more comfortable talking to them, as does the relaxed pace of their work – slow and break-filled, and everyone stops and chats often with A___, myself and/or each other.
The girls ask if I’m tired and I tell them about my late night, talking and drinking with the archaeologists, as we tend to do from time to time. One asks if we dance, too. I say yes, sometimes. I ask both what they do at night, go out dancing? Nooo, both assert; they sleep, don’t do anything. “And on the weekends what do you do?” I ask, and their reply is the same. I ask with a tongue-in-cheek nosiness if they have boyfriends and both reply “no!” rather assertively, then reciprocate the question. “No way, I don’t need one!” I say, and they laugh. Ag___ is more talkative and asks me about my family (whether they’re sad/miss me), where I’m from, where I plan to go after my time in Bolivia. Neither knows where the U.S. is; Ag___ asks how long is the trip from there to here, and is surprised to hear my reply of 6 hours.
Aculli begins at 3pm, so I sit down next to an older woman named E___ and A____ comes around with a Ziploc bag full of coca leaves (a duty reserved for bosses, mallkus, project directors). E____ and I talk about how much work she does – cleaning, cooking, washing clothes, and then excavating in addition – and she complains in a half-joking but earnest way about how her back hurts, her hands are chapped and cracked. I tell her I’ll bring in a good skin cream for her, made from aloe. She doesn’t know what aloe is, but says that sounds good.
We talk (half-jokingly) about how hard it is for the women, working so hard while the men do nothing. As we sit, F____ (her husband? – they throw Aymara commentary back and forth constantly) hands me some seeds that look like small sunflower seeds, picked from the bale of wheat-looking stuff he’s sitting near. I can’t understand his explanation (and all the workers watching our interaction laugh/giggle at my confusion), but E____ tells me that they are for cooking (“tostar” was the word she used) and that Am___ (her sister, our cook back at the camp) will cook them for me tonight. She rubs some stalks between her callused palms to loosen the seeds and hands me a couple dozen, then a couple dozen more, then a couple dozen more, and F____ does the same. I accept the little handfuls gratefully and put them in the Velcro front pocket of my overalls – the girls at the sifter giggle at this, and pretty much everything I do or say. The conversations shifts to dancing and clothes – E___ says something about a “faltita” (little skirt), a cholita and then a fiesta. I come to understand that they’re talking about the Fiesta in July, and wondering whether I’m going to dance. I say yes I definitely will. Everyone (sitting around, listening to our conversation) laughs. I ask E____ whether she’ll be dancing too, and she says no, no. I ask, “who does dance in the festival each year, just gringos?” They laugh. She says yes, gringos dance, but also cholitas* and (I believe she says) people from out of town, from la ciudad.
After aculli, one of the workers asks whether I’m going to excavate. I answer that I don’t know how to excavate, “soy una antropologa,” and A___ helps me explain my project to them – I’ll be learning about the excavation, we say, talking with the workers and trying to understand the interactions between community and archaeologists, and what role the excavation plays in the community. They seem interested, nodding. J___ affirms that I’m making a historia, no? A___ says yes, then tells me in translation that that’s what most people here call any kind of ethnography. F_____ then adds his interpretation: that I want to learn about the customs here, and what people eat, and things like that.
Another worker, D___, says that he wants to learn English and the other men agree. I ask him what types of words he’d like to learn and he says salutations, like “gracias.” I tell him the words, try to enunciate as well as possible. They sound so goofy and foreign coming out of my mouth. The men try to repeat but seem to have a bit of trouble. I take out my little book and write thank you in clear, bubbly handwriting and show it to D___. He tries to sound out the words, gives up and tells A___ in Spanish that he’ll never be able to learn the language. A___ laughs, and then I do.
One worker talks with A___ about language, and says that if it weren’t for Cristobal Colon (Columbus), we would all have to speak Aymara and wouldn’t be able to understand each other. They go on to talk about how the Spaniards brought a lot, but there was also a lot here in pre-Columbian times. The worker, J____ (standing in pit, taking a break as usual) explains in a somewhat didactic tone how there were round houses, and whole llama bones, which indicate that the people then ate meat straight off the bone. All this he told to A___, who translated for me, and added that these were all things he (J___) had learned from/through the excavation. J_____ used his steel trowel to demonstrate the point about the bones, guiding it along his forearm to represent the full, unbroken length of the found bones. He then talked about how people in the past made fire with stones, and demonstrated by tapping the edge of his trowel against a rock on the ground, about 1 foot away from him. As A___ translated this for me the two of us smiled, in mutual understanding of how cool this was.
J_____ also talked about the ceramics, and how they were a lot “stronger” then. But now they’ve got electric kilns, “un nueva tecnica,” he said, so the ceramics today are getting better in quality. A___ adds that J____ is a ceramicist, makes artisan pottery and, like many ceramicists in this area, uses images from books by Posnansky (an archaeologist who worked in this area in the seventies?) and from the monoliths at Khonkho as inspiration for his designs. I ask whether these designs are popular; A___ says they seem to be, then walks closer to J_____ to ask about his works, where he sells them, how many he sells. J____ says he sells them in La Paz, about 100 pieces a month. Pretty good, A___ says.
It’s a really good practice, I realize (contrary to initial expectations) to stay with one unit for the day – just hanging out and talking with these folks feels like I’m making progress, in a way. Also, this is the first time I feel truly at ease talking with male workers.
Conversation shifts to coca and cocaine. The men ask A___ what people use it for in the U.S. and why. A___ and I try to explain the reasons why – it makes people feel good, like alcohol, we say. J____ asks whether it helps people study and think. We say yes, but it’s mostly for fun. And it’s really addictive, and very bad for the health. I try to say that it speeds up the heart – A___ translates: “Her mother is a doctor, and she sees patients who use cocaine and their heart goes fast (hand rapping against chest). It also destroys the noise and throat, I try to say, and A___ translates. Es mal, es peligroso, we say, and the men nod quietly; “oh, ok,” they seem to say. “The young people, it makes them lose their senses,” F_____ says. I agree, “sí, sí.”
I feel comfortable enough at this point to make the move and ask these folks if they’d like to interview sometime. Although some (like J____) seem to have more to say about the excavation than others, I decide it’d be best to interview everyone in this unit – get a good variety of perspectives, but also avoid any tension, jealousy, etc.
I ask E____ first: “I’d like to interview the workers (me gustaría entrevistar los trabajadores aquí)…” There is some confusion about the verb “entrevistar” … I offer “talk,” “conversation, outside of work…” she’s still confused, so I call A___. over, he helps me explain. She says a word in Aymara, maybe for “interview,” and my purpose seems to be understood. I tell her I want to learn about the workers’ experiences, what the excavation means to them and what they learn from it. She starts talking about the ceramics she has that are in La Paz, and how she won’t be able to get them until September. Talks about all the work she has to do, how there’s no time … but sometime, I can come over to her house and she’ll show me the ceramics, in Agosto, or Septiembre. A___ tries to translate, but we’re both pretty confused at this point. “She’s still talking about September,” he says after a few minutes, and gets up to walk over to the pit and document some things before the work day is over. I remain, and struggle to understand her, make myself clearer. When can we go to her house here, in Khonkho, not La Paz, I ask, and she says something to the effect of “today, after work.” I tell her I’m not able to today, I don’t have my questions ready, but what day is best for you next week? She says Sunday. I say I can next Sunday, because this Sunday I go to La Paz (not quite true). Ok, it’s settled: next (not this) Sunday.
I get up, walk over to J___ and tell him the same shpeal about wanting to interview workers next week … he says yes, seems pretty enthusiastic. Next week, maybe Tuesday, after work? Yes, he says. D____ looks over and I barely have to ask. He wants to be interviewed too. Walk over to the girls at the sifter and ask them. They (Ag___) say they won’t be there next week – other workers will be rotating in. I say maybe we can meet next week, or at the end of this week. We’ll talk on Friday. The other sifter doesn’t say anything, but Ag___ seems pretty enthused. It’s five to 5 now. I help A___ pack a few things up. People start leaving … “ciao,” “hasta mañana”’s. Prof. shows up, with car and I drive home with the archaeologists. Feeling REALLY happy. This may have been the best day at the site yet … I’m beaming, truly.
Return 5pm, have tea and snack. After a while, drive with prof, one grad student, one mallku, and two other guys picked up on the way to D.’s house (a community member) for meeting about the pukara, the much-disputed area of land on a nearby mountain where the grad student wants to excavate. He owns half of it and is reluctant to let any archaeology happen there, so my prof will be trying to make compromise. I’m just following along with tape recorder. Pretty rough ride, driving over stone walls and dirt fields. Wasn’t sure we’d make it.
*Cholita = the diminutive form of chola, which in this part of Bolivia is a word for an woman who wears Indigenous dress. The masculine form, cholo, refers to someone who lives in city but has Indigenous roots, in a way which can also be derogatory (similar to our “white trash”). In other parts of Latin America the word has definite derogatory, probably racist connotations no matter its gender.
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