#012: Fieldnotes, Khonkho Wankane. 06/28/06
Wednesday
Woke up 9:30 am. Breakfast then reading (Emerson, Fretz + Shaw. Writing Ethnographic Fieldnotes). Lunch, some fieldnote writing. Left for site w/ Prof and two students 1pm. Everyone still having lunch when we arrive. I sit close to road with archaeologists + our cook and finish fieldnotes from yesterday.
Walk past M____’s unit, say hello to workers. One asks if I’ll be excavating; I don’t know how to excavate, I’m going to observe,” I say. “Oh, converse with people,” he adds. I ask what they’re doing right now, what they’re excavating. Clearing out the fill from last year, he says, over a burial, a tomb. “Where are the bones?” I ask. At the campamiento, he says. I say it’s interesting (not sure what else to say) and walk away, towards A___’s unit, same as yesterday.
Say hello to E___. Shakes my hand, very happily, warmly. I show her the aloe cream I brought for her. She asks what it’s for (Face? Hands?). I say wherever; try to explain that it’s made from aloe, a plant with juice inside, very good for when you’re sick. She doesn’t quite understand, but she wants to buy it from me. I say ok, for 10 B’s. She doesn’t have plata with her, she says, but she’ll bring it on Monday.
Warm hellos, hand-shaking with male workers. “No hay nada” in A___’s unit, still. J____ asks, “Do you remember my name?” I exclaim it, proudly. They laugh. Another worker says something about how J___ is dangerous, a bloodsucker, and everyone laughs (including me awkwardly, not quite understanding). A___ says that the workers have been talking all morning about the caricari, a bloodsucking bat which is the centerpiece of a lot of stories (and jokes, apparently) around here. They all joke that J____ is the caricari; he’s so fat, they say, that he must be sucking other people’s fat at night. They say I have to be careful, especially at night. Everyone laughs and looks at me waiting for a reaction, but I have trouble producing anything witty. I just laugh along. They add that it’s just a joke.
I walk over to the girls, at the other sifter today. “¡Hola, señoritas!” as usual. Make date for interview with Ag___, then they’re quiet and I stand there awkwardly, so start walking away. Then Ag___ calls out, “Did you cook the seeds last night?” The seeds from yesterday? I ask, and point to my overall pocket. They laugh. I tell them no, but our cook did, and they were “muy rico.” Then she asks, “Are you going to come back?” I think she means later on today and say yes, of course. She continues with something I don’t understand. I understand that she’s asking (half-jokingly) about the whole year; am I going to come back after this? Can I stay the whole year? No, unfortunately, I can’t, I say … I have to back to the U.S. in early August. She says I can stay, herd sheep and llamas. The three of us laugh. I tell her I’d like to, but I have to go back to school, to study. She asks again, with mock sadness in her voice, if I can’t stay. We laugh some more and I start walking away, tell them that I have to go over there, and point to the outhouse. “Baño,” I say. They giggle.
I hit my head on the way in and out of the outhouse, the doorway is so fucking low.
Get back and sit by the pit, watching. The workers and A____ are measuring the depth of the pit, with string, level and measuring tape. One worker says something about caricari and laughs, looks at me.
E___ tells A___ “74” and points at sifter. A___ sits next to me, filling out form. I ask him (a bit lost in though I am) what kinds of skills are used most in archaeology. “Observation,” he answers, and “critical thinking.” Just then, D____ says something to him about carbon, and A___ asks “how much?” or “what kind?” … observing through him, you might say. A___ also says, “synthetic thinking … I don’t know (laughs).” You have to look at things, their characteristics, he says, and figure out what happened to them, whether it was erosion or whatever.” I ask whether that’s deductive or inductive thinking. Both, he says. Goes over to pit, then comes back.
J___ and D___ in pit, two sifters hunched over the pit’s edge watching. A___ sees me watching and says, “They’re all really interested … [because they] think it’s going to be a tomb. That’s why they’re neglecting their other work … not that there is any (light laugh).” I ask J___ my usual question, “hay algo?” He answers with his pointer finger, moving it slowly from side to side. I initially think he means, ‘don’t ask’ or ‘shut up,’ but then he repeats the old refrain, “no hay…” E___ echoes it, with gusto.
A___ walks over to pit, D. picks up a big rock to show him. A___ handles it, looks at it. Then D____ repeats another, “no hay nada…” A___ tells him: “Entonces, vas a bajar a veinte,” in a soft voice. “Esta bien,” D____ says. He and J___ keep at it with their pickaxes while A___ picks through a bucket of artifact fragments. Men in pit speak Aymara with each other.
This feels bizarre all of a sudden, just watching all these little interactions and moments and processing them immediately into language. Not sure if I like this.
Want to talk to A___ more about archaeological (and ethnographic) practice, what they involve and mean. Too far inside my head right now, thinking about this.
Another echo of “no hay’s” and “que mal suerte!’s” come from the workers. Kind of like a running joke at this point.
I want to head back to campamiento 3pm; have a lot of writing to do. Need to finish field notes so that tomorrow and Friday (in La Paz) can be focused on blogging and errands. Before leaving talk to A___ a bit about what I’ve been learning/thinking about, concerning ethnographic practice as a writing activity, and the “inscription,” or “transcription,” rather, of social interaction into writing. A___ notes that I keep so many journals, and sympathizes with the sacrifice of fully experienced experience it involves. “But at least you seem to like documenting things,” he says, and I agree.
Evening/teatime (~5 pm): A few of the archaeologists tell me about the first female maestro (group leader underneath archaeologists) the Project has ever had. Today was her first day. M____ (Bolivian archaeologist) works with her and tells me she’s a little afraid, for her. Why? I ask. “Because of machismo,” she says. Goes on talking about how the lady maestro had trouble with two things: learning how to excavate and the men snickering about her behind her back, saying they knew more than she did.
Feeling kind of pissed off, restless tonight. Really frustrated with the dogs hanging around our camp, waiting and waiting for us to give them food. One followed me all the way back from the site today, despite the “ccht” sounds I frequently directed at her. Why can’t they just use their brains and go hunt for food or something? They’re smart creatures, I can tell. I think my dislike for them, though, is in some way related to the frustration I feel with the kids around town who ask for money when you say “good afternoon” to them. I say no out of principle, one which I think I figured out this morning. One of the grad students said to me that I should always carry around a few centavos to give to kids in those situations, but I think that’s bullshit, playing the role of the “rich gringo.” It’s one I can’t avoid, of course, no matter what I do…but at least I can avoid fulfilling it in practice, making that inequality only more real. Then again, maybe they don’t care who the hell I am, and just want to use me to buy a Rico Cola at the tienda.
I really need to get away from Khonkho for a while – not so much the town or the people, actually. It’s really this room, the work room, which I spend so much time in, filling my days with the same routine. Looking forward to trip to La Paz tomorrow, definitely.
Woke up 9:30 am. Breakfast then reading (Emerson, Fretz + Shaw. Writing Ethnographic Fieldnotes). Lunch, some fieldnote writing. Left for site w/ Prof and two students 1pm. Everyone still having lunch when we arrive. I sit close to road with archaeologists + our cook and finish fieldnotes from yesterday.
Walk past M____’s unit, say hello to workers. One asks if I’ll be excavating; I don’t know how to excavate, I’m going to observe,” I say. “Oh, converse with people,” he adds. I ask what they’re doing right now, what they’re excavating. Clearing out the fill from last year, he says, over a burial, a tomb. “Where are the bones?” I ask. At the campamiento, he says. I say it’s interesting (not sure what else to say) and walk away, towards A___’s unit, same as yesterday.
Say hello to E___. Shakes my hand, very happily, warmly. I show her the aloe cream I brought for her. She asks what it’s for (Face? Hands?). I say wherever; try to explain that it’s made from aloe, a plant with juice inside, very good for when you’re sick. She doesn’t quite understand, but she wants to buy it from me. I say ok, for 10 B’s. She doesn’t have plata with her, she says, but she’ll bring it on Monday.
Warm hellos, hand-shaking with male workers. “No hay nada” in A___’s unit, still. J____ asks, “Do you remember my name?” I exclaim it, proudly. They laugh. Another worker says something about how J___ is dangerous, a bloodsucker, and everyone laughs (including me awkwardly, not quite understanding). A___ says that the workers have been talking all morning about the caricari, a bloodsucking bat which is the centerpiece of a lot of stories (and jokes, apparently) around here. They all joke that J____ is the caricari; he’s so fat, they say, that he must be sucking other people’s fat at night. They say I have to be careful, especially at night. Everyone laughs and looks at me waiting for a reaction, but I have trouble producing anything witty. I just laugh along. They add that it’s just a joke.
I walk over to the girls, at the other sifter today. “¡Hola, señoritas!” as usual. Make date for interview with Ag___, then they’re quiet and I stand there awkwardly, so start walking away. Then Ag___ calls out, “Did you cook the seeds last night?” The seeds from yesterday? I ask, and point to my overall pocket. They laugh. I tell them no, but our cook did, and they were “muy rico.” Then she asks, “Are you going to come back?” I think she means later on today and say yes, of course. She continues with something I don’t understand. I understand that she’s asking (half-jokingly) about the whole year; am I going to come back after this? Can I stay the whole year? No, unfortunately, I can’t, I say … I have to back to the U.S. in early August. She says I can stay, herd sheep and llamas. The three of us laugh. I tell her I’d like to, but I have to go back to school, to study. She asks again, with mock sadness in her voice, if I can’t stay. We laugh some more and I start walking away, tell them that I have to go over there, and point to the outhouse. “Baño,” I say. They giggle.
I hit my head on the way in and out of the outhouse, the doorway is so fucking low.
Get back and sit by the pit, watching. The workers and A____ are measuring the depth of the pit, with string, level and measuring tape. One worker says something about caricari and laughs, looks at me.
E___ tells A___ “74” and points at sifter. A___ sits next to me, filling out form. I ask him (a bit lost in though I am) what kinds of skills are used most in archaeology. “Observation,” he answers, and “critical thinking.” Just then, D____ says something to him about carbon, and A___ asks “how much?” or “what kind?” … observing through him, you might say. A___ also says, “synthetic thinking … I don’t know (laughs).” You have to look at things, their characteristics, he says, and figure out what happened to them, whether it was erosion or whatever.” I ask whether that’s deductive or inductive thinking. Both, he says. Goes over to pit, then comes back.
J___ and D___ in pit, two sifters hunched over the pit’s edge watching. A___ sees me watching and says, “They’re all really interested … [because they] think it’s going to be a tomb. That’s why they’re neglecting their other work … not that there is any (light laugh).” I ask J___ my usual question, “hay algo?” He answers with his pointer finger, moving it slowly from side to side. I initially think he means, ‘don’t ask’ or ‘shut up,’ but then he repeats the old refrain, “no hay…” E___ echoes it, with gusto.
A___ walks over to pit, D. picks up a big rock to show him. A___ handles it, looks at it. Then D____ repeats another, “no hay nada…” A___ tells him: “Entonces, vas a bajar a veinte,” in a soft voice. “Esta bien,” D____ says. He and J___ keep at it with their pickaxes while A___ picks through a bucket of artifact fragments. Men in pit speak Aymara with each other.
This feels bizarre all of a sudden, just watching all these little interactions and moments and processing them immediately into language. Not sure if I like this.
Want to talk to A___ more about archaeological (and ethnographic) practice, what they involve and mean. Too far inside my head right now, thinking about this.
Another echo of “no hay’s” and “que mal suerte!’s” come from the workers. Kind of like a running joke at this point.
I want to head back to campamiento 3pm; have a lot of writing to do. Need to finish field notes so that tomorrow and Friday (in La Paz) can be focused on blogging and errands. Before leaving talk to A___ a bit about what I’ve been learning/thinking about, concerning ethnographic practice as a writing activity, and the “inscription,” or “transcription,” rather, of social interaction into writing. A___ notes that I keep so many journals, and sympathizes with the sacrifice of fully experienced experience it involves. “But at least you seem to like documenting things,” he says, and I agree.
Evening/teatime (~5 pm): A few of the archaeologists tell me about the first female maestro (group leader underneath archaeologists) the Project has ever had. Today was her first day. M____ (Bolivian archaeologist) works with her and tells me she’s a little afraid, for her. Why? I ask. “Because of machismo,” she says. Goes on talking about how the lady maestro had trouble with two things: learning how to excavate and the men snickering about her behind her back, saying they knew more than she did.
Feeling kind of pissed off, restless tonight. Really frustrated with the dogs hanging around our camp, waiting and waiting for us to give them food. One followed me all the way back from the site today, despite the “ccht” sounds I frequently directed at her. Why can’t they just use their brains and go hunt for food or something? They’re smart creatures, I can tell. I think my dislike for them, though, is in some way related to the frustration I feel with the kids around town who ask for money when you say “good afternoon” to them. I say no out of principle, one which I think I figured out this morning. One of the grad students said to me that I should always carry around a few centavos to give to kids in those situations, but I think that’s bullshit, playing the role of the “rich gringo.” It’s one I can’t avoid, of course, no matter what I do…but at least I can avoid fulfilling it in practice, making that inequality only more real. Then again, maybe they don’t care who the hell I am, and just want to use me to buy a Rico Cola at the tienda.
I really need to get away from Khonkho for a while – not so much the town or the people, actually. It’s really this room, the work room, which I spend so much time in, filling my days with the same routine. Looking forward to trip to La Paz tomorrow, definitely.
posted by kazmira at 7:05 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home