She Tales # 5 -Colca Canyon, Peru
In a land far beyond pavement you will find a place where the roads have more animals than humans, more humans than autos. Traffic jams here are caused by llamas, cows, donkeys and sheep crossing or being herded down the ruddy, dirt covered roads. It is a simpler life here in the Colca Canyon of Southern Peru, not to say that life here is easier in any way, in fact it can be quite harsh. Some visitors say it is like a step back in time to come to such a place, where paved roads give way to gravel roads, and gravel roads give way to dirt roads. The Colca is alive with the traditions of those who have come before us. My name is Margarita and I invite you to look into a window of my life. It is 6:00 a.m. and our two-room gray stone home has a chill, even though it is summer here. The elevation is 3,800 meters above sea level and the air is brisk most mornings. I lay awake for a moment in our bed constructed of mud cement and covered with Alpaca skin for comfort. The soft cushioning feel of the Alpaca fur underneath me is comfortable and the llama wool blankets are heavy and provide needed warmth. The kitchen and bed share one room, because we use the heat of the kitchen for warmth to sleep. There is no heat left from last night’s supper. From my door step, I can see for miles, a lush fertile green valley stretching out at the foot of Los Andes. The first light of day colors the peaks as if gold dust had fallen from the heavens last night along with the snow. I enjoy these first moments of solitude from our porch. I comb my long black hair into two braids, joining the braids together at the bottom so it looks like a large “U” shape cascading down my back, then I go back inside to dress, leaving the birth of this new day behind.

The women here still wear very traditional clothes. Long full skirts with petticoats, brightly embroidered blouses, and colorfully embroidered or decorated top hats. As I check the mirror, I see a women in her forties, jet black braided hair, speckled with gold and auburn from the sun’s natural bleach, a face of browning bronze, crow’s feet webbing the corners of dark brown eyes slanting upward towards the brow, high cheek bones and lips full and thick, slender hands showing age beyond my years and feet housed only in sandals. I send the children to their primary school, and my husband leaves for his three mile walk to farm our land - he will be back after dark.

Although we live without many of the conveniences of our distant cousins in Lima, we live perfectly well here among the green fertile valleys and snow-capped peaks of Los Andes. We have no running water inside our home. To wash our clothes, I go to the nearby stream, and use the midday sun to dry our garments. We have no heat, except that which comes from cooking. We have no refrigeration, no television, no grocery stores. We live off the land, make our clothes and trade for what we need. Families here in the Colca canyon region each own 1.5 hectares of land to farm. We use our crops in three ways. The first is simply to eat. Second, we trade our crops on market day for other foods grown in our region by other farmers. Last, we have one part to sell; making the trek into the city of Arequipa, four hours away by vehicle. Of course, not everybody has a vehicle, so that makes for a two-day hike with two donkeys packing our goods to be sold in Arequipa.

Market day is for trading, each family head or a member of the family with the best negotiation skills goes to the town square on market day, which is once a week, every week come bitter cold or light snow. We come with our potatoes, quinoa, corn and crops in tow on our backs or hauled by donkey or llama. It is early morning and the air is nearly frozen. A voice calls out, "One pound of corn flour for 26 potatoes"; the reply, "No, my potatoes are very large, 18 potatoes for one pound of corn flour"; and the negotiations continue. Trading provides our families what we need to survive comfortably in our small stone or mud brick homes for the entire year, all from our 1.5 hectares. As the day continues on and the goods are brought home, I begin to prepare dinner. My stove is clay and it sits on the ground. I am on my knees, and I am using one vessel for each dish. In a flat skillet type dish, corn roasts. I use a broad stone bowl to peel wheat. Clay pots sit on the back of the stove, holding tea, stew and rice. We eat in our second room. As I said, our homes are two rooms. The second room is for entertaining guests, and has a seating area for eating dinner. The third purpose for our farming is to take our remaining agriculture (after eating and trading) to sell in Arequipa. This only brings in a small amount of money, maybe $8.00 per month. This money is used to buy yarn for weaving, material for clothes, and maybe shoes. Some of my neighbors do have electricity, but their watts are limited, so they have to choose between refrigeration or lights. Television is not even an option here in the Colca Canyon.

My husband hikes to work and some days I go with him to help carry home bundles of quinoa or other produce. Regardless of the weather, I wear my petticoat and skirt as I described, and work in my dress because this is tradition, and traditions are important here. Traditions keep this way of life alive. Men wear pants, shirts, and sandals, knitted hats and ponchos. It is expected for women here to weave for their husbands one poncho per year, or the husbands will have cause to be angry. So during the day when my husband is on the farm, I am working at my loom, weaving wool from the shaven llama into yarn and then into our clothes.

Many people in the rural areas of Peru do not believe in chemical medicines as you have in the modern world. We use plants very effectively to cure many ails; including stomach ulcers, liver problems, flu, arthritis, and altitude sickness. Los Andes are very high - the pass to the Colca Canyon is nearly 15,000 feet above sea level, and the air is thin. Many people get very ill and a few unfortunately die due to complications from the lack of oxygen. The Coca leaf relieves altitude sickness. It is tradition to drink our mate de coca here every day. There are intruders on our culture that are trying desperately to have the coca leaf eradicated. Pesticides have been used by a United States coalition here in Peru, and now nothing will grow, and we are beginning to suffer. The coca leaf is part of our life, our tradition and our medical safety. Outsiders sometimes are uneducated and do not understand that the coca leaf by itself is not a drug, but a harmless traditional tea and a cure for altitude sickness. Sometimes tourists are afraid to drink the tea or chew the leaves, for fear that the leaf will have similar effects as cocaine, then after they drink it and feel better they are happy.

A tourist once said to me “There are so many things I have learned from being among your culture. For a city slicker like me I have found that I take many things for granted and these days have changed my life.” I smiled at the knowledge that our way of life could affect another’s understanding about the world. We have a legend about our canyon. The mountains rising to our East used to have the gift of speech, but they were lonely. Only the mighty condor, gliding overhead on broad dark wings, visited the mountains, keeping them company. The mountains were so thankful for their friendship with the condors that they asked God to give the condors eternal life. God, said he would, but the cost would be that the mountains could no longer speak. The mountains agreed to this, and God made it so. Now, the mountains are quiet. Through our traditions, and with the stories of our forefathers, we tell our children the history of our valley so that our culture will not be lost. Now, we as a culture speak for the mountains.