Something has changed with blogger.com. I can't--Nope, just the internet being slow. It's a slow day, today. For the last two weeks, the weather has been like summer in Utah, hot and dry. But yesterday evening a wind picked-up and today it's been cool, damp and dark gray. When you're used to BRIGHT hot sun at first light and blue blue sky, the lazy glow and cool of cloud cover makes you feel that the day hasn't started and nothing can be asked of you. I like that feeling, no pressure, no rush, makes it easier to get out of bed.
This pic is a meeting above a community called Ahuri, which is my favorite community. Typically, we were scheduled to go out there to work on organic fertilizers, but the men were called to duty repairing the road because there were rumors of a tractor coming through. So we met them half way between their road work and the community, on a high ridge. The meeting was in Quechua, but what I could piece together was that the community was wanting to break away and do stuff on their own, and José was explaining the importance of working with an organization like Amistad instead of trying to do it their way with Government aid. He was saying that Amistad was quick to respond to needs and requests and very generous and reasonable. Also they would have better access to resources and no conditions.
I was expecting to go into Aramasí early this morning, but I never got a call and José's phone is out of service. Tomorrow's the big meeting with all the directors from Bolivia, city-side and country, and the US. So I've been trying to get my documents in order and my strategic plan worked-out. That's been my priority. But today we have to clean-up and pull-up the weeds so Aramasí looks her best for the visitors.
I remember promising to tell about the Ch'alla in my last cursory entry.
The pictures would do a better job, but since Blogger can't even manage to save text changes, uploading photos is out of the question.
A ch'alla is a ritual dedication of something new, in this case, the dam, to the Pachamama (Mother Nature or Mother Earth). Ch'alla is a verb and a noun, by the way. People ch'alla their new cars, stereos, houses for sure, business for sure, we even ch'allaed José's new driver's license so that all would go well and we wouldn't get stopped or bothered by the police at the checkpoints. The idea is that if you deidcate something to the well-being and purposes of the Pachamama, the Pachamama will make sure all goes well for you and your things, you won't crash or get your new car stolen, your house will be protected from disaster and robbery, and your dam will provide plenty of irrigation water without getting filled-in with silt or stopped-up with debris. The Pachamama can and does have control over all of these things.
So, what does one do to ch'alla? The most direct answer is celebrate. Every ch'alla is a celebration, and drinking must be involved. Celebrate connotes splurging and excess, there must be plenty of food, drink, people, coca, decorations, merry-making and speeches. You drink and also spray or pour out the alcohol on whatever is being ch'allaed. So we shook and sprayed beer all over the dam before partaking ourselves. Kind of like breaking a bottle of Champagne on a ship's first voyage. For the dam, a lamb was slaughtered and it's blood spilled on the dam. Then the lamb was cooked in a stew, the whole thing minus the skin, and we ate it for lunch. It was pretty gamy (is there an 'e' in that word?). The dam was also decorated with streamers and flowers and colorful things that blow nicely in the wind. All of the important people involved in the dam were invited to stand in front of everyone and make speeches about the importance of the dam and the community and stuff like that. And then the community leaders went around to everyone wrapping ribbons around our necks and annointing our heads with confetti. All the while, there are at least two guys walking around with buckets of chicha and a tutuma, making everyone drink the traditional, home-made corn-liquor. Chicha is almost always served out of a colorful plastic bucket exactly like our sand buckets for the beach, and served with a half-shell of a round gourde (tutuma). Everyone drinks from the same tutuma, which is repeatedly dipped into the bucket with the hand of the server. Allegedly, or maybe traditionally, chicha is made with spit to help it ferment.
I don't know why, but there was no music at the dam ch'alla, which disappointed me a little. But there were fireworks.
José called and said I should stay and get my Strategic Plan and Questionnaires finished. So that's what I'll do.
Sorry the other picture won't load. Bummer.
