October 28, 2009

Dear Friends,

Awaiting the flight of the condors in Colca Canyon, Arequipa.

Allin punchaw, allinllachu cachcanquichic? Alexandram sutiyja, Limapi yachachcani. Ñuja willaycuy nusaj. Arí, chaypi tupasunchic.

Good day, how are you? My name is Alexandra, I am living in Lima. I will tell a story. Yes, there we will find each other.

I am studying Quechua in Spanish. That is, I am a native English speaker living in a Spanish-speaking country learning the indigenous language of Quechua.

Quechua is one of the official languages of Peru, along with Spanish and Aymara (spoken near the borders with Bolivia and Chile).  It has about 10 million speakers, mostly in the Andean region, from Ecuador through to Argentina, and was the official language of the Incan Empire. Before the Spaniards came, there was no written documentation in Quechua. Now, Google is in Quechua.

I am learning Quechua so that I can communicate better with Peruvians. First and most obviously, with the artisan communities I work with that speak Quechua and very little Spanish, mostly in the region of Huancavelica. Second, with the greater Peruvian populace, nearly all of whom incorporate some element of this language into their very being.

Languages are much more than a collection of sounds and symbols. Words are used to represent one's reality as an expression of a shared cultural perspective. Learning Quechua allows me to understand something of the cosmosensation (a sense of the world) that permeates Peru and is rooted in the indigenous population.

The first word I learned in class was the verb “yachay.” In translation, it means: to live, to learn, and to know. Without boring you with grammatical details (though I find it fascinating), this verb can be conjugated in any tense and transformed into at least two nouns (student, or “one who learns” and teacher, or “one who makes learn”).

The Quechua language is economic: by changing just the ending of a word, it can mean something new. Just as changing the ending of a story shifts the entire meaning of the lesson.

Since my first class, the word “yachay” has haunted me. To live is to learn is to know. How is it possible that this could all be the same word?

The Occidental (North American and European) worldview and language systems separate these experiences with different sounds. We compartmentalize, divide, categorize. I grew up believing that these three verbs were associated with different practices.

How is it to live in a culture where living is learning is knowing? Where life is a school, where anyone who lives is a teacher, who knows is a student? Where one learns by doing, by just existing fully?

Here are a few anecdotes of my recent “yachay,” as it were, my integration of self and world, information and experience, past and future, in all the senses.

Sight

I took a week-long vacation to Arequipa in the south of Peru where I had the fortune to visit the Colca Canyon, an absolutely enchanting formation with pre- and Incan archeological remains, traditional small-farming plots, thermal baths, llamas, alpacas, vicuñas, sunsets behind mountains, and incredible views. The most moving experience was waiting on the ledge of the canyon at 8:00 a.m. to see enormous condors emerge from below and swoop right past my face. El Condor Pasa, and the condor passed by me.

Smell

Lima has an average of about 80 to  90 percent humidity, but it never rains. Winter is known for cloudy skies and extreme humidity, which means my hair is very curly and nothing ever dries. I have mold growing on my shower, my shoes, my purse straps, my leather Bible, and even on my doors. I started the winter hanging my laundry on the indoor line, and after smelling my towels, still wet after three days, decided drying at the laundromat was the best choice. (NB: I don't recommend Lima as a city of choice for anyone with mold allergies.) An extravagantly beautiful sun came out today, so I am hopeful that spring is truly here.

Taste

I went to a local Park where they were setting up for an exposition of the famed Peruvian chef Gaston Acurio, and while eating my “papa rellena” (stuffed potato; delicious, by the way), I saw someone vaguely familiar walk by. I couldn't place him, so stared awkwardly for an inappropriate amount of time, until he smiled at me and I looked away. Turns out, it was, indeed, Gaston Acurio himself.

Touch

Uphill from Comas to San Juan de Lurigancho, two of the shantytowns of Lima. Accompanied by YAVs Sarah Terpstra and Gina Irby, friend Ernesto, and Latin American Biblical University (UBL) student Jose Toledo.

I was told we were going for a “walk,” and early one Saturday morning I found myself climbing hundreds of stairs through a shantytown on the north side of Lima. We left behind housing, shacks, traffic, vendors, and walked over the mountains (peaking at least three) to the other side of Lima. Desert mountains, being mostly a muddy sand, don't leave good paths for hiking, and we found ourselves more than once stomach prone on the side of a mountain clutching nothing but earth and simply praying that somehow gravity would have mercy on us. On the way down, I held hands with those in front of and behind me to steady my way through slippery terrain, until we safely reached the other side, together.

Sound

This past weekend, Arturo “Zambo” Cavero passed away. He was an incredibly famous Afro-Peruvian criollo singer, known for his patriotic songs as well as his role as a symbol of Afro-Peruvian culture and Peruvian pride. One of his most famous songs, “Contigo Peru,” or “With you, Peru,”  includes these lyrics:

When I open my eyes and I see
that I continue living with you, Peru,
I am moved,
I give thanks to the heavens
for giving me life with you, Peru.
We are your children and we will unite
and ultimately triumph with you, Peru.
To triumph Peruvian, to triumph Peruvian
we are brothers, we are sisters
And our gratitude will give us victory.
I would give you my life,
and when I die,
I will have the honor of uniting myself in my land with you,
With you, Peru.