This week I participated in a conference on intercultural bilingual education (EIB) in Peru. The two-day conference consisted of lectures by renowned specialists and panel discussions. Among the speakers was my boss Mariska who gave a talk on the intercultural curricular proposal ARTEPERÚ, elaborated by Warmayllu, that integrates communal knowledge and intercultural education through the arts in the official primary school curriculum. As a student in linguistics, I found the conference very interesting and have even begun to consider writing my thesis on EIB in Peru.
Since the event was organized by the Regional Academy of the Quechua Language, the focus was on quechua (spoken by 4 million Peruvians, according to official statistics, and probably by many more). In theory, all 43 of Peru’s indigenous languages are official and their speakers have the right to use them when dealing with authorities. Children whose mother tongue is not Spanish should have access to bilingual education. In practice, however, linguistic minorities are forced to use Spanish, which millions of Peruvians people either do not know at all or are not fluent in.
In the Cajamarca region, quechua has lost foot in the past decades. Nowadays only the residents of Porcón Alto and Chetilla (communities close to Cajamarca) are quechua-speaking. Nonetheless, in Sexemayo and Cushunga, communities relatively removed from the city, people do use quechua, mixing it routinely with Spanish. When I ask one of the preschool students in Cushunga or Sexemayo what he is drawing, he rarely answers “oveja” (Spanish for “sheep”) but instead “wisha”. When it is cold, people say “alalay”, not “qué frío”. Instead of a “Buenos días, ¿cómo está?”, I am often greeted with an “Allin punchay, ¿Imashinam kangi?”
In many cases, quechua is seen as a more expressive language, so people recur to it for emphasis. It is also common to use quechua words for animals and everyday things. It is important that the teacher sees this code-switching as something that enriches the Spanish language, not as a deficiency. Sadly, the teacher is in many cases insensitive to local culture and traditions, and neither speaks nor appreciates the indigenous language spoken by the pupils.
During my time in Cajamarca, I have grown to understand that rural communities have inexhaustible reserves of knowledge on many things I know absolutely nothing about: medicinal plants, traditional cures, handicrafts, care of domestic animals, etc. I hope to have been able to teach my students something, but surely I have learnt a lot more from them and from their parents.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Week of Stories and Legends
Last week was one of the highlights of the year in Warmayllu: the annual Week of Legends and Stories (Semana de la Leyenda y el Cuento), already a tradition in Cajamarca. This year its theme was cultural diversity and the rights of indigenous communities.
The week started off with a mask workshop. It took up two afternoons (Monday and Wednesday); the first day we moulded the masks, and on Wednesday when they had dried up we painted them.
On Tuesday, we showed a documentary (Buscando el azul) on an Amazonian indigenous community, followed by a debate. On Thursday, it was time for a conference on the laws and norms regarding the rights of the indigenous communities.
Friday morning saw us parading through the streets around the Plaza de Armas in honour of cultural diversity. The pupils from several schools in and around Cajamarca took part and we filled the streets.
The children from rural communities wore their traditional festive clothes, and I also dressed up in a similar outfit: a richly adorned blouse and a heavy woollen skirt with several layers of underskirts. My secondary school students looked very amused every time they saw their señorita profesora!
Straight after the parade, we celebrated the Festival of Live Culture where all the schoolchildren had the chance to sing, dance or act.
My students from Chamis secondary school acted out a play based on the recent conflict between the indigenous population and Peruvian police forces in Bagua, in the Amazon rainforest. Fortunately everyone knew how the story went, since not even those standing in the front row could hear the dialogue. For those who have not followed the reports on the events (which I doubt were front-page news in Europe), the Peruvian government recently passed laws in the spirit of the free trade agreement with the U.S. that make it a lot easier for multinational corporations to exploit Peru's natural resources. The indigenous communities are understandably concerned that mining and oil-extraction will endanger their livelihoods and destroy the rainforest they depend on for their very survival. Therefore, on the first week of June Bagua witnessed a violent conflict in which hundreds of indigenous demonstrators and policemen were killed.
On Saturday, the Week of Legends and Stories ended with a fair in which schools displayed their recent activities and art projects. To gather funds for the schools, the pupils (and their mothers) sold the fruits of baking, weaving and cooking workshops.
The week started off with a mask workshop. It took up two afternoons (Monday and Wednesday); the first day we moulded the masks, and on Wednesday when they had dried up we painted them.
On Tuesday, we showed a documentary (Buscando el azul) on an Amazonian indigenous community, followed by a debate. On Thursday, it was time for a conference on the laws and norms regarding the rights of the indigenous communities.
Friday morning saw us parading through the streets around the Plaza de Armas in honour of cultural diversity. The pupils from several schools in and around Cajamarca took part and we filled the streets.
The children from rural communities wore their traditional festive clothes, and I also dressed up in a similar outfit: a richly adorned blouse and a heavy woollen skirt with several layers of underskirts. My secondary school students looked very amused every time they saw their señorita profesora!
Straight after the parade, we celebrated the Festival of Live Culture where all the schoolchildren had the chance to sing, dance or act.
My students from Chamis secondary school acted out a play based on the recent conflict between the indigenous population and Peruvian police forces in Bagua, in the Amazon rainforest. Fortunately everyone knew how the story went, since not even those standing in the front row could hear the dialogue. For those who have not followed the reports on the events (which I doubt were front-page news in Europe), the Peruvian government recently passed laws in the spirit of the free trade agreement with the U.S. that make it a lot easier for multinational corporations to exploit Peru's natural resources. The indigenous communities are understandably concerned that mining and oil-extraction will endanger their livelihoods and destroy the rainforest they depend on for their very survival. Therefore, on the first week of June Bagua witnessed a violent conflict in which hundreds of indigenous demonstrators and policemen were killed.
On Saturday, the Week of Legends and Stories ended with a fair in which schools displayed their recent activities and art projects. To gather funds for the schools, the pupils (and their mothers) sold the fruits of baking, weaving and cooking workshops.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Indigenous knowledge of natural dyes
On Monday, Warmayllu organized a dyeing workshop in the kindergarten of Chamis, a rural community eight kilometres outside Cajamarca. Several of the children’s mothers came to help us in the dyeing process and pass on their ancestral knowledge of natural dyes. This time, we dyed the wool a bright green.
At the start, each child gets a bundle of thread. The woollen thread is wrapped around his or her out-stretched hands and should be around 50 turns long.
The bundle is tied up with a coloured piece of thread so that every child will recognize his or her own. The bundles are washed with soap and rubbed with a natural substance that enhances the absorption of the colour.
A huge pot of water is set to boil. As yet, the power-distribution network does not reach Chamis, so everyone uses firewood for cooking. A generous amount of alder leaves are cooked for 40 minutes and then thrown away. Once the boiling water is clear of leaves, colorant is added and the threads are thrown.
In 30 – 45 minutes they soak in enough colorant to shine bright green. Then they are washed again and hung to dry.
It was very interesting to witness how skilfully the rural mothers worked with herbs and plants to bring out brilliant colours. The practical knowledge and rich lore of the people in the rural communities where we work do not cease to amaze me. People live in a close relationship to nature, and they know how to use its gifts in a sustainable way. Natural dyes are not harmful for the environment like chemical ones are. Ancestral practices are still is use.
The handicrafts on sell around here are all dyed by hand, using natural dyes. The colours are bright and vibrant – so bright that a visiting Finnish friend felt she couldn’t wear them in dull and grey Finland! I must have gotten used to the Andean colour scheme, for I have bought quite a few bags and mean to go on using them after I return to Finland.
At the start, each child gets a bundle of thread. The woollen thread is wrapped around his or her out-stretched hands and should be around 50 turns long.
The bundle is tied up with a coloured piece of thread so that every child will recognize his or her own. The bundles are washed with soap and rubbed with a natural substance that enhances the absorption of the colour.
A huge pot of water is set to boil. As yet, the power-distribution network does not reach Chamis, so everyone uses firewood for cooking. A generous amount of alder leaves are cooked for 40 minutes and then thrown away. Once the boiling water is clear of leaves, colorant is added and the threads are thrown.
In 30 – 45 minutes they soak in enough colorant to shine bright green. Then they are washed again and hung to dry.
It was very interesting to witness how skilfully the rural mothers worked with herbs and plants to bring out brilliant colours. The practical knowledge and rich lore of the people in the rural communities where we work do not cease to amaze me. People live in a close relationship to nature, and they know how to use its gifts in a sustainable way. Natural dyes are not harmful for the environment like chemical ones are. Ancestral practices are still is use.
The handicrafts on sell around here are all dyed by hand, using natural dyes. The colours are bright and vibrant – so bright that a visiting Finnish friend felt she couldn’t wear them in dull and grey Finland! I must have gotten used to the Andean colour scheme, for I have bought quite a few bags and mean to go on using them after I return to Finland.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Village feasts
The Andean region is famous for its long-anticipated and well-prepared communal feasts. No expense is saved, for the feast must be memorable – and preferably more memorable than the one in the neighbouring village. The festival usually lasts eight days, the last two of which are the most important. There are dozens of small towns in the Department of Cajamarca, and every one celebrates its patron saint annually. Las fiestas patronales are the highlight of the year.
So far I have been to two village feasts: one in Magdalena in July and another in Namora in August. The village of Magdalena celebrates my namesake, Saint Mary Magdalen. Namora’s patron saint is Saint Rose of Lima. I visited Magdalena with Sara (Dutch) and Paúl (Peruvian), and Namora with two Saras (Dutch and German) and Paúl, Irma, Fernando and Mego (Peruvians). Paúl has family in Magdalena, and they received us warmly in their home. In Namora we stayed at a hostel but were invited to have both lunch and dinner at Paúl’s aunt and uncle’s house. It seemed like the whole extended family came over – we must have been around thirty. The hospitality we experienced was truly impressive.
Magdalena is situated at 1,200 meters above sea level, considerably lower than Cajamarca (2,750 m). Therefore, the climate is nearly tropical. Paúl’s house’s garden was full of fruit trees bearing ripe mangos, oranges, avocados and other tropical fruit, and fresh juice was a great start for the day. The weekend in Magdalena was pure relaxation. All we did was stroll around, chill out with Paúl’s friends, make jokes and drink beer. Villagers live to a more relaxed rhythm than city-dwellers; no-one is in a hurry anywhere.
During the fiestas patronales, people from all around crowd the town. For a few days the town bustles with life, which is in stark contrast to the calm that reigns the rest of the year. The main square is full of stands, and the air is heavy with different odours. Barbecue sticks, freshly baked cookies, hamburgers, juice, fruit... The smell of fried meat floats up to your nose as guinea pig roasts in every second tent. This exquisite Andean dish is served on special occasions.
Vendors occupy the streets, and you can buy anything from underwear to kitchen utensils. Peruvians are heavy drinkers, so beer and cañazo (homemade booze) flow at all festivals. Many villagers start drinking on the first day of the feast and carry on until the very last. The main streets are lined with small tents, many of which are equipped with a high-tech sound system booming cumbia, the ultra-popular Peruvian party music. Late at night begins the dancing.
Fireworks are abundant both night and day, although most are – in my opinion – fairly pitiful. They whistle when launched and explode with a loud bang, but that is all. A lot of noise pollution and no pleasure for the eye! Another oddity are cohetes, small bombs that even small children blow up on the sidewalks.
The climax of the night is when the castillos are lit up. A castillo (castle) is a towering wooden structure. The largest ones have twelve levels, each of which is adorned with rockets. Level by level, the rockets catch fire and turn into spinning whirlpools, sprouting sparks in all directions. The shapes and colours of the whirlpools vary, and the sight is very impressive. The spectacle is rather hazardous, though, since the sparks fall on the spectators.
Another crazy number is the vaca loca (mad cow). A wooden frame somewhat resembling the body of a cow and loaded with fireworks is mounted on a person’s back and lit on fire. The person “inside” the cow runs around the square while the audience crows with delight.
The religious part of the festivities is the high mass, followed by a procession carrying a statue of the patron saint out on the streets. The statue stands on a platform, surrounded by candles and flowers, wearing a magnificent robe. Other activities include bullfights, sports and games.
Who covers all the expenses? Each day of the feast has its special sponsor, mayordomo, who pays the piper and calls the tune. The mayordomo is one of the villagers, a volunteer. The responsibilities are agreed upon a year in advance. Being a mayordomo is obviously a great honour, but it is also very expensive. For example, one castillo costs around 2,000 nuevos soles (500 €), which is more than the average professional earns in two months. Often, mayordomos have to sell part of their livestock in order to pay the costs of the merry-making. However, everyone seems to think the feast is worth it. After all, it is a week to remember.
So far I have been to two village feasts: one in Magdalena in July and another in Namora in August. The village of Magdalena celebrates my namesake, Saint Mary Magdalen. Namora’s patron saint is Saint Rose of Lima. I visited Magdalena with Sara (Dutch) and Paúl (Peruvian), and Namora with two Saras (Dutch and German) and Paúl, Irma, Fernando and Mego (Peruvians). Paúl has family in Magdalena, and they received us warmly in their home. In Namora we stayed at a hostel but were invited to have both lunch and dinner at Paúl’s aunt and uncle’s house. It seemed like the whole extended family came over – we must have been around thirty. The hospitality we experienced was truly impressive.
Magdalena is situated at 1,200 meters above sea level, considerably lower than Cajamarca (2,750 m). Therefore, the climate is nearly tropical. Paúl’s house’s garden was full of fruit trees bearing ripe mangos, oranges, avocados and other tropical fruit, and fresh juice was a great start for the day. The weekend in Magdalena was pure relaxation. All we did was stroll around, chill out with Paúl’s friends, make jokes and drink beer. Villagers live to a more relaxed rhythm than city-dwellers; no-one is in a hurry anywhere.
During the fiestas patronales, people from all around crowd the town. For a few days the town bustles with life, which is in stark contrast to the calm that reigns the rest of the year. The main square is full of stands, and the air is heavy with different odours. Barbecue sticks, freshly baked cookies, hamburgers, juice, fruit... The smell of fried meat floats up to your nose as guinea pig roasts in every second tent. This exquisite Andean dish is served on special occasions.
Vendors occupy the streets, and you can buy anything from underwear to kitchen utensils. Peruvians are heavy drinkers, so beer and cañazo (homemade booze) flow at all festivals. Many villagers start drinking on the first day of the feast and carry on until the very last. The main streets are lined with small tents, many of which are equipped with a high-tech sound system booming cumbia, the ultra-popular Peruvian party music. Late at night begins the dancing.
Fireworks are abundant both night and day, although most are – in my opinion – fairly pitiful. They whistle when launched and explode with a loud bang, but that is all. A lot of noise pollution and no pleasure for the eye! Another oddity are cohetes, small bombs that even small children blow up on the sidewalks.
The climax of the night is when the castillos are lit up. A castillo (castle) is a towering wooden structure. The largest ones have twelve levels, each of which is adorned with rockets. Level by level, the rockets catch fire and turn into spinning whirlpools, sprouting sparks in all directions. The shapes and colours of the whirlpools vary, and the sight is very impressive. The spectacle is rather hazardous, though, since the sparks fall on the spectators.
Another crazy number is the vaca loca (mad cow). A wooden frame somewhat resembling the body of a cow and loaded with fireworks is mounted on a person’s back and lit on fire. The person “inside” the cow runs around the square while the audience crows with delight.
The religious part of the festivities is the high mass, followed by a procession carrying a statue of the patron saint out on the streets. The statue stands on a platform, surrounded by candles and flowers, wearing a magnificent robe. Other activities include bullfights, sports and games.
Who covers all the expenses? Each day of the feast has its special sponsor, mayordomo, who pays the piper and calls the tune. The mayordomo is one of the villagers, a volunteer. The responsibilities are agreed upon a year in advance. Being a mayordomo is obviously a great honour, but it is also very expensive. For example, one castillo costs around 2,000 nuevos soles (500 €), which is more than the average professional earns in two months. Often, mayordomos have to sell part of their livestock in order to pay the costs of the merry-making. However, everyone seems to think the feast is worth it. After all, it is a week to remember.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Wake
Yesterday I had the chance to attend a wake in Cushunga, a rural community that lies in the mountains a two-hour walk from Cajamarca. A member of the community, the grandfather of one of my students, had passed away the night before, and according to custom we teachers were expected to take the pupils to the wake.
At first, some of the secondary school boys voiced their objection and suggested that going straight home would be a better option. However, when Profesora Cristina threatened that anyone who skipped the wake would fail Religion, the youngsters shut their mouth and tagged along. The preschool and primary school pupils joined our caravan and we walked to the house of the deceased Don Titorio in line, bearing garlands of flowers that the children had laced up.
We were warmly welcomed and showed into an empty room where the simple, wooden coffin stood on a table, encircled with burning candles. The coffin had a small opening so that the face of the deceased was visible. Several neighbours and family members were seated in silence on the dirt floor, bundled up in woollen blankets, keeping the deceased company. The room filled to capacity when the sixty preschool, primary school and secondary school students jammed in. We prayed one mystery of the rosary and Profesora Lucha said a prayer for the soul of the late Don Titorio. Then we sang two hymns which everyone besides me seemed to know by heart.
After a short moment of silence, we were invited to take a seat in the courtyard. We were all served mote, peeled and cooked corn. Huge pots steamed on the courtyard, and the women of the household were busy cutting and frying chunks of sheep. The family had butchered two of their sheep for the occasion; food had to be abundant at the wake.
Don Titorio lived to the venerable age of 85, so his death did not come by surprise. No one really understood my question when I inquired for the cause of his death. Old age, of course! The funeral was this afternoon, and before that the entire community was expected to show up at the wake to say goodbye to Don Titorio and accompany him on his journey from this world to the next.
I am beginning to realize that the work of us teachers in the community is comprehensive; maintaining good relations to the villagers is equally important as teaching irregular verbs. Even I am considered to some extent part of the community, even though I live in Cajamarca and only visit Cushunga once a week. I find it beautiful that the community members face moments of sorrow together.
At first, some of the secondary school boys voiced their objection and suggested that going straight home would be a better option. However, when Profesora Cristina threatened that anyone who skipped the wake would fail Religion, the youngsters shut their mouth and tagged along. The preschool and primary school pupils joined our caravan and we walked to the house of the deceased Don Titorio in line, bearing garlands of flowers that the children had laced up.
We were warmly welcomed and showed into an empty room where the simple, wooden coffin stood on a table, encircled with burning candles. The coffin had a small opening so that the face of the deceased was visible. Several neighbours and family members were seated in silence on the dirt floor, bundled up in woollen blankets, keeping the deceased company. The room filled to capacity when the sixty preschool, primary school and secondary school students jammed in. We prayed one mystery of the rosary and Profesora Lucha said a prayer for the soul of the late Don Titorio. Then we sang two hymns which everyone besides me seemed to know by heart.
After a short moment of silence, we were invited to take a seat in the courtyard. We were all served mote, peeled and cooked corn. Huge pots steamed on the courtyard, and the women of the household were busy cutting and frying chunks of sheep. The family had butchered two of their sheep for the occasion; food had to be abundant at the wake.
Don Titorio lived to the venerable age of 85, so his death did not come by surprise. No one really understood my question when I inquired for the cause of his death. Old age, of course! The funeral was this afternoon, and before that the entire community was expected to show up at the wake to say goodbye to Don Titorio and accompany him on his journey from this world to the next.
I am beginning to realize that the work of us teachers in the community is comprehensive; maintaining good relations to the villagers is equally important as teaching irregular verbs. Even I am considered to some extent part of the community, even though I live in Cajamarca and only visit Cushunga once a week. I find it beautiful that the community members face moments of sorrow together.
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