On electoral campaigns at the grass-roots level

Today my English classes at Cushunga were abruptly interrupted when a trailer truck parked in front of the school. Cars are a rare sight in Cushunga, not to mention trucks, so all of the students ran outside to have a look at the vehicle. It turned out that the municipal government had sent us materials for the construction of outdoor toilets – up till now there have been no toilets whatsoever on the school premises. By outdoor toilet I mean a hole in the ground encircled by sheet metal. The parents (or rather, fathers) of the students are now responsible for putting up a row of toilets for the school.

We were not allowed to unload the truck before the authorities and a small camera crew made it to the school in their four-wheeler. Then the cameras immortalized the scene: excited secondary school students carrying sacks of cement, sheet plates and planks from the truck into the school building. Interviews with the principal and the community leader were taped. Both expressed their over-brimming gratitude to Mayor Marco La Torre, who works tirelessly for the progress of rural communities. Then the authorities addressed the curious onlookers and made sure they all understood that the soon-to-be outdoor toilets were proof of the competence of the Señor Alcalde. With the municipal elections coming up, it is important to get the message across. From my point of view as a Finn, I could not help thinking that it ought to be the mayor’s day-to-day business to see to it that all schools have a place where the pupils (and teachers, for that matter) can go for a piss.

In national elections, most people say they choose the least bad candidate, not the best one. The general population mistrusts politicians and believes they are all corrupt and self-interested. That is why politicians are eager to earn points in the eyes of the electorate. In Finland, school food is considered fruit of the welfare system. In Peru, authorities seek to insinuate that it is a gift from the elected leader and his personal merit.

Candidates campaign by painting their name and “logo” on the facades of private homes. Sometimes such electoral ads also include two or three words that sum up the candidate’s priorities, for example “better road to Chamis” or “more health clinics”. Many a candidate also reminds his electors, that he “sí cumple” or keeps his promises. I choose to use the masculine pronoun, since I have yet to hear of some woman running for mayor in the Cajamarcan region.




As a considerable proportion of the Peruvian rural population is illiterate or barely literate, the electoral candidates are distinguished between not by number but by picture. Each candidate chooses a simple drawing that serves as his logo. Many of the drawings give a hint about the candidate’s electoral themes: a spoon hints at food distribution for the poorest, a tractor means improvements in agriculture, a shovel suggests more public works, a pen promises more money for schools and literacy campaigns.




Not all pictures have a deeper meaning, though; I cannot figure what a baseball cap could mean, for instance. Illiterate Peruvians were first granted suffrage in 1979. Before that, the indigenous communities were largely excluded from voting, so the Constitution of 1979 was a major advance in reducing marginalization.

Lifestyles of the rich and the famous

In Cajamarca, I mainly mingle with poor and middle-class Peruvians. In the field, I work with children who live on less than two dollars a day. My friends and colleagues belong to the growing Peruvian middle class; their monthly salary is between 100 and 350 €. They are fairly well-off but far from being rich. Inequality, although visible in Cajamarca, is not striking.

Lima is a different story. Miraflores, home to the city’s rich and famous, brims with cafés, restaurants, shops, movie theaters, bars, discos and the like – all full of consumers. Everything costs twice what it does in Cajamarca. The Larco Mar shopping center on the shores of the Pacific offers an extensive sortiment of designer merchandise and imported European and North American goods. Last week I strolled on Lima’s main shopping streets and wondered how so many people in this relatively poor country could afford such a lifestyle.








The majority of Limans live in poverty, but the city is also home to many people whose lifestyle is more luxurious than anyone’s in Finland – and Miraflores caters their needs. Miraflores and the neighboring bohemian Barranco and residential San Isidro are like any big-city upper-class areas in Europe. Green parks and trimmed lawns, clean streets and pretty buildings, patroling police officers and good lighting, polished cars and elegant citizens. The rest of Lima is a noisy, hazardous chaos where paint falls off walls, cars rattle along indifferent to traffic rules, the streets are filthy, and consumer goods are bought at crowded outdoor markets. After six months in the “real Peru”, Miraflores was a culture shock.

During my first week in Lima an old friend from a language course in France invited me over for drinks. Four of her friends came over, too, so we had a nice little get-together. My friend's tastefully decorated, spacious home in San Isidro, one of Lima’s most prestigious residential areas, looked like an appartment in an indoor design magazine. We sipped imported vintage wine and feasted on Italian sun-dried tomatos. I was asked what I had seen that day in Lima. I answered that I had visited some preschools in the Ventanilla slum. What followed was an uncomfortable silence and a change of subject. I will bet anything that none of the born and bred Limans present had ever been to a slum. They are familiar with the comfortable, upper-class life in Lima, but ignore the reality of the majority of Limans.

As the guest of honor in Catache

Last weekend I was invited to the community of Catache (a two-hour car ride from Cajamarca) to join in the celebration of the village’s patron saint. I left Cajamarca on Saturday morning meaning to return the same afternoon, but as it turned out that I was the guest of honor, I could not leave before late on Sunday afternoon.

The festivities began on Saturday (the eve of the feast) with a mass and a procession in honor of Saint Nicholas of Tolentino, a virtually unknown Italian saint who is, for some reason, the patron and protector of Catache. In the afternoon there was time for the secondary school teachers to show me the school premises and the fruits of a recent research project: a booklet containing some twenty local legends, passed on as oral tradition and now for the first time collected and written down.

After nightfall it was time for what many considered the highlight of the feast: a dance featuring a band that played popular Andean tunes, huaynos and cumbia. The band brought its own motor-run sound system and a floodlight, which was very exciting for the catachinos, since their small town lacks electricity. I had a great time dancing the night away to the now-familiar tunes of Andean music. The locals were more than pleased to see I liked their music, and the dancing gringuita was the attraction of the night. Fireworks, castillos and vacas locas crowned the night. A castillo is a towering, wooden structure made up of several layers of fireworks which are fired off one at a time. A vaca loca is a framework of fireworks strapped on the back of a volunteer that runs around like crazy, sprouting shooting stars in all directions.




After a plateful of soup for breakfast, we gathered around the main square early on Sunday morning. The VIPs (to which I apparently belonged) got front-row seats on the platform. First the school children paraded around the square wearing their uniforms and carrying the national flag.




Thereafter, we sang the national anthem in Quechua, and as the guest of honor, I got to raise the flag. Then followed a whole lot of speeches, the second of which (to my surprise) I was expected to give ex tempore in front of the entire village. Thankfully I have already learnt what the expected content of Peruvian speeches is: an extremely voluble expression of the immense gratitude one feels for having experienced over-flowing kindness and hospitality, and admiration of the beauty of the town and goodness of its inhabitants. That was more or less what I said, in as many words as possible.

When the speeches ended, the ladies of Catache presented a selection of typical dishes, the most delicious of which I was to select. A difficult decision, but I finally chose cherry tomato marmalade and sweet roasted corn. I also got to give out the prizes.






A small fair exhibited Catachean literature, medicinal herbs and handicrafts. At midday we all crowded into the small village chapel for another festive mass and the baptism of six children.




After mass, the statue of Saint Nicholas of Tolentino was carried around the village. Then the organizers invited all the villagers to a lunch of roasted pork.

Once again, I got to experience immeasurable hospitality and attention. I felt like I did nothing but eat from dawn to dusk, since everyone wanted me to taste their best delicacies. I was given such importance throughout the feast that it bordered on absurd and surreal. The master of ceremonies kept repeating how grateful Catache was for the presence of such a venerable, educated person, and how the honorable guest gave the modest feast significance and solemnity. It was so ridiculous that I had to do my best not to laugh and act the part, since it obviously was no joke. Instead, I tried my best to boost the locals’ self-esteem by paying compliments to everything they had prepared. Maybe they appreciate their own culture more when they see the guest of honor does too…