So, this semester I'm basically chilling and preparing for my long travels of 2017. I'll come up with a dramatic name to call that period of my life sometime soon, but anyway, for my anthro tutorial we had a really cool assignment. (All the assignments are really cool and helpful!) We were each to write a memory we have ethnographically, a snapshot of a moment we've lived. We were to write it in a way that would bring the reader to the place as best as we could. This moment is ideally one that we would associate with our fieldwork or one that made us particularly passionate about it. I knew that I'd like to write about a moment in Bolivia, but for a while was unsure which one, as there were so many. Thus, I flipped through my journal from that time last night, and found a great one. The moment was a simple one–one of the indigenous ladies asked if someone in our group could tie a tie for her daughter before she left for school, and I volunteered, and I wrote about how cute that was. Rereading that, I knew there was so much more I could say to bring the reader to the scene itself. Here are the unedited results of my free write. (This was all handwritten, so I'm also typing it here to have a digital copy.)
Since it's surrounded by the Tunari Mountains in the middle of Bolivia, there are many opportunities to get extraordinary views of the city of Cochabamba. Ironically, some of the most breathtaking views were observed from the poorest zones of the city, where the marginalized indigenous Bolivians of this urban area resided, their informal settlements scattered throughout the foothills that lined the edge of the city.
Before any misunderstandings can be formed, "foothills" in this case don't refer to verdant, rolling swells of ground that one might find in the European countryside. These foothills are much more hostile. Rocky, dusty, and, as if to emphasize Bolivia's landlocked state, incredibly dry. Though it wouldn't appear as though they were suitable to support life, they do anyway, as can be seen from the little homes people have built from hollow bricks and flat iron sheets. At this moment in the month of August, Bolivian flags could be seen waving everywhere to celebrate the country's independence. It seemed that even the most neglected felt pride for their nation.
My favorite point to observe the city of Cochabamba from these neighborhoods was found in a barrio called Carolinas. This point could be accessed by walking up this wide dirt path, keeping the lower area of the barrio and the view of the city to the left. Occasionally, dogs would bark somewhat maddeningly from closed off shelters, peering out to see who was crossing their territory. Eventually, the house of one of the women we worked with would appear to the right. Hers was the most modest of all the ladies' houses, situated on a mild slope coming up from the dirt path. On the other side of the path was a lone, scraggly tree, and beyond that, a magnificent view of Cochabamba, sprawling and nestled at the edge of towering mountains in the distance.
Sitting next to the old, abandoned Ford with some other people from my group, I had my packed lunch, contemplating a city that felt so close, but at the same time unreachable from where I was sitting. From that point, I could even see the faint green strip of land that was the airport, little specks of white flying in from the left or flying out and disappearing into the blue glow of the mountains that were airplanes. The landscape between the zona sur and the main part of the city didn't change remarkably, as mounds of ochre dirt could still be seen a bit further off.
At some point during our lunch, the proprietor of the house we sat in front of after our morning's work there came out with her daughter of about 7 or 8. The woman was wearing clothes traditional of that region's indigenous population, with the white rimmed hat decorated with flowers, though the little girl was wearing a white polo shirt with a school skirt. The woman asked if any of us knew how to tie a tie.
Before I knew it, I volunteered, and the little girl went towards me without hesitating and stood in front of me, handing me the tie. Thinking back to my days as an elementary school student in the Philippines, making sure to do it nicely, I tied her tie. After I finished, she turned around, thanked me with a smile on her face, and went off on her way, further up the dirt road going away from her home and towards school. And I returned to contemplating the view I had in front of me, my hands and legs not bothered by the dust that would unsettle at every movement.
Not bad for 40 minutes of free writing. I'm really excited to see where this leads.
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Since it's surrounded by the Tunari Mountains in the middle of Bolivia, there are many opportunities to get extraordinary views of the city of Cochabamba. Ironically, some of the most breathtaking views were observed from the poorest zones of the city, where the marginalized indigenous Bolivians of this urban area resided, their informal settlements scattered throughout the foothills that lined the edge of the city.
Before any misunderstandings can be formed, "foothills" in this case don't refer to verdant, rolling swells of ground that one might find in the European countryside. These foothills are much more hostile. Rocky, dusty, and, as if to emphasize Bolivia's landlocked state, incredibly dry. Though it wouldn't appear as though they were suitable to support life, they do anyway, as can be seen from the little homes people have built from hollow bricks and flat iron sheets. At this moment in the month of August, Bolivian flags could be seen waving everywhere to celebrate the country's independence. It seemed that even the most neglected felt pride for their nation.
My favorite point to observe the city of Cochabamba from these neighborhoods was found in a barrio called Carolinas. This point could be accessed by walking up this wide dirt path, keeping the lower area of the barrio and the view of the city to the left. Occasionally, dogs would bark somewhat maddeningly from closed off shelters, peering out to see who was crossing their territory. Eventually, the house of one of the women we worked with would appear to the right. Hers was the most modest of all the ladies' houses, situated on a mild slope coming up from the dirt path. On the other side of the path was a lone, scraggly tree, and beyond that, a magnificent view of Cochabamba, sprawling and nestled at the edge of towering mountains in the distance.
Sitting next to the old, abandoned Ford with some other people from my group, I had my packed lunch, contemplating a city that felt so close, but at the same time unreachable from where I was sitting. From that point, I could even see the faint green strip of land that was the airport, little specks of white flying in from the left or flying out and disappearing into the blue glow of the mountains that were airplanes. The landscape between the zona sur and the main part of the city didn't change remarkably, as mounds of ochre dirt could still be seen a bit further off.
At some point during our lunch, the proprietor of the house we sat in front of after our morning's work there came out with her daughter of about 7 or 8. The woman was wearing clothes traditional of that region's indigenous population, with the white rimmed hat decorated with flowers, though the little girl was wearing a white polo shirt with a school skirt. The woman asked if any of us knew how to tie a tie.
Before I knew it, I volunteered, and the little girl went towards me without hesitating and stood in front of me, handing me the tie. Thinking back to my days as an elementary school student in the Philippines, making sure to do it nicely, I tied her tie. After I finished, she turned around, thanked me with a smile on her face, and went off on her way, further up the dirt road going away from her home and towards school. And I returned to contemplating the view I had in front of me, my hands and legs not bothered by the dust that would unsettle at every movement.
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Not bad for 40 minutes of free writing. I'm really excited to see where this leads.
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