It was one of those days that would take me through a journey unlike any other, but it started such as ninety-nine percent of all days do, with no indication that it would be so much different from the rest. Although this type of spontaneity was more common as a gringo living in the isolated central highlands of Peru, this particular day would flirt with my soul's obsession with the unique for years to come. Breakfast was eggs and bread, the eggs scrambled and the bread oval rolls spiced with anisette that my host father baked twice a week. Coffee was instant, the kind of instant with caramel flavoring, which I enjoyed and could only find in Peru. The air was crisp, dry and chilly, with the sun shining brightly onto the village. I was slightly nervous since my boss would be visiting Vitis to check in on me and talk with my host family and the community to record how projects were progressing. My nervousness was unfounded, since the visit was fairly uneventful, so much that I don't remember much of it and so won't describe it here. It was during the visit that we discussed a town in the same province of Yauyos that had held onto its very own language, Jaqaru. It was said the people of Tupe had their own culture and dress apart from the rest of the highland towns in Lima, which they had defended in the faces of the Incas and Spanish using slingshots. If you visit now, I had been told, the people speak Spanish, Quechua and Jaqaru. But there was no public transportation to Tupe; one had to take a private vehicle. Diego suggested we use the SUV he drove to visit the volunteer sites, and we would go with my Peace Corps friend and fellow volunteer in Yauyos, Jared Brandell. The way to Tupe is to take the alternative route between Lima and Huancayo, which cuts through the Nor-Yauyos Cochas Landscape Reserve we lived in, and from there the road to Tupe. The way down from Vitis to the cutoff for Tupe is easy enough; you just follow the road until you see a small green sign near the town of Catahuasi reading "Tupe" and "Aiza". The locals told us the sign was for the "desvio" towards Tupe, which incorrectly translates to "detour". In actuality the sign pointed to a pair of tire tracks that went up the dry Andean foothill, criss-crossed by even more tracks and disappearing after a bend. With the exception of some cacti and bushes, there was no vegetation on the red-brown landscape. With multiple tracks going in varying directions, we were hoping to be on our way towards Tupe. Fortunately we picked up a local, who after attempting to speak to us in his language transitioned to Spanish. In return for us dropping him off, he guided us to the hamlet of Aiza, which he explained was part of Tupe. The actual town of Tupe was going through a contentious debate about whether or not to be connected to the highway, and so was only accessible by walking roughly one hour from Aiza. At first I was disappointed that our time constraints would not permit us to visit Tupe, but this was alleviated by the fact that we would visit an even less-known town that preserved the same culture and language. The poverty and isolation of Aiza were palpable upon entering the town. Buildings were made of adobe and tin or straw roofs, and there were electrical lines. However there were no open stores or many people for that matter; most likely they were at the fields working the crops or attending to the animals. Most telling in this part of Peru, there was no cell phone service, internet, or satellites for television noticeable on the roofs of homes. The climate was drier and less conducive to agriculture than the towns at higher elevations, and a lack of public transportation meant residents often had to walk hours to exchange and buy goods. Eventually we met up with a priest who was from Spain and had lived in Aiza for two years. He was accompanying an older woman who spoke three languages (Jaqaru, Quechua, and Spanish). She wore a dark red bandana and plaid dress, much like her people did generations ago. She even had a slingshot for herding cattle, presumably similar to the ones used by her ancestors to fight off invaders. Jaqaru, she and the priest explained, was still used in homes and taught in the schools, but migration by the young generation and ever-creeping outside influences were making the language's future uncertain. While some grandparents in Aiza could not communicate with the priest since they did not speak Spanish (and he did not know much Quechua or Jaqaru), grandchildren were forgetting the language they grew up with as they moved to Lima to study and get jobs. This bleak diagnosis is not unique for Jaqaru as an indigenous language. However it brings up a philosophical debate. Does learning a world language guarantee one will be better off? Every poor person I knew in Peru spoke Spanish; it is not a magic pill that instantly makes lives better. On the other hand, nobody has lost opportunity due to speaking multiple languages- at least, not justly. Limenos who have heard of Tupe tend to thing of the town as a novelty that is an experience to have or a jewel to be nurtured. Many, likely including people from Tupe, think these languages should die off. But is that really necessary? The Bible has been translated to over 1,500 languages and Google is already available in 149 (and counting). Perhaps when humanity's own prejudices, whose roots come from colonial mindsets, are erased, we are suddenly able to provide resources in non-majority languages. It is noteworthy that languages such as Italian and Swedish, which are from parts of the world that were historically colonizers, are not in the same danger of being lost as languages in geographies that were typically colonized.
After a few hours in Aiza, we had to turn back. Diego drove us to the main road, where he turned towards Lima and Jared and I waited for the bus back up to our towns in Yauyos. The bus only came once a day, and our wait of six hours was spent in a very average Andean town next to the Canete river. We spent the time eating ice cream, which was unavailable and very much missed in our sites, sharing beers, and then throwing rocks at other rocks in the river. We also had the time to reflect upon Aiza and Tupe. These towns were in the same department of the modern city of Lima yet were in reality worlds apart. How must the worldviews of their residents differ from ours? Who is to say whose worldview is superior, and how can we measure what is lost when we fail to appreciate, or even worse, lose, language and culture? The people of Tupe and Aiza are the bearers of a culture that beat back the Inca and Spanish. But will the culture survive today's exodus of young people to the city? Most people may tell you such languages and cultures are on a path to disappearance. But our future is never determined until it becomes our present.
4 Comments
Jared Brandell-Douglas
4/5/2019 11:48:35 am
Brad, I love reliving our Peace Corps days through your website! This Tupe and Aiza post is great, informative and entertaining! It brings up some good questions about the intersection of our world and the worlds of other people, and it reminds me how lucky we are to have been able to visit such a unique place on this earth.
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Brad
4/10/2019 12:49:43 pm
Couldn't have said it better myself!
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Sarita
4/6/2019 05:30:30 pm
Brad, I feel like i traveled with you through your writing. Thanks. Also for the great description of how the unexpected occurs unexpectedly in Peace Corps.
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Brad
4/10/2019 12:49:18 pm
Thank you Sarita! It's always great to hear your feedback. Aiza was such a unique place to visit. Let me know if you are around DC these days
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AuthorBrad Goodman Archives
April 2019
CategoriesAll Andes Beaches Ghosts Halloween Lima Mancora Peace Corps Peru Rural Tourism Yauyos |