Beginnings

Well, I figure it’s about time I update everyone on what I’ve been doing.
Here are my field notes (hey, I don´t have that much time...) from the beginning of my research with a family in a little town called Peguche. It’s about 2 miles from here; a 15 minute bus-ride ($0.18 one way). My family consists of 3 women: Doña Carmen Terán (mom) and her 2 daughters, Matilda and Olga. It’s quite possible that they are the nicest people I’ve ever met.

Monday, June 15
My initial reactions:
How am I going to find my way back here alone? Where are the men in the family/ what happened to them? Will I get an accurate idea of how things are done even though there is no gender division? Am I really just going to be an imposition? What exactly do I need to find out from them?

They seem like really nice and open people. I’m really glad this is my family because I feel comfortable with them.
This is more what I expected Otavalo to be like; although, I admit (ethnocentric), that I’m not sure I could do it.

Tuesday, June 16
When I arrived at Doña Carmen’s house, they asked right away if I wanted to learn what they do. I said yes. They asked if I wanted to learn everything. I said sure. I’m pretty sure that was my in. They were/are all excited that I am willing to learn and work. Doña Carmen immediately told me to follow her into the weaving room. She began to spin the wool from la livana – a box-shaped frame made of bamboo that holds large bundles of lana (yarn) – onto a spool (palabra?) using el torno vanco – which I can only describe as a bicycle wheel connected to a box that holds the spool. The wheel moves the spool via a string that goes all the way around both the outside of the wheel and a metal spoke that the spool fits onto (actually, a wooden cylinder fits onto the spoke, and the spool fits onto the wooden cylinder).

After a few minutes, she asked if I wanted to try. I sat on the little stool, trying to fit and remember everything I had just seen her do. I had never felt so clumsy and inadequate before trying to use this contraption. I began spinning the wheel, but I couldn’t make it move consistently. The rope kept getting in the way, as I was trying to spin the wheel from the outside. Every time I would look at the wheel, willing it to work and trying to figure out what I was doing wrong, I would mess up the string on the spool. Usually, it would wind around the metal prong that held the spool. Once Doña Carmen showed me to turn the wheel from the spokes inside, things went much smoother. I still messed up – breaking the string, losing control and winding it too loosely or around the prong – but I was able to establish some sort of rhythm (I’m sure it was much slower than how they work). I did this all day and decided that I like it because it’s very relaxing, although I’m pretty sure I would get very bored if that was all I had to do all day, every day.

A cousin, who lives next door and Doña Carmen were cleaning ponchos by picking out any imperfections in the yarn and any little twigs. They spoke in Quichua and giggled a lot. I learned right off the bat that there would be a lot of laughing in this house of women. Olga was in a back room, connected to the weaving room, embroidering, and Matilda was outside – I’m not sure what she was doing.

I think I passed some sort of test when I said my hands didn’t hurt after spinning. They did hurt a little – the friction is rough on my fingers, not used to doing this kind of work. My right hand actually hurt more from spinning the wheel because it goes over the back of my hand. I’m pretty sure I have bruises on my fingers…

Matilda is my main informant. It seems as though I’ve been assigned to her, or perhaps she just took me under her wing. Regardless, I really like her. She seems patient and really nice. I spend most of my time either with her or alone, as Olga often goes in the back to embroider or outside to cook, and I’m not sure what the others do. They seem content to leave me working.

Wednesday, June 17, 2009
I asked Matilda the words in Spanish for the machines/devices they use, and I have inserted them into my notes from yesterday (since I had no words for these contraptions in English).
I had the distinct feeling that I was more of a hindrance than a help, but they make me feel as though I am doing them a favor (although the other way around is more truthful).

Today, I did laundry with Matilda. First, we cut the ponchos apart, as they make several at a time and leave them connected, I’m thinking because it’s easier than having to set up the loom again. Then, we loaded up the wheelbarrow with the poncho parts (they take two of the long narrow strips and sow them together; the seam goes over the shoulders; then, they add the hood/collar, if there is going to be one on that particular poncho). I pushed the wheelbarrow, and Matilda carried the laundry soap, bucket, and wash basin. We walked the short path to the ‘stream.’

Matilda filled the basin with water by using the bucket. Then, she added blue, powdered laundry soap. When the bag was empty, she tossed it into the corralled stream and added a little more soap from another bag. Next, she used the bucket to mix the soap and water and create suds by dipping it in the wash basin and dumping it back into the basin over and over. Once the water was mixed and soapy, we added ponchos one at a time. We did the dark wash first. I put the ponchos into the water, and Matilda smooshed them down to make sure they were completely saturated (washing a little along the way) and also to make room for more ponchos. When the basin was full, she hopped into it and began pressing on the ponchos to wash them with her feet. Once they had all been thoroughly sudsed, we took them out one at a time to rinse them in the stream. Once a poncho had been washed, we tossed it to the bank across the stream to dry some while we continued to rinse others. Once the dark ponchos had all been rinsed, we dumped the dirty water back into the stream. (It occurred to me that this is most likely the water they use for cooking, and I shuddered to think what people upstream put into that water that eventually ended up in my food. I realized this was ethnocentric, but I longed for chlorine and hygiene… ) Then, we repeated this entire process for the white ponchos. This time, however, Matilda didn’t jump into the basin, as there weren’t as many whites and darks. We washed them using our hands to squish and mix.

Once all the ponchos had been washed and rinsed, we hopped to the other side of the stream and tossed the now somewhat dry ponchos into the wheelbarrow. We took about half of our load the first time. Matilda pushed the wheelbarrow back up the hill and across the street to a neighbor’s (who happened to be a cousin, I think) house. We hung the ponchos up on a drying rack (rather than clothes line). It looked like a large rectangle, with a beam going down the middle (for stability and more room to hang clothes) and was made of wooden poles ranging probably between 4 and 10 inches in diameter. I think Matilda really appreciated having me for this because I am taller than her, so this job was a little easier with me. She didn’t have many problems, though, because she just used a stick to fix any ponchos that were folded or hung unevenly. It just required more effort for her.

Then, we went back to the stream to get the rest of the ponchos. I made the mistake of pushing the wheelbarrow this time. Oh my goodness; I thought I was going to die! It was so heavy, and I’m a bit too tall for it. Wow! I don’t think I’ll complain about Dad’s wheelbarrow again… There wasn’t enough room at the neighbor’s house for the remainder of the ponchos; so (thankfully), Matilda pushed the wheelbarrow back to her house and we hung the ponchos on clothes lines strung every which way in front of and behind the Terán home.

Then, I resumed the job that is now apparently mine: spinning. On a couple different occasions, Matilda asked me to help her pick up the ponchos that had blown down at the neighbor’s house and hang them back up to finish drying. The neighbor’s house is better and worse for drying clothes because it is in the open, so it gets more sun and wind.

All in all, laundry was an exhausting, time-consuming process. My body ached afterwards, and I thought, “I couldn’t do this all the time!” Turns out, I might be building some muscles this summer… I’m continually surprised by how strong and agile the indigenous are for being such short, stout people.