QUICO - my village

Written and Illustrated with love by Anette Andersen

“A car is coming! A car is coming!”

How nice because it will certainly bring vegetables, mail and other useful things we have ordered! It can only be Padre Peter’s car: who else would stray to Quico?

And it is so. It is Padre Peter’s car which slowly but surely comes bumping down the simple mountain track. It is heavily loaded with sacks of onions, carrots, rice, beans, sugar, flour and other delicacies. And sure enough there is also mail for us. A little news from the large, outside world – everything is read with keen interest, especially when it feels distant and unreal: when you live in a place which can best be described as a stone age village.

We are at an altitude of more than 4000 meters in the Peruvian Andes, about 12 hours drive from Cusco. A peaceful, small village with approximately 250 souls. All are mountain peasants who make a living out of growing potatoes and corn and raising llamas and sheep. The corn, however, is grown further down in the valley, a day’s walk from here. Although the official language in Peru is Spanish, only quechua, the original Inca language, is heard here.

All the houses are made of stone which has been laid with clay in between. The roof is of straw, but some fortunate people have been able to afford roof covering of iron or plastic sheet. The houses only have one room, a low door and a small window with shutters, but without glass. The floor is of stamped clay and on one side there is normally a raised platform, also of clay, covered with fur or rags. You normally sit on a large stone on the floor.

One end of the room is the “kitchen”, a hearth made of clay with one or two “cooking holes”. Above the fireplace, cow or llama dung and small pieces of firewood are placed to dry. The normal heat provider is dried llama dung which is stacked alongside the fireplace and which also serves as “playing toys” for the smaller children. At the opposite end of the room is the family sleeping place. In a few houses there is a bed in which all the family huddles together or all lie directly on the floor on a few furs.

Apart from skins hanging down from the ceiling for drying, many more interesting things can be observed as there are no cupboards, shelves or drawers in the houses. None of the houses have baths or toilets. Nobody is therefore ever washed and as for the other necessities, in the case of the women, they are done right where you are. As women wear no underwear under their skirts, all is easily accomplished and the dogs provide the cleaning up service.

Scattered around in the village there are 5-6 water taps which normally run all the time. They are the water supply for the village, coming from the mountains and of clean quality. If the rains have been plentiful and the stream is not frozen, a simple water-run generator supplies occasional electricity for the village. It is convenient when that happens as the temperature at this altitude normally is below freezing. However, it is only Elin and I, who are pampered “Gringos”, who have heating apparatus and hot water heaters. Even when the “Quicos” like to warm themselves for hours in our rooms they would not even consider buying a modest and small heater themselves. Their normal electricity consumption is a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. “Street lighting” we have as well, but it is only on when there is a village party, and that makes walking in the night rather difficult considering all the llamas sleeping around the houses.

There are two little shops, where one can buy the small necessities of life, if the stock has not been sold out. Among the daily needs, coca leaves are a must.

The village community building which is also used as a “Hotel” if a stranger should stray by the village, is used for parties and the monthly “ensamblaje”. This is a kind of council where the men meet and solve the problems arising in the village. The women have other “important duties” to take care of like children, llamas and sheep; making woollen threads; weaving; cooking - and not to forget – collecting llama dung and water. The men should be given credit for always having time for a chat or a game of yatzy even when the wife and small children are busy digging up potatoes.

How important the men are was highlighted when someone once asked what the number of people living in the village was? “54” was the quick answer. “54? What do you mean? That can’t be correct, do you mean adults?” “No! men!” Women and children apparently are not counted when “inhabitants” are calculated. A register of births has been kept since 1989 for new born children, so some kind of statistics are available. The dates, however, should not be considered too seriously as most children die before they are three so it is not productive to sign them in too early - and by then the exact date is forgotten.

The state run school has 1^st, 2^nd, 3^rd and 4^th grades: altogether 35-40 children and a teacher. Unfortunately, being a teacher in the village is NOT a much desired job so it is not the most qualified who are sent here. The school year starts officially on April 1^st, but the state employed teacher rarely shows up before late May. Normally he works three weeks in the month and then takes vacation the fourth so he can go and get his well earned salary. In July/August the school closes for a month as the families migrate to the valleys to harvest corn. The school year finishes at the end of December, but here in Quico the school closes at least three weeks before that. Of course, learning suffers accordingly. For this reason Padre Peter has, with the help of the Jesuit Order, build a school where those who want to can continue their “education”. It is free and children in both schools get free meals, breakfast and lunch. The children eat off “Royal Copenhagen” porcelain with names like “Aarhus Communal Hospital” or “Randers Central Hospital” on it, a gift from communities in Denmark. As girls really don’t “need to learn” it is almost only boys who attend the schools and thus are better fed. This has the effect that most of the men speak a basic Spanish whereas women hardly understand it at all.

When Padre Peter is present in Quico he holds masses and then there is a rush to get a seat on one of the six small stools in the church. The altar in our small church is decorated with a very pretty rug made by Inge Duedahl, a gift to Peter. Peter is as Danish as they come, but can conduct his masses equally well in Spanish or Quechua. Peter is a Jesuit priest and has for more than 30 years devoted his life to this barren area of the Andes. Unfortunately, we rarely get his company, either because he is just too busy or because of the road – through a pass at 5000 meters - is often closed with snow or washed away. Peter lives in the small town of Marcapata and has 4-5 other churches to attend to.

Not much happens in Quico. There is no telephone nor TV. Maybe exactly because of this the Quicos love their parties. If something has to be celebrated it will last for two or three days. For the first two days, football games will be played against the two neighbouring villages Japu and Q’ero, both half a day’s walk away. The third day is celebrated with a “bullfight”, where the bull is NOT killed; the worst harmed are normally some of the more audacious young men. During the nights there is no shortage of liquid substances such as “chicha”, a schnapps made of corn, or there are coca leaves which are chewed so

energetically that the green liquid seeps from the corners of the mouths. The music is “enjoyed” via the large speakers placed all over the village until early morning.

Doctors or dentists are non-existent so, if something should happen, it is onto a horse for a ride of 4 hours to the “main road” to get a lift with one of the many trucks transporting petrol to the mines at Puerto Maldonado. If it is a minor thing which can be treated in Marcapata, the further trip is only 2 hours, but serious cases must go to Cusco and that is a drive of 12 hours.

It is kind of unrealistic to sit here and write on my laptop. Just outside the window a dirty, bare-footed woman drives her llamas over the still rime-covered ground while she is busy spinning thread. A bit further away the neighbour’s three year old boy sits with bare behind and legs in a small stream and sucks icicles.

Yes, it is a different world.