So much happened in the North! It was a wonderful experience, challenging at times, and now I am rejuvenated to return to Buenos Aires for the last 5 weeks of the program. Some notes/highlights.
- Salta is a large city, the capital of the Province of Salta. While the Plaza was extremely beautiful, lots of the city were difficult for me. Within the city and later in the countryside is where I encountered extreme poverty for the first time. I have been lucky enough to never have experienced this poverty firsthand. I also have been fortunate to travel, but this trip is my first time in the developing word. The poverty was striking at times, the comedores (soup kitchens) where children got their only meal of the day. At many points during the trip, I wrestled with my privelege and my reactions to this poverty. What could I do? At times, it seemed enough to speak with people, express interest, and learn more about them. Other times, I felt like a small person in a large global system of inequality. These experiences will stay with my always and will hopefully be a catalyst for any work with human rights in the future.
- We stayed in La Quiaca, a border town with Bolivia, for six days. We celebrated Manka Fiesta, a fair of trade from Andean tradition. People from both sides of the border brought foods and spices, llama pelts, artisan goods, furniture, etc. It was a windy day, with bright sun and dust blowing everywhere. We saw lots of people selling charqui, dried meat. I wonder if that's where the word jerky comes from. Being in La Quiaca was a very interesting experience. The people, for the most part, had much darker skin, and the women were dressed in more traditional clothing. Some pictures are included above. Many of the women had long braids with beads or wool at the bottom, decorations that became extensions of the hair.
- On the other side of the border is Villazon, a bustling city. Most interesting there was seeing the ormigas, literally, "ants." These are people who spend all day carrying cargo across the border. Customswise, it is much cheaper to carry things across the border than drive across, so businesses hire these people to run across the border carrying heavy loads. Many of these people were very young and very old. It was difficult to see, and appeared to be one of the most difficult and physically trying jobs. It was almost modern-day slavery, people working from sunup to sundown carrying bags of wheat for big corporations.
- I lived with my friend Francesca during the Rural Homestay for four days. We lived with Natividad, a single man of 49 years, his uncle (affectionately called "Tío" by all), his twenty-year old niece, Isabel, and her son, Estebán, who was two. We lived on a plot of land in Quebrada del Toro accross a currently dry river, which Natividad called "la playa," the beach. The house had no electricity and we used a latrine for the bathroom and candlelight for lights. The house was surrounded by animals: 2 kittys; a horse named Rocío, which I rode throughout the pueblo; laying hens, 4 herding dogs, and an abundance of sheep and goats! They were so cute, especially a little goat named Tania. Unfortunately, the pooped and peed everywhere. On our first night, Franceca and I made yummy tortillas (secret ingredient: lard) and slept well even though it was super chilly! On our second day in Quebrada del Toro, I witnessed the slaughter and butchering of a goat. I was a vegetarian for three years, and had always told myself that if I were to eat meat I would do it with my own hands. That way I would feel ownership and connection with the food in a more organic way. However, I had a very visceral negative reaction. I felt faint and almost threw up. I felt rude taking fresh air, as I knew that eating a goat was not an everyday occurence for the family. It was pretty amazing that within an hour a goat went from frolicking to becoming lunch. El tío butchered him very professionally, and although it was hard to eat the first few bites, it was pretty yummy. We ended up eating goat for the following 4 meals and drying the feet for charqui. They used all of the animal, keeping and selling the pelts, a way to honor it. It was a difficult but very worthwhile experience, to feel discomfort with knowing exactly where my food came from. Ignorance is bliss, I guess.
