Visiting Friends and Farms

Big Egg at Earth Sky Time Farm, Manchester VT

The Pond at Rochester Folk Art Guild, Middlesex NY

Pea Flower at Two Dog Farm, Danby VT

Farm Field in Danby, VT

Learning To Walk Barefoot

Seywiaka

With the moon dark and cool, we milled sugar cane. Augustin said he’ll make me a dress if I bring him four heads of cotton. I told him I’d bring the cotton next year. We still have beans hanging, coffee to roast and I need to spin all the wool before it gets hard.

The river runs loud. Steam rises from the forest. A black and white cat takes a break from watching me and licks his fur. I look at the orange in my hand that I found on the ground. No one else is around to speak the languages I hear but yet to understand. Once, I heard a tree break apart and then I watched the branches fall. Trust was the hardest of trials while learning to walk barefoot.

We Want Peace in Palomino!

The only sign of life left behind was a dog napping in the corner. Not a piece of paper littering the floor, not one tee-shirt or toy astray in the house. No plates, no cups, no evidence of Monica and her two daughters. Bare concrete walls stand alone, perhaps even without fingerprints, ghostlike, a reminder to all. After the murder of a family, two more men were killed by guerrilla groups. With such brutal history of war in the region and the latest victims, Palomino ought to be declared a “red zone,” urged Monica. A community leader in education, recycling campaigns and most of all, peace, Monica responded to the tragic killings by organizing peace marches.

“The Freyles family – we are the victims of this violence.”

“No more children dead.”

The first peace march stopped traffic as supporters gathered to literally paint the town. Newspapers around the country caught on. The governor and town representatives promised to show but in the end, couldn’t make it. Monica wanted to give them another chance. But the morning of the second march, she was nowhere to be found. The night before, on the phone, she was told to leave town. Leaving nothing behind, she fled with her two daughters.

“Here we are, what we want is peace. Enough with so much violence, the residents of Palomino don’t want any more deaths.”

“We  want peace.”

Monica next to the only recycling facility in town, which she organized. Monica’s mother asked to pass along the word that she was safe, and with family.

One Tutu At A Time

We all worry about money at some point. The indigenous people of Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, known as the Arhuaco, worry as well. Their lives are full of hard work, loving families, fresh food and strong communities. While nearly entirely self-sufficient, male household members work on outside the home to earn extra income and women weave bags for sale. Graceful and incredibly durable, these bags or tutus as they are called by the Arhuaco, are a powerful cultural element. Made by hand from plant or animal fiber, from thread to final loop, one tutu can take months to end up on your shoulders.

Spinning fiber.

By purchasing a tutu, one helps the community and individual families directly. I have created this post to share the crafts of these women. If you or someone you know would like to help by purchasing a tutu, please contact me by e-mail, gouznova @ gmail.com. Please pass this page on to your friends, family and coworkers.

Small tutu, to hold your cell phone and wallet. By Celfida $25 SOLD

Large tutu, that can easily fit all that you need for the day. Four separate designs make it really stand out. By Celfida, $100 SOLD

Extra large tutu. By Claudia, a village school teacher, $120.

Flowing design, large tutu. By Claudia, $100. SOLD

This design is known as caracol, sea shell. Large tutu. Made by Ana, $100.

Large tutu. Made by Francisca $110.

Duni – thank you!

My tutu, made by Yanira.

Waking Up Early and Other Changes

Breakfast is already on its way about an hour before dawn.

Just a few minutes ago, the sky was black. A small slice of it turned bright orange and gracefully transformed into light blue clouds indistinguishable from the mist shrouded mountains. Elsililiana asked, “have you ever seen the range before?” I had but not like this. From here, the newborn light, still gray and cool before my eyes, illuminated thousands of feet of earth known to its indigenous people as Mama.

Elsililiana is the eldest of six brothers and sisters and can still climb trees for guama fruit. The youngest, Isau, is just a year old. All the kids work hard. Neji, Jorlady and Elsililiana are usually the ones to saddle the mula or burro and head off to the farm to dig up yucca, ñame, malanga and to cut down guiniea, green bananas. Meals consist of these vegetables along with some milk from the cow or some meat.

Elsililiana milking the cow.

Neji tutuising.

I am not a fan of malanga as it makes me very nauseous but can always find someone who will help me eat my portion of it. Cooking for at least nine every day is something to get used to, as is washing all those dishes. The water gets trekked up by burro in 20L tanks from a spring about 20 minutes below the farm.

Going down to the spring for water.

All the laundry and bathing get done there as well and unfortunately contaminate the purest of waters right at the source. Other than that, the environmental impacts of this lifestyle and negligent in comparison to your or my own.

When not cooking, washing or caring for the farm, the women weave bags, mochillas or tutus as they are called in Arhuaco. The tutus can be made from plant, alpaca or sheep fiber. All fiber is processed by hand from rearing of the plant or animal to every thread, spinning the fiber and at last, weaving. It takes several months for a woman to weave one tutu of animal fiber.

I spent a week tutuising, weaving, and working on the zamgey, farm, before  Janira and I headed for Savannaculebra, a village about four hours north.

En paseo, in passing.

River crossing.

Tony wasn’t sure which way to go. After some time double guessing, I ushered him to go arriba, up. As I looked back, I could still see the houses below and the grandfather, dressed in all white. With one hundred years of living under his belt, his head was causing him trouble, he said. After a few steps I heard the call I was hoping for, “abajo, abajo,” go down. Tony slowly obliged. For a four year old horse, Tony did most of his walking rather slowly or carefully. Six hours in the saddle of asking him to move along brought us instantly closer. We were headed down to the river and eventually to Claudia’s ranch. We spent the night in her grandfather’s home having left late in the day. Bringing along nine cows, four pack animals and four children did not help to maximize our travel speed.

Steering livestock is one thing, finding it is another. It involves you and hopefully more people raking the forest for signs of cow. Later it involves lots of scrapes, ticks and yelling to get the livestock on trail. Next, eight more hours of sprinting, yelling, scrapes and ticks to move the flock to a new pasture. Through it all, you are draped in wild, rarely seen mountain side where few tourists ever venture. Homes with thatched roofs, smoky kitchen fires, spring water and close knit families become the main navigation points and so one can only navigate the trail with family.

A neighbor’s home.

Let’s Not Trash This Place

While first class nations have figured out how to stash their trash, their less wealthy brothers and sisters have little choice but to face the consequences of a packaged world, literally speaking.

Recyclable plastics, wrappers of all sorts, glass and random rubbish that we are used to tucking away in Tupperware bins find their place here, in the basurero. A small truck comes to pick up the trash twice a week, always leaving a few streets untouched. More than a dozen beachfront cabanas have never been graced with the presence of this truck. Two of the family run hotels I spoke with openly confessed to their long time contribution to this unsightly dump.

Located in the only public access route to the beach, the dump reeks, gets flooded and is always swarmed by all sorts of vermin and unfortunately children as well. Its proximity to the high pressure gas line, mangroves and drinking water supply raises more red flags then the Kremlin. No one likes to look at trash and here, when it´s burning to make room for more, you smell it, taste and choke on it as you hurry past.

Maybe we can just get used to it?

I don’t think we should. The first step was to put recycling bins in La Casa de Rosa, a beachfront camping hostel.

Recycling at last!

Paulina and Michelangelo painting recycling bins.

Along with several other community members, we have prepared a letter that we plan to present to the district representative. For my lack of native Spanish, the letter has taken nearly a month to print. Currently, I am in the process of collecting signatures for a petition that accompanies the letter. Wish me luck or help me edit, if you can!

“Respetado Doctor Marlom Amaya, Doctor Arsecio Romero, Doctor Luis Medina, Doctor Jorge Pacheco Pertuz y Ministra Beatriz Uribe:

Nosotros, la comunidad de Palomino, queremos informarle sobre el grave problema que nos ha afectado hace muchos años, el tema del basurero. Que como usted está informada queda en la vía hacia la playa. Nosotros queremos, que si ya  fue re-ubicado sea se hado totalmente; ya que si continua así, las personas tirando basura como antes. También queremos comunicarle que Palomino se está convirtiendo en el sitio ideal para los turistas nacionales e internacionales y no queremos presentarnos así.

Ya que sería una pena que vieran como se destruyen nuestro  recursos. Usted debe saber que con este se contamina nuestra agua subterránea de la cual dependemos para nuestra alimentación y además esta causando mucha enfermedades tanto a personas como a animales. Con el problema de la lluvia, nuestra situación empeoró. Le rogamos pronto un relleno sanitario y un comunicado que informe la prohibición de seguir tirando basura en este lugar.

Problemas:

1. Contaminación del agua subterránea y de los manglares
2. Fácil proliferación de roedores y de mosquitos
3. Causa de enfermedades en general
4. Presenta riesgo para los niños
5. Peligro por estar cerca de la tubería de gas de alta presión
6. Desplazamiento durante de invierno
7. Mala imagen para los visitantes
8. Malos olores

Soluciones:

1. Instalar cerca temporaria
2. Arborizar el terreno
3. Recoger basura más visible en la vía
4. Instalar señales de prohibición de tirar basura

El problema de este basurero se origina por la falta de servicio de recolección de basura adecuada. Más de 18 hospedajes que quedan alrededor de Palomino con un promedio 400 turistas y más de 100 empleados que quedan cada noche durante la temporada alta. Necesitamos muy pronto la atención de ustedes para nuestro pueblo que es la puerta principal de la Guajira.

Queremos unirnos de esta manera con ustedes para el embellecimiento de nuestro pueblo, así mejorara el turismo.  Queremos participar con el movimiento de reciclaje en Palomino. Como ustedes saben es una necesidad primordial y ya tenemos la Asociación de Mujeres Recicladoras acá en Palomino. Pedimos un mejor servicio la recolección de basura de Palomino y su alrededor. Por falta de servicio adecuado muchos hospedajes optan por incineración de basura causando un impacto ambiental y visual negativo. Y por falta de recolección de basura hay focos de infecciones en distintos sectores del pueblo especialmente en la vía a la playa.

Lo invitamos a que nos visite para que vea de cerca el verdadero problema y de paso ver las lindas playas que tenemos. De antemano agradecemos una pronta respuesta.”

Looks Like Rain

What is it like to be trapped in a town that is being flooded? As many towns in Colombia are drowned out and mudslides force vehicles off the road, we in Palomino considered ourselves fortunate. On December 26th we got a taste of the helpless feeling the force of water can bring. Dark skies and rain took over by around noon and within an hour streets turned into knee deep running rivers.

On my way to a friend’s home, I waded carefully until one stream nearly knocked me off my feet. Once under one roof, we watched the heavy rain drops fall accompanied by the sound of thunder and only the mountains know what else. Six hours later we needed to venture out for food and learned that it was not possible to pass for the main road because a five foot deep ditch had formed across one of the streets.

We got a few things at the local tiendacita, store, and headed back. We all heard the last one, the last sound that resembled thunder, mudslide and avalanche all in one. The rain continued to beat down. Nearly ten hours later since it began, the rain leveled off and I headed to Calisto´s house next door to spend the night. He barely made it back from the beach.

The following day I learned that three landslides took place. Roberto lost his home and Andres found his house flooded. The path that I always take to get to the beach was impassable. Somehow the stuff in my tent stayed dry . The next day, thunder echoed and we held our breath. More rain would mean real trouble. Without much sun, the clouds passed and we were spared the fate that so many other towns in Colombia have endured. When it comes to the most powerful forces, those of nature, one can only hope for the best.

Gallos and the Mountains of Minca

Everyone told us it was about a six hour hike to Peak Kennedy. From there, one can see the entire mountain range surrounding the snow capped Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta. As I was packing up, Ned and Max, two Americans who are teaching English asked if they could join me. Of course, they could!

On the way back, Roman who was also with us, spotted a boa constrictor and proceeded to pick it up.

We took off about 10:30 in the morning hoping to arrive by late night and to see the sunrise the following day from the peak. Counting on two stores to keep the load light, I brought some instant mashed potatoes and a package of instant noodles for dinner along with some tea. It took about three hours just to get to Campano, the first town, which was really just a bar that sold junk food. The mild rain we were hiking in earlier switched to downpour mode. Out of place in some ways, the large screen plasma was broadcasting footage of the national flood disaster raging around the country. After lunch we bought lots of cookies, white bread and bocadillo, guava paste. Three hours later, we were nowhere near Cerro Kennedy. We camped in a bird reserve in an area where some trees had been cleared for what seemed like beehives. Dinner wasn´t much and we shared some of it with the dogs who had been following us all day. In the morning we started our climb and camped in the clouds about a half hour from the peak. We shared the package of noodles between the three of us and a package of cookies for each. Concern for Max and Ned´s tent in the rain led us to devise a tent fortress comprised of two tents and many large leaves.

At about four, we awoke to a clear sky full of bright stars and constellations seemingly within reach. Lights from Cartagena and Barranquila traced the coastline. Cerro Kennedy is also home to an antennae station as we found out, with a nice roof to sit and watch the sun rise.

On the way down, we all suffered a bit from altitude sickness and were giddy overall. It felt exciting to be wrapping up this adventure. As with all adventures, this one wasn´t over yet. We skedaddled down, hence the altitude sickness and I was hanging back, enjoying the change in thermal zones.

While not an experienced birder, the toucans and finches I glimpsed attest to the amazing biodiversity of this place. Coffee is a popular crop here but the soil is rocky and acidic, somewhat because of the Mexican weeping pine that was planted originally for logging but now is spreading.

A pile of coffee beans roasting in the sun caught my eye, I reached for my camera and continued to descend when I heard a voice shouting.

Coming around the bend I found Max and Ned passing a 50,000 bill and several others. An old woman was yelling at them from behind a barbed wire fence. The boys ushered me to keep going. It turned out my comrades paid for a dead rooster, whose body was never seen, by dogs that did not belong to us when the rooster was out on the main road. I was fairly upset that that they were blatantly taken advantage of but there wasn´t much we could do. I suggested we go back and get this 50,000 rooster for a meal.  We didn’t.The rest of the trip down proved murder and rain free.

Here and There: Randoms on the Run

Flowers

Taganga

Langostinos

Carlos, Koguis and I

Carlos and I got back to Rosa around nine. Time slipped away since we went left for the beach soon after sunrise. It was my first time teaching yoga and explaining how it relates to Buddhism, in Spanish. I hope Carlos got the point. While I was making rice with onions, carrots and platanos maduras, the sweeter kind of platano, Carlos fell asleep in the hammock outback and didn’t see the Koguis arrive. They offered me a two foot long yucca root, the edible part of the yucca plant.  I asked if it was a gift. The two men in knee length white shirts and white pants nodded. After inviting the Koguis to eat with us, I hurried out back to let Carlos know since he and Roberto are currently working with the indigenous people here. Roberto is a friend living on a small farm not far from Rosa. He broke a toe and Carlos is taking care of him. They have been working on the project, Fundacion Tonal, for over a year. Before leaving, Carlos insisted on washing the dishes even though he is already doing everything but bathe Roberto. I pointed at the pot on the stove and told the two men hot chocolate was on its way. They didn’t seem in a hurry. Four more Koguis appeared as I was pouring the chocolate and I was glad there was enough for all. We sat mostly in silence blowing over our cups.