Proyect@ MUCOV: Documenting HERSTORY: Potosi and the silence of the mines

Potosí : The Barren Earth

MUCOV left La Paz with solid memories of urban chaos against the background of steep hillsides and the clarity of blue skies. The end of its first cycle was drawing near, and there were only a couple more adventures and Herstories left to find before the end of our journey due south. In Cochabamba, we met a cooperative of womyn miners who have come from Potosí and who have given us a glimpse into its past and present. With the memory of these Herstories in mind, we accepted an enthusiastic pending invitation and made our way towards the city of Potosí accompanied on the long bus ride by our new friends from La Paz, Pancho, going back to visit his hometown, and Berthita, his caregiver and prominent motherly figure for the last 17 years.

The Cerro Rico of Potosi: Stolen goods, Stolen lives As we entered the city, it was difficult to ignore its most striking feature and the source of its fame: the towering red Pyramid-like triangle of "Cerro Rico" (rich mountain), at once majestic and whole in its solidity yet full of deep gaping holes, like that of a mouth missing half its teeth. The reason for its hapless figure is rooted in its tragic past as a mining town; after the discovery of silver in 1545 in the belly of Cerro Rico, Potosi was transformed into the largest and richest city in South America. But the Spanish empire, in its endless and blood thirsty quest for riches, left this mountain completely barren of all of its silver and precious minerals, a vast quantity of stolen wealth meant to fund their vast conquests. And like in all conquests, stolen goods come at the expense of stolen lives; the number of African and Indigenous slaves, who died as a consequence of the appalling conditions they worked under, is numbered in the millions. And this loss is felt in an almost tangible way; the town possess a quiet quality to it, a certain silence, almost as if the mines in the belly of the earth exude their force like a cloud over the town. The streets are cobblestone and dirt but the houses, in their colonial architecture, and the high number of elaborate churches in the town are there to remind the observers of its once opulent existence.

The Herstory of the Palliri: Sifting the rough pile We decided to take a tour of the mines; besides our desire to witness and explore what was once the heart of this town, we were also hoping to meet other womyn miners and hear their Herstories. With the advice of our guide, we went to the market first to buy presents for the miners we would meet along the way: 100% alcohol (for the cold in the mines that often gets to below zero degrees) hand-made cigarettes, dynamite (the only place in which this is sold legally) and coca leaves (which helps the miners work all day and numb the thirst, hunger and cold). Currently the mountain is mined by cooperatives of miners independently funded who take out whatever metals and minerals are left in the mountain. But we have discovered that womyn are not allowed to work in the mines of Cerro Rico; only the man. However, their work is equally important: besides their multiple tasks in the home and with their children, womyn who work in Cerro Rico are what is called "Palliri"-hand pickers. Their job is to single handedly find and sort out the minerals and metals into different piles. Before entering the mines, MUCOV listened to Herstory of the representative of the Palliri womyn, who, showing us her calloused dust covered hands, shared with us the difficult conditions under which the Palliri work, in which their rights and health are far from guaranteed. As opposed to their male counterparts, their work is done outside, under the hot sun or the pouring rain, without protection or shade or sometimes, a break. The womyn who work here, she says, have long days in which, once they are done with their sorting work, which often leaves them worn out and sore, have to go home and take care of their homes and children and husbands, who are most often miners as well. Sadly enough, she tells us, many Palliri womyn are widows; their husbans die from mining related accidents or dangers and they are forced to find whatever means necessary to survive and support their children. Unfortunately, the Palliri have very few cooperatives and for the most part their work is informal and autonomous, which makes it hard for them to earn what they deserve for their hard work. Her dream, she says, is for the Palliri to get the credit that they deserve and for them to get more organized. We gave her a bag of the treats we brought as a thank you and she run quickly to continue with her work. The Mines:

As we entered the mines, it seemed as though the world had always existed underground. The tunnels were cramped, wet and hot; we could hear the sound of water trickling in and the air smelled like dust and humid earth. We often had to duck under the tubes and hoses that snaked their way around the mines; we imagined the miners working day and night in these conditions, in the heat and cold, in the cramped space and the dust that takes possession of their lungs. We were told that many miners eventually get sick and die from inhaling all of the dust particles that put together become toxic to their bodies. The tunnels have sharp drops to the side, and so we had to constantly pay attention, with the help of our flashlights, where we placed our feet.

One of our first stops within the mine was at the shrine of The Tio (Uncle). Tio represents the god of the underworld (the devil), as opposed to the god of the above-ground world. In each mine, in a quiet and mostly hidden away spot, there is a place of worship for Tio. In order to have good luck in the mines, the miners bestow many gifts and offerings to Tio, and so did we, with the gifts we brought, so that he bestow this luck on us. On the walls, we saw the handiwork of mother earth which can only be done under its surface; haphazard paintings with an invisible brush of colorful patterns created by the minerals and metals. More than anything, we could still feel the presence and the marks left by the generations of slaves who have died with their hands and their bodies wasted, their silence and pain expressed in the silence that can only be heard in the darkness of the mines. Bertita´s Companionship: Herstory of the Caregiver an extra ordinary

MUCOV had the pleasure and good luck of getting to know a remarkable womyn. Bertita, a petite cholita (in Bolivia, womyn of indigenous roots who wear the traditional skirt) with two long graying braids flowing from her back and a soft face with a continuous worried expression, is a caregiver by title and by life. She had a difficult past, since she had to work for a living from a very young age. Her parents could not support her and so she feels as if she did not havr a childhood, like other children. And so she has been taking care of whole families almost her all life. In the last 17 years, she had worked with our friend Pancho´s family in Potosi. She has dedicated her life to be everything for his family: a nanny, a mother, a father, a housewife, a teacher and so on. She sees everything that goes around with a sharpness and a consciousness of all the idiosynchresies of each family member ; She makes her affection and connection to Pancho, her concern for his well being, abundantly clear, in the way she follows him at 2 in the morning as he walks his friends home, or the way in which she worries about his school work, or the way in which she look at him with the eyes of a mother. Her own family consists of her niece and her daughter, who she takes care of whenever she can. What she wants most, is for the people she loves to be happy. Yet there is a sadness to her voice, once that speaks of lost childhood and a world of burdens.

Potosi was a fascinating lesson into the past and gave us a world of information in tangible form. With our hearts full of gratitude for the time we spent with our friends, we continued on to the Salar of Uyuni, a world marvel, another silent world of pure salt that burns your eyes give the force sun’s reflection that comes from the ground. Here is our usual run-on style to summarize MUCOV¨S last adventure in Bolivia:

Bertita´s food, El Molino, green and red hills, walking on rocks, dry feet, Hot springs in a crater, I-pod days, laughter, laughter and more laughter, high above the world, quiet conversations, jeep rides, salt hotels, sunsets, differences of opinions, adolescent boys, heat and cold and heat again, islands in the midst of white, flamingos, lagoons, winds, gazers, more hot springs, train station, sleepless nights, robberies, borders and reflections.