A Glimpse of the Future Coming from Behind by Paula Veselovschi
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Santiago de Okola |
The strong August winds were
swiping the barren fields of this tiny village on the Bolivian shore of Lake
Titicaca. Don Tomas invited me into his house. Surely, he wouldn’t leave me sitting
outside to freeze. Don Tomas, the organizer of my homestay there in Santiago de
Okola, was trying to get a hold of Doña Lucia over the telephone. My host. For
the next three days, I would be sharing her house, food and company.
“There’s one thing I forgot to
tell you, though,” he said. “She doesn’t speak Spanish.”
“At all?”
“Well, a little bit. But you’ll
mostly have to talk to her in Aymara.”
Oh.
Aymara, an indigenous language
spoken in parts of Bolivia, Peru, Chile and Argentina, wasn’t completely new to
me. A few years before, while reading a book, I had come across an unusual bit
of information: this language, it said, sees the future as behind us, rather
than in front of us. The strangeness of this worldview stuck to my mind and
now, years later, I arrived in La Paz, contacted the Aymara Language and
Culture Institute, and took some lessons. Spending three days with somebody who
spoke only Aymara, though, took the challenge to a new level.
“Don’t people here speak Spanish as well?” I
dared to ask.
“Some of them do. The young
people in particular, but Doña Lucia is seventy-two.”
I moved my gaze across the room,
trying to find an escape from my newly-found apprehensiveness, but in the
austere-looking home of Don Tomas I found few things to distract my attention –
a table, a gas stove, an old black radio, and Don Tomas himself, standing. He
had just offered me the only chair he had.
“Don’t worry, she’s a lovely
lady,” he said. “Her husband is dead, her son is in La Paz, so she’s thrilled
to have somebody around for a couple of days.”
Santiago de Okola was desolate
in the winter. Houses there were scattered far from each other, separated by
distances rather than by fences. Two pigs and a woman sorting frozen potatoes
in her yard were the only living beings in sight.
We found Doña Lucia in the
kitchen, sitting on the ground, legs crossed under her ankle-long skirt. As she
saw us, she rose slowly, greeting me with a beaming smile and uttering words
which I didn’t understand. Don Tomas showed me my room. I dropped my backpack,
and off he went.
I went back to the kitchen, a
small windowless adobe hut crammed with old burnt pots, tins, buckets, sacks of
potatoes, corn, beans, and a few vegetables on a shelf. The wind was blowing
through the cracks in the walls and the door was wide open to let the light in.
Doña Lucia was peeling potatoes in a plastic basin, and boiling some water on a
small stove. My lunch.
I tried to recall what I had
learned in my classes. Some words that sounded vaguely familiar, the
conjugations for about ten verbal tenses I had no idea how and when to use, and
countless rules for constructing a basic sentence.
“Nayax aymar yatikta,” I said as I took a seat on a piece of wood by
the entrance. I had crafted this sentence beforehand and rehearsed it in my
head for four minutes or so. “I’m learning Aymara.”
She already knew that. Don Tomas
had told her. She replied quickly, as if she were talking to another villager.
I didn’t understand a thing. But that was fine. The ice had been broken.
“Jumax phayta?” I tried again. This time I knew the phrase was incorrect,
but I still hoped the message would get through. “You cook?” Doña Lucia was now
washing some vegetables and I wanted to offer my help.
She somehow seemed to
understand. She pointed to the bucket and said something. I understood “uma”. Water.
As I came back with the full
bucket, I gained a bit more confidence and tried to name some of the objects
around us. Potato. Cat. Beans. Tomato. Corn. House.
“Jumax,” I started, but I realized I lacked the vocabulary to finish
the sentence – what’s “to eat” in Aymara? I dried my hands, rose up quickly and
ran to my room, to bring my pocket-size grammar manual. Will you eat with me,
Doña Lucia?
The second day, I told her about
my parents. She showed me an old picture in black and white. It was her, with
her late husband and her son.
“Qauqi?” she then asked, pointing at me.
Qauqi? What’s that, I thought.
“Maya, paya, kimsa,” she said.
Wait, Doña Lucia, I’ll get
there. Maya, paya, kimsa are the
numbers. One, two, three. She was asking me how many brothers or sisters I
have. None, I am an only child.
It always took me some seconds to
break her sentences down into words, a few more to figure out if I recognized
any of them, and reassemble them into a message. Most of the times, I simply
didn’t understand. Some of the times I did. Our conversations were slow and
bumpy.
That evening, Don Tomas dropped
by to check if everything was alright.
“Are the two of you getting along?”
he asked me.
“We do. I just wish I could
understand what she says and talk to her,” I said. “It’s been tough.”
“Don’t worry,” he interrupted,
“Doña Lucia told me she adores you!”
“Really? How come?”
“You speak Aymara.”
In Bolivia, a country where most
of the population is indigenous, Aymara is one of the four official languages,
the mother tongue of some 1.2 million people in the high Andes plateau.
However, this number is decreasing. Schoolbooks in Aymara are rarely available,
despite the country’s objective of having education in indigenous languages.
And speaking Spanish is a must, if you want to find a job. As a result, an ever
rising number of indigenous families, especially from the urban environment,
now choose to raise their children only in the country’s lingua franca.
Santiago de Okola was no city, but even there, Don Tomas explained me, it was
mostly the adults and the elderly that used Aymara in their day-to-day
conversations. What is now a living language may, in a few generations, become
silence. But we don’t know that for sure. The future, in Aymara, is behind us
because we cannot see it.
The fourth morning, it was time
to say goodbye. I needed to catch a ride to the main road to La Paz. Doña
Lucia offered to help. We walked to the main square. I dropped my big backpack
and leaned it against a wall. It was a sunny day, but the air was crisp. The
August winds were still swiping the barren fields of this tiny village on the
shores of Lake Titicaca.
A young girl came in our direction,
carrying a bag of envelopes. The postwoman, I thought.
“Kauks saraskta?” Doña Lucia greeted her.
“No, no, no, I’m sorry, I don’t
speak Aymara, no entiendo,” she replied.
“She’s asking you where you are
going,” I translated Doña Lucia’s words to the girl. Then I waited for her to
answer.
___________________________________________
Paula Veselovschi is a traveller from
Romania, passionate about discovering the intricacies lying under the skin of
the places she visits. In love with all things South American, she has been
travelling and living on the continent since 2012. Her current home is
Colombia.
Judge's Comment: This story turned my vision of the world and of communication upside down. The author describes Aymara, an indigenous language spoken in several countries of South America, a language which '...sees the future as behind us...' The future behind us...what a comforting idea.
Judge's Comment: This story turned my vision of the world and of communication upside down. The author describes Aymara, an indigenous language spoken in several countries of South America, a language which '...sees the future as behind us...' The future behind us...what a comforting idea.
What a story. Truly inspiring! I love the closing image. The stranger has become your friend and translates for you to your neighbour.
ReplyDeleteStorytelling at a new level, exactly what the world needs, back to humanity, life, togetherness, care, great stories. Thank you for giving us that, Paula
ReplyDeleteinteresanta poveste
ReplyDeleteI have seen this world through this story. A story of patience and of communication without borders. Words and languages are borders only for those who can't see the past, the future or the thought as communication media.
ReplyDeleteLove it Paula, feels like a rare glimpse into a private world.
ReplyDeleteGreat!
ReplyDeleteAmazing! Great writing skills you have. I am still waiting for a book with all your adventures.
ReplyDeleteLovely piece of writing, as always for Paula. Keep traveling and inspiring us with your stories!
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteWhat an effort to learn a language that is dying. I can not imagine how long it takes to build a language over the centuries.
ReplyDeleteWhat are you going to do Paula, with your new language? It's a cultural heritage anyway...
Marius F.
Paula, I loved reading it. It deserves a sequel...tell us about this strange language, Aymara what legends does it tell?
ReplyDeleteWonderful! :) Make a book of your stories and publish it, I loved reading it! :)
ReplyDeletePal Agnes.
Lovely story as always. Fascinating description. Congratulations!
ReplyDeleteEven though I was so far away when I read the story, it made me feel I was living in South America for a few minutes. Thank you Paula.
ReplyDeleteVery catchy story
ReplyDeleteI was there.
ReplyDeletelovely story!congratulation!
ReplyDelete"separated by distances rather than by fences"... Great writing! Definitely want to read more!
ReplyDeleteSuch a great and inspiring story, teaches us about the true meaning of compassion and kindness. Would definately read more stories loke this.
ReplyDeleteHi Paula, this really a beautifully written piece! And l learned something about a new language. Thank you!
ReplyDeleteReading this piece gets the reader right there in Doña Lucia's adobe dwelling. THAT is powerful writing!
ReplyDeleteI am flabergasted how far you have travelled. It appears since last year you have reached your goals. Way too go. A very good story. Too little glimpses through ypur eyes for the village. Perhaps it would have been more intresting finding out more about the villagers and their joy and sorrows but it makes me want more which is good.
ReplyDeleteI love the way you relate the experience and particularly its meaning.
ReplyDeleteYou make me wish to visit South America
ReplyDeleteloved your writing; I am looking forward to an edited collection of everything you've published so far. I can't wait for the next read.
ReplyDeleteAmazing!Great writing.
ReplyDeletePaula, this is a great article! Beautiful conclusion and quite sad thinking that there are so many places in the world that are in the same situation... And thank you for getting us to know Aymara.
ReplyDeleteWhen will you write THE book?
heel moi en boeiend geschreven! Bedankt en gefeliciteerd, Paula!
ReplyDeleteCharming story, Paula!
ReplyDeleteWell done, Paula. If you write a book, I'll publish.
ReplyDeleteIt looks like you dare to wonder and love to write. This is one of those stories that can change the world, very inspiring!
ReplyDeleteGreat story to learn from! Thank you, Paula!
ReplyDeleteBeautiful story Paula! True bonding between people, regardless of their age, language, culture! Thank you for sharing this wonderfull experience with the world!
ReplyDeleteBeautiful story Paula! True bonding between people, regardless of their age, language, culture! Thank you for sharing this wonderfull experience with the world!
ReplyDeleteI liked the story very much...it made me dreaming about far places and unknown adventures!
ReplyDeleteHi everyone, thank you all for your kind words! This was a special experience for me, and I'm happy you read the piece and enjoyed it!
ReplyDeletePaula