Pachamama Raymi

Pachamama ... who is she? How is she understood by the locals? Do they really have a special bond with her, as the international documents suggest? If they do, why do they let it be dirty and full of trash? Do we really have something to learn from them in this sense? If this worship exists around here, how is it compatible with the Christian faith which is so strong in most of the locals? These are some of the questions to which I want to find answers while I'm here.

I get some bits of the answer during the Pachamama Raymi - Day of the Pachamama (or the “Payment to the Earth” (Pago a la Tierra)), which takes place every year at a stadium in Ccatcca, a small town nestled in the Andes, where my jacket seems even thinner than in Cusco. The whole ceremony is in Quechua, which means it is not a facade for foreigners. In the middle of the football pitch, there is a stage, on which there is nothing at the beginning. The sky is groaning while waiting, the wind is combing the grass on the pitch, the audience is silent in anticipation, and the flutes are playing their stuffy melody. Then it begins: from all four sides of the sky, four streams of fluorescent dancers pour into the middle. Some are wearing devil masks on their faces, some animal ones, some none. With rhythmic leaps they are slowly making their way towards the center, where they settle in four straight rows. Afterwards, dancers in bird disguises and girls who are showing off their traditional skirts through dance, do the same. The whole field is pulsing in a steady beat. Four young men dressed in dark blue are carrying four enormous clay bowls - solemnly, slowly they rise up on stage and occupy all four of its corners. Then suddenly, the Inca prince and princess rise to the middle of the stage, murmuring a prayer for Pachamama with a rumbling voice. They take all four bowls. And just when I think that is when the ceremony is going to end, a Christian priest appears mid-stage, offering the Bible to the Incan prince. He throws it on the floor, causing the Prince and the Princess and all the others to descend from the stage which is now occupied by a large, dark green cross. The priest disappears, while all the rest sit on the floor below the stage and lay offerings for Pachamama - money, candy, corn beer, coca leaves – on the traditional woven cloth. The stage with the cross is deserted – its power acknowledged, yet ignored. The flutes are now still and there is an eerie silence, the beating of the hearts around me almost audible. At that point the dancers make the corridor to welcome the elders of the city, which also take a sit on the ground. And then suddenly the audience begins to pour to the center so they too could donate to their mother Earth. I can’t understand the words, but I am feeling the power of this scene, charged with inexplicable energy. Sitting on the stands, I am taking it in, not thinking about joining them - but then a lady next to me starts chatting with me. "I am Aurora," she says "and this is my grandson Nilmar." She almost succeeds in disguising her distinctness: she is wearing the traditional black braids, tied together to form an oval on her back, and a mandatory hat, skirt and sweater. She is not wearing, though, either a traditional shoulder-wear, or that frequent timid expression – she is talking straight, pronouncing her words strongly, she looks me in the eye when she tells me that she has never spoken with anyone from another country before and she is constantly joking, even later on when people ask her how come she is walking around with me and where she picked up a "gringa". A mixture of admiration, curiosity and doubt in their eyes.  She assures me that the ceremony is not just for the locals, says she will come with me and that I should join them on the pitch. Let’s go.

There are a lot fewer curious stares than I would expect, given the situation. Chicha, homemade corn beer, is splashing from the clay pots when carried past me. Everyone in the line in front of me and behind me is talking in Quechua (which was, by the way, used in Star Wars as the language spoken by Greedo, apparently because it sounds so different from all the other languages). Aurora says she is going to wait for me on the side. I am waiting in line, observing the defined, veiny calves and bare feet of elders - the only parts of their bodies not covered in traditional, multicolored fabrics with horizontal patterns. Pumas, hummingbirds, snakes and condors caught in the wool. Dust is forcing its way into my nose. The view of the seated elders is obstructed by loud boys dressed in fluorescent costumes with sequins, which are obviously bursting with energy because they just successfully pulled off their performance. Soon it’ll be my turn, soon. In my hands I’m gripping four coca leaves, sorted from the largest to the smallest. Soon. In my head a mix of excitement, joy that I get to have this experience and fear that someone will complain that a stranger shouldn’t be taking part in this. Finally, it’s my turn and I turn to kneel before the shaman, who asks me in Spanish what my name is, hugs my hands with his, delivers a prayer in Quechua and takes my offering to Pachamama, mother Earth. Yes, yes. No one complains – to the contrary, on the way back to the stands, I’m accompanied by big smiles and sprinkled with yellow pieces of paper, like all the rest. Apparently they like the fact that I joined their ritual - Aurora was right.

Pachamama Raymi

Pachamama… kdo je mama Zemlja? Kako jo razumejo domačini? Imajo z njo res neko posebno vez, tako kot se predvideva v mednarodnih dokumentih? Če jo imajo, zakaj potem pustijo, da je umazana, polna smeti? Se imamo res česa naučiti od njih v tem smislu? Če to čaščenje obstaja, kako je združljivo s krščansko vero, ki je tako močna v teh ljudeh? To so vprašanja, na katera si hočem odgovoriti medtem, ko sem tukaj.

 

Nekaj zametkov odgovorov dobim med Pachamama Raymi - daritvijo Pachamami, ki se vsako leto odvija v Ccatcci, majhnemu mestu, ugnezdenemu v Andih, kjer se moja bunda zdi še tanjša, kot v Cuscu.  Ves obred je v Quechui, kar pomeni, da ni fasada za tujce. Na sredini nogometnega igrišča je oder, na katerem na začetku ni ničesar.  Nebo vzdihuje v čakanju, veter česa travo na igrišču, občinstvo je tiho v pričakovanju, flavte igrajo svojo zatohlo melodijo. Nato se začne: iz vseh štirih strani neba se na sredino začnejo sipati tokovi fluorescentnih plesalcev. Nekateri imajo na obrazih hudičeve maske, nekateri živalske, nekateri jih nimajo. Z ritmičnimi poskoki se počasi premikajo proti sredini in se ustalijo v štirih ravnih vrstah. Nato se v vrste razporedijo še plesalci v ptičjih preoblekah in punce, ki skozi ples razkazujejo tradicionalna krila. Celo polje utripa v enakomernem ritmu. Štirje v modro oblečeni fantje nosijo štiri gromozanske glinene sklede. Slovesno, počasi se vzpnejo na oder in zasedejo  vse štiri kote. Takrat se iz sredine odra dvigneta inkovski princ in princesa, ki z bobnečim glasom izvedeta molitev Pachamami in sprejmeta sklede vseh štirih. In ravno, ko mislim, da se bo tu slovesnost končala, se iz sredine odra dvigne krščanski duhovnik - inkovskemu princu ponudi Biblijo, ta jo zaluča na tla in takrat se princ in princesa spustita z odra in sredino odra zasede velik, temno zelen križ. Duhovnik izgine, vsi ostali pa se usedejo na tla pod oder in na tradicionalno pleten prt položijo daritve za Pachamamo: denar, sladkarije, koruzno pivo, kokine liste. Oder s križem je zapuščen - moč mu je priznana, a ostane sam. Flavte so tiho, čudna tišina napolni prostor, bitje src, ki me obdajajo, je skoraj slišno. Takrat plesalci naredijo koridor skozi katerega se sprehodijo mestne  starešine in zasedejo mesta pod odrom in s tribun se začne spuščati truma ljudi, da bi tudi oni darovali mami Zemlji. Ne razumem besed, a čutim moč tega prizora, nabitega z energijo. Sedim, se ji prepuščam in ne razmišljam, da bi se jim priključila, a takrat začne z mano klepetati gospa, ki sredi zraven mene. »Aurora sem,« reče »in to je moj vnuk Nilmar.« Skoraj ji uspe prikriti drugačnost: ima tradicionalne črne kite, zvezane skupaj, da tvorijo oval na njenem hrbtu, ter obvezen klobuk, krilo in pulover. A ne nosi ne tradicionalnega ogrinjala in ne tistega pogostega plašnega pogleda – govori naravnost, odločno, gleda me v oči, ko mi pove, da ni še nikoli govorila z nikomer iz druge države in se stalno heca, tudi kasneje, ko jo ljudje sprašujejo, kako to, da hodi okrog z mano in kje je pobrala »gringo«. Mešanica občudovanja, začudenja in dvoma v njihovih očeh. Zagotavi mi, da obred ni samo za domačine, da bo šla z mano na igrišče in da naj se jim pridružim. Naj bo.

Veliko manj je radovednih pogledov, kot bi jih pričakovala, glede na situacijo. Chicha, doma narejeno koruzno pivo, pljuska iz glinenih lončkov, ko se jo nosi mimo mene. Vsi pred mano in za mano v vrsti se pogovarjajo v Quechui (ki so jo v Star Wars uporabili kot jezik, ki ga govori Greedo, ker naj bi zvenela tako drugače od vseh ostalih jezikov). Aurora mi reče, da me bo počakala pri strani. Čakam in opazujem žilava meča in bosa stopala starešin – edina dela njihovih teles, ki nista pokrita s tradicionalnimi, večbarvnimi tkaninah z vodoravnimi vzorci. Na njih v volno ujete pume, kolibriji, kače in kondorji. Prah mi sili v nos. Vrsto sedečih starešin zakrivajo glasni fantje, oblečeni v fluorescentne kostume z bleščicami, ki so očitno polni energije, ker so ravno uspešno odpravili svoj nastop. Še malo in bom na vrsti, še malo. V rokah stiskam štiri kokine liste, razporejene od največjega do najmanjšega. Še malo. V glavi mešanica navdušenja, veselja, da mi je dano to doživeti in strahu, da se bo kdo pritožil, da nima tujka kaj delati tam. Končno sem na vrsti, pokleknem pred šamana, ki me v španščini vpraša, kako mi je ime, objame moje dlani, izreče molitev v Quechui in sprejme mojo daritev Pachamami, mami Zemlji. Noben se ne pritoži – obratno, na poti nazaj na tribuno me spremljajo široki nasmehi, posujejo me po glavi z rumenimi lističi, tako kot vse ostale, in očitno jim je všeč, da sem se priključila njihovemu obredu, ki se ga izvede vsako leto na prvi dan avgusta, dan Pachamame in prvi dan andskega koledarja – Aurora je imela prav.

Ciao, mami, ciao, salmonella!

V nedeljo zjutraj se izgubim v labirintu San Blasa in zato zamudim plesno delavnico. Ampak očitno je že moralo biti tako, ker na Plazi de Armas, kjer čakam, da ura mine, spoznam Tanio. Sedim na stopnicah pred glavno katedralo v Cuscu, očitno vidno nesrečna, ker sem dehidrirana in utrujena od več kot celotedenske borbe s salmonelo, paraziti in mravljinci zaradi višinske bolezni in se mi zdi, da mi gre vse narobe in sem si res, res želela s plesom izprati tečnobo. “Ciao, mami, tengo cruzes andinos…”. Ojoj, ne, zadnje, kar trenutno potrebujem je to, da mi nekdo poskuša prodati nekaj nepotrebnega. Obrazne mišice prisilim v pol-nasmeh in rečem, da tokrat ne bom ničesar kupila. “Ajjjj, mami, kaj je narobe? Zakaj si slabe volje? Ne moreš tako, vse bo minilo,” se nepopustljivo usede zraven mene, očitno trdno odločena, da me potolaži. »No, da vidimo, kaj mi je serviralo vesolje«, se zbito namuznem v sebi. Tega, kar sledi, nisem pričakovala. Tania je iz Ayacucha, mi pove, področja, kjer so bili najbolj aktivni Sendero Luminoso. Njihova bitka za pravice revnih je bila, po njenih besedah, farsa – da bi vzbudili pozornost vlade in ljudi, so uporabljali vsa sredstva. Njej so leta 1985 pobili družino. 22 revnih, kmečkih ljudi, takih, za pravice katerih naj bi se borili. Ona je bila zjutraj na paši in ko se je vrnila v vas, jih je našla na tleh. »Mama je ležala tam«, pokaže na nevidno truplo, turobna, mrzla sled spomina ji prekrije obraz, »brat tam.« Ob njiju so ležali tudi oče, sestre, drugi bratje, njihove žene, otroci. Ona je imela deset let. Pravi, da bi bilo po eni strani lažje, če bi šla z njimi. Takoj po tem so jo sosede iz vasi odpeljale v sirotišnico. O tistem času ne govori. Pri osemnajstih se je vrnila v vas, da bi videla, če je karkoli ostalo od hiše, ostalo ni nič. Takrat se je odpravila v Cusco. »Zato te razumem, kako je, ko si nekje sam in zboliš in nihče ne skrbi zate.« Tania ima temno rjave oči, majhen nos, utrujeno kožo, temno rdeče, trde lase in tri zgornje zobe. »Ne vem, zakaj ti to razlagam, nekaj v meni je hotelo, da ti to povem, da ti bo lažje. Po navadi ne govorim o temu. Ne smeš povedati nikomur v Cuscu, ljudje govorijo,« reče in zbrano pozdravi mimoidočo prodajalko.  »Jaz živim sama na svetu.« Čisto sama? »Ne, imam štiri otroke, el hombre nas je zapustil, ko sem bila v četrto noseča. Imamo stanovanje, ampak jaz in najstarejši spimo na tleh… Najhujše mi je, ko me hči prosi, naj si kupim posteljo. Ne razume, da je ne morem kupiti.« Gane me, da si ta ženska, ki je toliko pretrpela, vzame čas za tolaženje neke tujke, ki ima v toliko pogledih toliko lažje življenje kot ona. Jeva medene krekerje. Žalost, veselje in presenečenje se mešajo in lepijo na prašne delce, ki se svetlikajo v močnem, jutranjem soncu. Preden grem kupit hidracijsko sol, ki me končno spravi pokonci, ji dam nekaj denarja in ji obljubim, da ji bom, preden bom odšla iz Cusca, prinesla vse stvari, ki jih jaz ali ostali iz organizacije ne bomo mogli vzeti s sabo, preden bomo zapustili Peru…. 

Ja, ja, seveda je možno, da vse skupaj ni res. Cinični del mene mi šepeta, da obstaja možnost, da sem nasedla prvovrstni, čeprav kruti zgodbi, ki je servirana naivnim turistom zato, da iz sočutja kupijo nekaj, česar drugače ne bi. A njen nasmeh je nekaj najbolj močnega in iskrenega, kar sem videla v zadnjem času, njen ritem in ton izhajata iz nečesa globokega in vse ostalo v meni pravi, da mi je govorila resnico, ki me je prerešetala in spravila na noge. Melissa Chadburn v svojem članku na Jezebel pravi "Resilience is futile" in kritizira paradigmo, ki spodbuja človeško odpornost kot univerzalno zdravilo. V veliki večini se strinjam: strukture, ki ustvarjajo neenakost in prekarnost, je treba spremeniti in človek ni narejen zato, da v vsaki situaciji, kakršnakoli že je, vztraja in zdrži, saj bi to pomenilo, da naj bi bil pripravljen požreti vse, brez upiranja. A niso vsi načini za ustvarjanje sprememb sprejemljivi in v vsakem primeru sta za kakršnokoli spremembo, premik ali upor - notranji ali zunanji - potrebni volja in energija. Smiljenje sami oz. samemu sebi ni še nikoli nič spremenilo in nobeni in nobenemu pomagalo.

                 

Zato se res spravim na noge in dan nam nato prinese krasno popoldne: brunch v HH, hostlu, ki je oaza sredi mesta, majhen vodnjak svetlobe, zanimivih ljudi in delavnic, toplote, urejenosti in barv, in nato pohod do Hudičevega balkona. Do Hudičevega balkona se vzpnemo mimo polj in hiš, ki izgledajo, kot da bi se izgubile na poti domov, kot da ne spadajo v bližino tega na svoj način pompoznega mesta. Petnajst minut stran je - vsaj navzven - realnost čisto drugačna, kot v centru. Ne samo, da so hiše revne, krite z aluminijem, azbestom ali slamo in narejene iz zbite zemlje. Tu se živi zunaj. Tu vladajo piščanci in agresivni psi, vonj evkaliptusov se meša z vonjem ognja, ki se kuri na dvoriščih in vsake toliko časa mimo pricapljajo plišasti osli.

Z vsakim prehojenim metrom se mi boljša razpoloženje in počutje, klepetam zdaj z enim, zdaj z drugim od pohodnikov, ki so z mano na poti: z igralko in joga inštruktorico iz Kalifornije, popotnikom iz Floride, ki se želi naučiti špansko, budistom in plezalcem iz Čila, ki ima prednike iz Brača,… Razgled je čaroben: mehka svetloba, ki se zliva po terasah, ki obvladujejo griče, nasadi evkaliptusov, zelena v vseh mogočih odtenkih, majhni, čisti potoki, trume lam in alpak, ki hitijo v dolino, ogromne skale, pod katerimi včasih sedijo skupine ljudi, ki so vzeli ayahuasco ali san pedro in se jim odpirajo razgledi navznoter. Na poti nazaj splezamo na vrh ene od teh skal, da ujamemo pogled na Saksaywaman, inkovsko citadelo, katere veličastna sivina se kopa v zlato-rožnatem sijaju zahoda. V njenem naročju vsako leto poteka Inti Raymi, ceremonija v čast bogu Soncu. »Si predstavljaš, da so letos prvič naredili posebno tribuno v samem centru Saksaywamana, v centru ceremonije Inti Raymi, na kateri en sedež stane okoli 400 dolarjev in ki so jih letos kupili izključno tujci?« mi reče ena od punc. Najraje si ne bi. VIP loža, realno dostopna samo tujcem, v srcu ene od edinih ceremonij, ki so se obdržale po kolonizaciji. Packa na slikarkinem platnu. Na hribu nasproti še ena podoba kolonizacije: beli Kristus, ki tekmuje z mogočnostjo Saksaywamana. Prihajajoča tema nas prisili v spust. Večer nadaljujemo z večerjo v HH, kjer prvič po enem tednu jem nekaj, kar ni močnato, krhko ali polno škroba. Kvinoja, paprika, melancani, korenje, brokoli, doma narejen quacamole, mladi sir, olivno olje s svežo baziliko, tunin namaz. Juuu…Meša se mi od okusov in veselja. Večer zaključimo na koncertu banda Amaru Pumac Kuntur, ki ga v Cuscu pozna vsak in ki igra fusion tradicionalne perujske glasbe, ska-ja, reggae-ja in elektronike. Čista doza energije in karizma frontmana, ki uspe občinstvo hkrati potopiti v globine pred-inkovske in inkovske filozofije in nas dvigniti v ples brez misli. Na poti domov gledam hribe okoli Cusca, ki so oživeli v stoterih lučkah. Približno toliko jih gori tudi v meni.

                                           English version coming soon!

Words, step aside.

  

Highlights from the long 22-hour bus ride from Lima to Cusco. 

Finally at the Casa Mosqoy in Cusco!

 View of Cusco from the Casa Mosqoy...

 ...and up close.

   

The fields on the way to the Temple of the Moon. 

  

Another Inca King at the entrance to the Inca Museum in Cusco.

More coming soon!

On bitchy llamas and Incan kings that continue to live on (English version)

"Llamas are bitchy," a coworker explains to me, preparing me for the first hike on Saturday, "do not get too close to them." From there, we dive into a talk about Georgia O'Keeffe, who painted New Mexico all her life, about Slovenia. We then jump to the “Fed up” documentary, to violence against transgender people in New Orleans and to violence against women in indigenous Peruvian villages, until the office door displays Raul, the always-smiling creature who doesn’t like too many rules, cooking or cleaning. He asks if he can sleep at his uncle’s, who lives in the center Cusco… they’ll be celebrating the purchase of a new car. Two minutes after that, Talia knocks on the door. She asks if she can use the Mosqoy’s stationary phone to call her mother, who lives in Ollantaytambo, a small, poor town where rural, indigenous inhabitants live, and tells us the dinner will be ready in 5 minutes. At that moment my pronunciation of the name of her home town still constitutes a problem. Who would have thought that a few hours later I’d have known the history of that place, which is - now I know - one of the most important in the history of the Incas. Dinner is a heaped plate of a mixture of pasta and potatoes with peas, carrots and eggs, which after yesterday, which I spent entirely in bed and with abdominal cramps, does not seem like the best idea. I try a bit and save the rest and because they know what sorry condition I was in yesterday, they do not take offense. Talia says that her stomach also hurts, from which the chat develops into a conversation about dance which she has been practicing since she was little, the traditional dances here, in Slovenia and in New Mexico, the salsa, which we danced on Friday and about reggaeton, which is popular here. I sigh a bit inside, as I’m relieved that these boys and girls, the students Mosqoy supports and that will be my house-mates for at least the next month, are becoming more relaxed with me. We come from completely different backgrounds, half of them are still in puberty, my Spanish is still limping, and every couple of months they have to get used to the new people who come here. Until yesterday it seemed to me that they will have a hard time opening to me. But today, after dinner, we spontaneously start dancing and dancing obviously always and everywhere brings people together. We show them salsa and bachata that are new to them. And then, before I know it, I’m learning the typical dances of Peru's highlands! The heels are creating the rhythm. We are gesturing with the invisible skirts and imaginary hats are sitting on our heads as clothing and highlighting its movement is an important part of the dance. Christian is standing shyly in the corner, but when I ask him if he knows these dances, he nods quickly and a strong memory suddenly fills his eyes. Who knows what the story is there? The Peruvian-African dances follow, which are a result of the mixing of the Peruvian culture and the cultures of the former African slaves brought to Peru - rapid waves that are bending the bodies, wide smiles. My hips which are painfully trying to follow… lots of laughter. We decide to give the floor to the dancers on Youtube. The dances of the Northern Peru follow - solid, elegant, suggestive, and deriving from Spain…rigid as passion that isn’t allowed to happen. Finally, the dances of the jungle (which covers more than half of Peru) - now I know where Shakira got her inspiration from!

The evening takes a new turn as I mention that I'm sorry that I didn’t arrive to Cusco a few days earlier because that would have allowed me to experience the 24^th of June’s Inti Raymi, the Inca festival of the Sun and the New Year, the old-Inca ceremony in honor of the god Inti, which is celebrated on the shortest day year, the winter solstice. The girls start giggling because it turns out that their first association to the Inti Raymi is Nivardo Carillo, an actor who each year plays the part of the Incan king. Very tall, with broad shoulders and strong hands, with long, black hair and a substantial, sharp nose, he is a typical Inca man, they tell me in an unusual voice, expressing at the same pride and shame. It is not clear to me whether the shame stems from his resemblance to the Incas or from the fact that they are ashamed to say that they like someone. Both options are possible, given how much propaganda in Peru dictates the white, Western ideal of beauty, which bodes from all the posters and advertisements and is creepily watching over people which don’t resemble it in almost any way. From the talks from the previous days I also know that many natives are ashamed of their heritage and that in Cusco they try to assimilate to such an extent that they sometimes deny that they understand their first language, Quechua. I wonder what the girls’ reaction will be, so I say that to me he seems very attractive, and I ask them who they think the most attractive Peruvian actor is. After the inevitable "uuuuuuu" and a fit of giggles, they collect themselves and agree in a hurry that that yes, yes, of course, he is the most attractive Peruvian actor. On the inside I smile - advertising clearly did not work on them. Of course, it is now necessary to check out this reincarnation of Inca kings in action, so they show me the video of the famous play “Ollantay”. To my surprise, it turns out that the place where the majority of the students come from, Ollantaytambo, which today is the poorest in its province, and in which approximately 70% of the population lives in poverty, wasn’t always in such state – that in fact, it is home to one of the oldest and most important Incan dramas and one of the biggest revolts against the Incan kings. Concerning the origin of the drama, there are different theories, but the most likely one is that the story stems from the Inca times and was preserved through oral tradition until the Spaniards first set it on stage and wrote it down.

Nivardo Carrillo, the reincarnation of the Incan kings

So how does the story go? A general of the Incan armies, Ollantay is a warrior of commoner origin that has been decorated and elevated to the nobility in return for his service to the empire. He falls in love with Cusi Coyllur (or Kusi Quyllur, "happy star"), the daughter of the Inca ruler Pachacutec, but this love is prohibited due to his commoner background. Nevertheless, blinded by love, he pursues a secret relationship with Cusi Coyllur, a secret shared only with the Queen Ccoya Anahuarqui. Despite ominous omens from the Incan high priest, Ollantay decides to ask the Incan king for his daughter's hand. Pachacutec, reminding Ollantay of his humble origins, reproaches Ollantay for his audacity and angrily expels him from the court. Cusi Coyllur is then imprisoned in the Acllahuasi ("house of chosen women") where she is to expiate her sins; there she gives birth to a baby girl, fruit of her love with Ollantay, that she names Ima Sumac ("how beautiful"). Ollantay, on learning that Cusi Coyllur is no longer in the pallace, believes that she has been murdered and decides to leave the imperial capital Cusco together with his servant and confidant Piqui Chaqui ("flea foot"). He threatens to one day return and destroy Cusco, then flees to the city which carries his name, Ollantaytambo, where he and his followers arm themselves and prepare for battle.

The Incan ruler Pachacutec orders his general Rumi Nawi ("Stone-eyed") to gather forces and march to confront Ollantay. Ollantay sends his general Orqo Waranka ("A thousand mountains") to ambush Rumi Nawi in a mountain pass, defeating Rumi's forces but allowing him to escape. Other battles ensue. Ten years later Pachacutec dies without having defeated Ollantay, and his son Tupac Yupanqui succeeds him. Meanwhile, in the Acllahuasi, Cusi Coyllur has endured hardship at the hands of Mama Caca ("Stone Mother") but also found an ally in Pitu Salla ("Twinned Love"), who has raised Cusi's daughter Ima Sumac as her own. When Ima accidentally discovers her true heritage, she proposes to go to the new Incan king and ask for clemency for her mother.

At the same time, new Incan ruler Tupac Yupanqui resolves to finally defeat and capture Ollantay, and sends Rumi Nawi, who promises to redeem his earlier failure. Rumi Nawi employs a deceptive plan: he presents himself at the gates of Ollantaytambo covered in wounds, pretending that the new Incan ruler has abused him and suggesting that he would like to join Ollantay's rebellion. When the gates are opened, Rumi Nawi's men capture Ollantay, Orqo Waranka, and other rebels without resistance, eventually bringing them to Cusco to face Tupac Yupanqui's judgement. After consultation with his advisors and his generals, Tupac condemns the prisoners to death, but then reverses himself at the last minute and not only pardons them, but decides to give them high-ranking posts in the empire. Ollantay is named the senior general and deputy of the Inca ruler, while Orqo Waranka is named ruler of the state of Antisuyu.

Soon afterwards, Ima Sumac enters the imperial pallace to ask for clemency for her imprisoned mother. Although Tupac doesn't yet know who this is, he takes an interest in the case and together with Ollantay goes to the Acllahuasi. There they find a woman with very long hair and a ghostly appearance that Tupac finally recognizes as his sister. Cusi Coyllur tells her story, and a magnanimous Tupac Yupanqui frees her and immediately gives her hand to Ollantay, ending the Incan drama on a happy note.

When the video finishes, our evening also ends. The night brings me a restless sleep and dreams in which I'm fighting for supremacy in spitting with a llama and obviously lose. Apparently they deserved that comment from my coworker.

On bitchy llamas and Incan kings that continue to live on

“Llamas are bitchy,” mi razloži sodelavka, kar naj bi me pripravilo na jutrišnji prvi pohod do vasi, »ne približuj se jim preveč«. Od tam zajadrava v pogovor o Novi Mehiki, o Georgi O'Keeffe, ki jo je vse življenje slikala, o Sloveniji in nato o filmu Fed up, o nasilju nad transseksualci v New Orleansu in o nasilju nad ženskami v domorodnih perujskih vaseh, dokler se ne na vratih pisarne prikaže Raul, vedno nasmejano bitje, ki ne mara preveč pravil, kuhanja in pospravljanja. Sprašuje, če lahko prespi pri stricu, ki živi v centru Cusca, praznovali bodo nakup novega avta. Dve minuti za tem potrka Talia. Sprašuje, če lahko z domačega telefona pokliče mamo, ki živi v Ollaytantambu, majhnem mestu,v katerem živijo domorodci, in nama pove, da bo čez 5 minut večerja. V tistem momentu mi izgovarjava imena njenega kraja še vedno predstavlja problem. Kdo bi si mislil, da bom par ur zatem poznala zgodovino tega kraja, ki je, zdaj vem, eden najbolj pomembnih v inkovski zgodovini. Večerja. Zvrhan krožnik mešanice pašte in krompirja z grahom, korenjem in jajci, ki se mi po včerajšnjem dnevu, ki sem ga v celoti preživela v postelji in v trebušnih krčih, ne zdi najboljša ideja. Nekaj malega pojem in ostalo shranim in ker vedo, v kakšnem stanju sem bila včeraj, ne zamerijo. Talia reče, da tudi njo boli trebuh, iz česar se potem razvije pogovor o plesu, ki ga je trenirala, odkar je bila majhna, o tradicionalnih plesih tukaj, v Sloveniji in v Novi Mehiki, o salsi, ki jo bomo plesali v petek in o reggaetonu, ki je tu popularen. Oddahnem si, da so študentje, ki jih podpira mosqoy, vedno bolj sproščeni z mano. Prihajamo iz povsem različnih okolij, na pol so še v puberteti, moja španščina še malo šepa in vsakih par mesecev se morajo navaditi na nove ljudi, ki prihajajo sem. Do včeraj se mi je zdelo, da se mi bodo težko odprli, danes pa se po večerji spontano začne ples in ples očitno vedno in povsod združuje ljudi. S Caro jim pokaževa salso in bachato, ki sta za njih novost. Naenkrat se učim tipične plese perujskega visokogorja. S petami ustvarjamo ritem, vihtimo navidezna krila in na glavah nam sedijo namišljeni klobuki. Pomemben del plesa so oblačila in poudarjanje njihovega gibanja. Christian sramežljivo stoji v kotu, a ko ga vprašam, če pozna te plese, hitro pokima in nek močan spomin mu v hipu napolni pogled.  Nato perujsko-afriški plesi, ki jih je prineslo mešanje kultur Afričanov in Perujcev, hitri valovi, ki ukrivljajo telo, širok nasmeh. Moji boki, ki se mukoma trudijo slediti. Smeh. Oder odstopimo plesalcem na youtubu. Sledijo plesi severnega Peruja, trdni, elegantni, namigujoči, tradicionalno španski. Zavrti kot strast, ki se ne sme zgoditi. Nato plesi džungle, ki prekriva več kot polovico Peruja. Zdaj vem, od kje je dobila inspiracijo Shakira. 

Večer spremeni smer, ko omenim, da mi je žal, da nisem prišla v Cusco par dni prej, ker bi tako 24. junija še doživela Inti Raymi, inkovsko novo leto in festival sonca, staro-inkovsko ceremonijo v čast boga Inti, ki se praznuje na najkrajši dan v letu, zimski solsticij. Punce se začnejo hihitati, ker se izkaže, da je zanje prva asociacija na Inti Raymi očitno Nivardo Carillo, igralec, ki vsako leto igra inkovskega kralja.  Zelo visok, širokih ramen in močnih rok, z dolgimi, črnimi lasmi in izrazitim nosom, je tipičen inkovski moški, kar mi je povejo z nenavadnim glasom, ki izraža obenem ponos in sram. Ni mi jasno ali sram izhaja iz dejstva, da je podoben Inkom, ali iz tega, da jih je sram reči, da jim je nekdo všeč. Oboje je možno, glede na to, koliko propagande v Peruju diktira belski ideal lepote, ki bode iz vseh plakatov in reklam in srhljivo bdi nad ljudstvom, ki mu ni v skorajda ničemer podobno. Po pogovorih iz prejšnjih dni tudi vem, da se veliko domorodcev sramuje svoje dediščine in se v Cuscu poskuša asimilirati do take meje, da zanikajo, da razumejo svoj prvi jezik, Quechuo. Zanima me, kakšna bo njihova reakcija, zato rečem, da se meni zdi zelo privlačen in da me zanima, kateri se njim zdi najbolj privlačen perujski igralec. Po neizogibnem »uuuuuuu« in navalu hihitanja, se zberejo in hitijo pritrditi, da ja, da je seveda on najbolj privlačen perujski igralec. Navznoter se nasmehnem, reklame nanje očitno niso delovale.  Seveda je zdaj treba pogledati to reinkarnacijo inkovskih kraljev  v akciji, zato mi pokažejo posnetek igre Ollantay. Izkaže se, da je mesto, od koder prihaja večina študentov, Ollantaytambo, ki je danes najrevnejše v provinci in v katerem približno 70% prebivalstva živi v revščini, dom najstarejše inkovske drame in mesto enega največjih uporov proti inkovskim kraljem. Glede izvora drame obstajajo različne teorije, a najbolj verjetna je, da drama izhaja iz inkovskih časov in da je bila ohranjena skozi oralno tradicijo, dokler je niso Španci prvič zapisali.

Kip inkovskega vladarja v centru Cusca.

 

In kdo je bil Ollantay (beri naprej samo, če te zanima vsebina drame)? General inkovske vojske, Ollantay, je bil  bojevnik nižjega stanu, ki je bil zaradi zaslug v vojski povišan v člana plemstva. Zaljubil se je v Cusí Coyllur ("srečna zvezda"), hčerko inkovskega vladarja Pachacuteca, vendar je bila ljubezen prepovedana. Kljub temu sta Cusí Coylluri in Ollantay nadaljevala zvezo, za kar je vedela samo kraljica Ccoya Anahuarqui. Kljub zloveščim znamenjem inkovskega vélikega duhovnika, se je Ollantay odločil vprašati inkovskega kralja za hčerino roko. Pachacutec je jezno spomil Ollantaya na njegove skromne začetke in ga vrgel z dvora. Cusi Coyllur so zaprli v Acllahuasi ("hišo izbranih žensk"), kjer naj bi se spokorila za svoje grehe; tam je rodila deklico, katere oče je bil Ollantay, in ji dala ime Ima Ruj ("tako lepa"). Ko je Ollantay izvedel, da Cusi Coyllur ni več v palači, je sklepal, da je bila umorjena. Zapustil je cesarsko prestolnico Cusco skupaj s svojim zaupnikom Piqui Chaqui ("noga z bolhami") in zagrozil, da se bo enkrat vrnil in uničil Cusco. Potem je zbežal v mesto, ki po njemu še danes nosi ime Ollantaytambo. Tam so se on in njegovi privrženci oborožili in pripravili za bitko.Inkovski vladar Pachacutec je odredil svojemu generalu Rumi Nawi ("Kamnitook") naj se sooči z Ollantayem. Ollantay je poslal svojega generala Orqo Waranka ("Tisoč gora") naj preseneti Rumi Nawi na gorskem prelazu. Tako je Ollantayeva vojska premagala Rumijeve sile, ampak so Rumiju nato vseeno  dovolili pobegniti. Bitke so se nadaljevale. Deset let kasneje je Pachacutec umrl, ne da bi porazil Ollantaya, in njegov sin Tupac Yupanqui je zasedel prestol. 

V tem času je Cusi Coyllur v hiši izbranih žensk prestajala stiske, a je našla tudi zaveznico v Pitu Salla ("pobratena ljubezen"), ki je skrbela za Ima Ruj, kot bi bila njena hči. Ko je nato Ima Ruj slučajno odkrila svojo pravo dediščino, je predlagala, da se novega inkovskega kralja prosi za pomilostitev za njeno mamo. Istočasno se je novi inkovski vladar Tupac Yupanqui odločil, da bo končno porazil in zajel Ollantaya, in je nadenj poslal generala Rumi Nawi, ki je obljubil, da se bo odkupil za svoje prejšnje napake. Rumi Nawi se je prikazal na vratih Ollantaytamba v ranah in se pretvarjal, da ga nov inkovski vladar muči in da bi se rad pridružil Ollantayevemu uporu. Ko so odprli vrata, je Rumi Nawijeva vojska zajela Ollantaya, Orqo Waranki in druge upornike ter jih pripeljala do Cusca na soočenje s sodbo Tupac Yupanquija. Po posvetovanju s svojimi svetovalci in generali, je Tupac obsodil zapornike na smrt, nato pa si je v zadnjem trenutku premislil in je ne samo pomilostil upornike, ampak jih je postavil na visoka mesta v cesarstvu. Ollantay je bil imenovan za višjega namestnika inkovskega vladarja, medtem ko je bil Orqo Waranka imenovan za vladarja ene od provinc. Kmalu zatem je Ima Ruj vstopila v cesarsko palačo, da bi zaprosila za pomilostitev za svojo zaprto mater. Čeprav Tupac ni vedel, kdo njena mati je, se je skupaj z Ollantayem odpravil v hišo izbranih žensk, Acllahuasi. Tam so našli izčrpano žensko z zelo dolgimi lasmi, ki jo je Tupac prepoznal kot svojo sestro. Cusi Coyllur je nato povedala svojo zgodbo in Tupac Yupanqui jo je osvobodil in takoj dal njeno roko Ollantayu. 

Ko se konča posnetek, se konča tudi naš večer, mene pa nato čaka nemiren spanec in sanje, v katerih se borim z lamo za premoč v pljuvanju in izgubim. Očitno je bil komentar na njihov račun upravičen.