Picking Potatoes

 “Say yes, whatever it is, say yes. And simple as it sounds, that's all the excuse Life needs to grab you by the hands and start to dance.”
-quotation on a bracelet I received for college graduation

“Benjamín, we're going up to the chakra* this Sunday to pick potatoes. Want to come?”

When Kevin was visiting in January, we went to help a neighbor put some fence posts in around his chakra. Kevin pushed me to get more involved in the farming culture here. “See if you can go with people on the weekends or something, take advantage of the harvest season to get involved and build community outside of the Jesuit circle.”

He was right – my main social circle here is the volunteers, nun, and priests who are in Quispicanchi to support the Jesuit mission. But I didn't come here to build community with people who aren't from here, I came to build community with the locals. Building community outside my house is something I've done a lot of, but one can always do a bit more.

I had my friend's advice ringing in my ears, and a pretty clear directive wrapped around my wrist. So I did the obvious thing. I said “Yes.”

That's why I found myself slipping out of the house at 6AM to walk over to my friend Marizela's house. I walked in and met the rest of the family. They served me some hot soup (with potatoes and meat) and then we set off walking up the mountain roads.

A group that left later than us came in what was basically a dump truck. When they caught us up we climbed in the back with everyone else. Going up the unpaved, worn down, twisty dirt road felt kind of like standing on the deck of a ship on a wavy day at sea. Halfway up Marizela and I climbed out to herd a group of 4 cows and a donkey up the footpath. It was a shorter road, so we all arrived to the chakra around the same time.

This may be surprising to some readers, but I have no experience with farming potatoes. So it was all a new and educational experience. They had brought a tractor. The tractor rode around the chakra turning up the earth. Then everyone walked behind with sacks and picked the potatoes up. Finding potatoes was pretty easy – they were all just sitting there in the wake of the tractor. What made the work hard was the constant bending over. After maybe an hour, a break was called.

I walked over to join everyone else in the shade.

“Want some chicha**?” asked an uncle, holding out a blue plastic cup.

“Thanks.” I spilled a bit onto the ground, observing the custom of respect for Pachamama, the earth mother. Then I drained the cup. I returned it to the uncle, who refilled it and passed it to someone else. This is how cusqueñans generally drink, one cup is shared between everyone. When you finish you pass it to the next person. Yes, it's less hygenic, but on the other hand it makes it hard to get seriously drunk because you have to wait as long as half an hour between 6 oz cups of beer. Not being drunk is important when you're working in the fields.

We worked for another hour before I had to leave. It was my day to go shopping in Urcos. I went to say goodbye to the aunt who was cooking lunch.

“No you can't leave, you haven't eaten yet. Stay awhile for lunchtime.”

“I know but I can eat at home. I have to get back. It's a community commitment.”

“But you can be late. Don't be like that.”

“I'm sorry, I don't want to be rude. But in my culture being late is really rude. My friend is waiting for me and will be really annoyed if I don't show up on time.”

“Alright. Well then you have to eat right now. Sit down.” She prepared me a plate of chicha marinated pork (chicha is a great marinade), potatoes, and beet salad. I wolfed the food down as fast as I could. It was delicious, and I told her as much.

She grinned and laughed. “Of course it is – we eat well in the chakra!”

 

And this is how they cook in the chakra.

They loaded me up with a bag of fava beans (which we also harvested that day) and promises to deliver potatoes to me later in the week (we arranged for the potato delivery to occur Friday). I raced back down the mountain paths, and made it home just in time to head out to Urcos for shopping.

A closing thought – my ancestors were potato farmers in Ireland. They only had potatoes available to them because the ancestors of the people I went to the chakra with domesticated and cultivated potatoes. It was a strange moment of solidarity with the people I live around now, and the people who came before me. There was something beautiful about it that's hard to convey.

The size of some of these potatoes is also hard to convey.
That's why I took this picture.

*Plot of land for farming.

**Corn beer.