29 December 2008
It was about noon when the bus pulled in and stopped at the station. I looked around for mirrored faces in the crowd, people who looked like me, but to no avail. All I saw were Inca featured faces with tanned bronze skin, straight black hair, and puffy ears. This town, Chincha, is supposes to have the largest Afro population in Peru . I’m told this town is known for turning out athletic prowess citizens (which I think leans toward a sports stereotype). Chincha is the town that produces the soulful Peruvian music we hear in the US , with the beats, rhythms, and sounds of Africa, but is stamped “Made in Peru ”. I have seen a video with black people dancing traditional African style, but listening to the lyrics, you will hear Spanish.
The taxi driver tied the two suitcases full of give-away clothes to the top of his little four seat sedan at which five of us, plus the driver, managed to squeeze into. We drove another 20 minutes out of the town before we came upon a few houses on the side of the road. Apparently, this was to be our destination. There was a crowd of people to greet us, but I saw only one black man, one black woman, and one black girl. Curious about our location, I asked my compañeras, “Are we in Chincha?” I was told yes. Well something was wrong. I think we were expecting more black faces, but all we saw were Inca features and most were children. Somehow, somewhere the communication wires got crossed with our host and her contact. I had planned to sit and visit with African descendants from Chincha, not Inca descendants from Chincha. I want to speak with them about their lives and racial experiences while living in Peru . I want to photograph them and have documented visual proof of their existence.
My lack of Spanish speaking skills made me the receiver of delayed information. When something was communicated, Maria had to interpret it and then put her two cents in before translating the point of the conversation to me. She sometimes had trouble understanding the Peruvians because of the speed and difference in some words. Spanish dialect and vocabulary appears to be different in each country, and Peru was no exception.
After figuring out that there was a mis-communication between host and contact, we did not want to turn and leave, “Hi and Bye.” That would be cold. So we stayed for a while and managed to entertain the children and gift them with soda and fruit bread. Although it was simple, this was a Christmas treat from the North Americans visiting their village.
It was hot in the van and the opened windows provided little relief as we drove down a dusty road. We left the children seemingly pleased with our visit and gifts. They appeared to be very appreciative showing smiles, giving hugs, and handshakes of gratitude.
A few minutes later, the van pulled in front of a Ranch style concrete structure with a canopied spacious open air area. There were some card tables and chairs occupied by a few gathered men who were sipping drinks. As we got out of the van, a short smiling robust black woman wiping her hands on her white apron approached us. I looked up and saw her likeness on an advertisement poster hanging on a post. She is Mamaiñe, the owner of this roadside establishment.
When I handed the t-shirt to Mamaiñe, her eyes lit up and a huge grin covered her face. She knew the person on the shirt. It is the popular worldwide iconic image of Hope - US President elected Barack Obama (now the official president). Grinning, she said some things in Spanish and gave me a big hug. Maria did not have to translate Mamaiñe’s words. I could feel her joy and appreciation.
After meeting a few more people, as if on cue, a young man started drumming a box shaped instrument and two young women started dancing. The sounds were loud, rhythmatic and transforming. Transfixed by the beat from the box and watching the dancers really confirmed for me that Chincha retained its Africaness. The desceased elders are smiling.
When they finished, I applauded each dancer with an Obama t-shirt. I gave t-shirts to a few more elders as they arrived at Mamaiñe’s, but handed the children Obama buttons. The t-shirts were x-large in size, way too large for the children, but would be useful to the adults in promoting Obama's message of Hope. The children could wear the buttons proudly.
I showed Mamaiñe and her friend Rolando my book, Africans Within the Americas , and through Maria explained why I was in Peru and wanted to meet them. Rolando commented how I was blessed to have traveled and met all these people documented in my book. I agreed with him. I know I was blessed and felt blessed again to have met the people from Chincha. We stayed at Mamaiñe’s about 30 minutes. I posed with them for a group photo and then we were off.
We raced along side the Urubamba River , which seemed to be impatience with its blurring continuous rapid rush of curves, ups and downs, overlapping smoothed stubborn gray rocks peeping from the muddy brown waters. I was told this river’s source is from the mighty Amazon, in northern Peru sharing borders with Brazil . The Amazon is a little over 4,000 miles, second only to Africa’s Nile River which is the worlds longest.
When we disembarked in Aguas Calientes, we were to look for a woman named Beatrice. There she was holding a sign with my name like chauffeurs do at the airport. Beatrice, late 30s early 40ish looking, was a slightly built woman, wearing a yellow sun visor, a sleeveless blue picnic checkered blouse, and blue jean pants. She didn’t speak English well, so Maria handled this one.
We had to wait for another group before our trek up the mountain. While waiting for the others, Maria and I talked with the two young ladies from Sweden who were backpacking through South America, up to Mexico . They were with us yesterday on other tours, but are planning an overnight stay here in Aguas Calientes. They were taking time away from school to explore the world. Maria and I both admired them for doing this before they set root and become “grown-ups.” I gave them both a Barack Obama button. They were thrilled.
The previous day, the dark haired Swede had an episode at a lunch buffet. Obviously she knew she was allergic, but probably did not detect the hidden peanut sauce. She had to sit in an ambulance as the group explored Ollanlaytambo another ancient site. Because she could not make the hike, she sent her blond friend to photograph and report what she could not see. Apparently she did not want to miss anything.
In about 30 minutes, the other group arrived on the train. After a five minute gather and divide of Spanish and English speakers, we were off.
The bus ride up to Machu Picchu could be white knuckling and hair rising especially if you were sitting next to the window. Occasional there would be a guard rail on this one lane swindling road as down hill on coming bus traffic squares off challenging you on the surprising “S” curves. Maria sitting next to the window closed her eyes and turned her head praying in Spanish all the way up. After about 30 minutes, we were at the stopping point and then I added an Amen.
Our group consists of about 12 – 14, with about three Americans - Maria, myself, and another guy who was with a Latin woman. Everyone but an older French man understood English pretty well. His wife had to translate for him. They kept up for a while and then kind of disappeared from the group.
Our guide kept us in entrenched with Inca history and knowledge for about two hours, and then we were on our own. It was about 2:30 and we had to be on the bus by 3:30, so Maria and I decided to climb to the Watchman’s Tower which was a good thing, because we could see the sheets of rain slowly coming toward us and the stones downhill would be slippery.
By the time I huffed and puffed my way up to Watchman’s Tower, Maria was smiling down at me as I was almost on my hands and knees. She had been waiting at least 10 minutes. Admittingly, her weekly visits to Balleys paid off. I was really out of shape and this climb proved it. Halfway up, I almost said forget it, but coming down was a smiling white haired dude who looked to be in his 60s. Maria looked at him and looked at me. She said, “If he can do it, you can do it.” I could not let this white haired dude show me up. I took a breath and continued pacing myself almost to a crawl, but I was determined.
When I finally made it, the view was spectacular. My legs quivered to the scene of the majestic natural beauty of the mountains. And what was even more amazing was the fact that the Incas engineering knowledge and technology was on display in these massive smoothly polished well fitted stones. How did they do this with no heavy machinery?
I quickly snapped back to photographer mode and did my thing. “Click, click, click.” I hurried because in the near distance we could see the rain coming. We were only up there about 10 minutes max, but it was worth it.
As gravity would have it, the trip down was a lot less effortless than the reverse. When we got to ground level, we stopped and put on our rain ponchos. Not soaked too much, we made it to the bus on time. In the dry bus, we took a moment to reflex on one of the world’s wonders we just witnessed.