Yung, Bolivia (AP) – Ciel Torres always lived in Bolivia. However, before moving 17 years to the Tocaña city, where most of the country’s Afro-Descendant community lives, it rarely encountered people who looked like her.
“When we returned to Santa Cruz, we were the only Afro,” Torres said, now 25 years old. – But when I saw others like me, I said to myself, That’s where I want to be. Here I feel comfortable and understand. ‘
Her sense of belonging reflects the experience of many African-bolivans. Although it has been officially recognized in the Constitution since 2009, they remain one of the least visible groups of Bolivia to feel at home on their land.
“Many believe that we are foreigners and we have no rights,” said Carmen Angola, Executive Director of the National Council of Afro-Bolivia. “But we were born here.”
More than 11.3 million people live in Bolivia. About 23,000 2012 During the census, it was identified as Afro, the first and only time when they appeared as a separate category. Most live in Yung, a region with few connections, but Coca sheet plantations are abundant.
“Our Afro communities depend on Coca’s harvest or honey production,” said Torres, who, together with his husband, manages the beekeeping business.
“We are people who are used to walking on the paths, not paved roads,” she added. “People who learn from the edge.”
Symbolic gestures, few changes
Official information on community history is difficult to obtain. “The state made us invisible,” said activist Mónica Rey. “There were no written registers reflecting our reality. We wrote that story ourselves.”
She said some progress was made in 2007, a year after Evo Morales became the first local president of Bolivia. “By 2009, we were involved in the Constitution,” she added. “But we have demanded inclusion and rights to all previous governments.”
Morales supported the establishment of Confro in 2011. In the same year, September 23rd. Was founded as a National Day of Africo-Bolivian people and culture. However, according to Rey, symbolic recognition is not sufficient to achieve structural changes.
“The idea was that this day will help to confirm our identity again and that the state will create African public policy,” Rey said. “But it turns out we are celebrating with each other and the government does nothing.”
She and Carmen Angola claim that advertising the legacy of their people seemed difficult. Angola tried to persuade local authorities to allow the group of Afro-bolivans to go to schools and share their community insights. No one has yet agreed.
“They just say they intend to deal with discrimination, history and racism,” Angola said. “But people who have developed training programs are not black. Their story is not ours.”
From mines to Hacienda
Conafro has set up efforts with another organization to collect testimonies documenting the long-lost Afro-Bolivian community past. 2013 A detailed document was published.
“We recovered our story,” Rey said. “Our experience, the tale of the elders, our culture has been regained and documented.”
The Afro-Bolivian people descend from Africans enslaved in America during the conquest of Europe from the 16th to the 17th century.
Mostly born in Congo and Angola, they were originally taken to potosí, a colonial mining city of about 340 miles (550 kilometers) southeast of La Paz.
High height – 13,700 feet (4,175 meters) above sea level – and extreme air took a quick time. Later, the effects of mercury and other mining substances caused serious illnesses – from tooth loss, respiratory disease and death.
Two centuries later, the ancestors of the current African-bolivian population were forcibly transferred to Young. There they settled and started working on large mansions known as Haciendo, where coca leaves, coffee and cane were grown.
“Afro people died and it was uncomfortable because they were considered investment,” said Sociologist óscar Mattaz. “So people started buying them and depriving them.
Nowada and neighboring cities are considered the cultural heart of Afro-Bolivans.
King without a crown
Murratea lives Julio Pinedo, a symbolic leader, considered the king of Afro-bolivans.
The Bolivian black community has been recognized by the King for centuries. The role of Pined has no political weight in the government, but is considered to be the patron of his people’s rights. The local government recognizes its title and even participated in his coronation in 1992.
“The king was a symbolic means of showing that there is a royalty in the community,” Mattaz said. “He was very influential, worked hard and was respected.”
His position hardly changed his lifestyle. Pinedo, who is now 83, lives in the same humble homes he has always lived. It now depends on the son’s Coca harvest for income.
Pinedo congratulates visitors. However, getting involved in the conversation is difficult because of his age. According to his wife Angélica Larrea, his royal ancestors have been dated 500 years.
“I remember his coronation,” she said. “People came from other communities. They danced and took place in a procession. The priest came and we celebrated Mass.”
Several Afro-bolivans tried to decipher what their ancestors were. However, the community remains extremely Catholic.
Near the house of Pined, the only Mururata parish has no resident of the priest. Nevertheless, a group of dedicated women are welcome to read the Bible every Sunday.
Isabel Rey – a distant relative of Mónica – said her ancestors were Catholics. And even without the priest to rely, the catechist responsible for the church kept the community’s faith strong.
“Soon she will celebrate 40 years of sharing the word of the Lord,” Rey said. “I help her because she can’t keep the job alone.”
The dance and love dance
It may not be the spirituality of Afro-bolivia, but the soul of the community remains bound through Saya, a traditional dance performed with drums and hymns.
“Our demands were born through this music,” Rey said. “Saya became our instrument to gain visibility. We protest with drums and songs.”
Torres recalled Dancing Saya before moving to Tocaña. Still, her feelings have changed in this.
“It’s dancing here from the heart,” she said. “I learned to sing and listen. It’s not regular music because we tell our story through it.”
She said every detail of their clothes has meaning. White symbolizes peace, and the red honors the blood of their ancestors’ blood. Men wear black hats to remember how their predecessors worked extremely under the sun. And women’s braids depict the paths they dreamed of escaping.
“It may look like fashion, but it is not,” Torres said. “This is our culture.”
For more than a decade, she has learned new movements and Saya songs. It was freely becoming a language of its community, a Spanish variation that is not officially recognizable – and is proud of her identity.
“I felt embarrassed to dance Saya,” Torres said. “But when I saw the people dancing here, I said to myself, ‘That’s what I am. I’m black. “
Commitment to her daughter is also proud of her ancestors, she constantly praises her skin color, hair and movements.
“She’s already dancing on Saya,” Torres said. “I tell her, ‘You’re black. My black little girl. “
____
Associated Press Religion Croplage supports AP cooperation with Conversation US and funding from Lilly Fondowment Inc. AP is only responsible for this content.