Bolivian Express investigates El Alto`s revolutionary computing plant

The Quipus plant, estimated to cost a whopping $60 million, opened in May this year, just five months after Bolivia’s first satellite was launched. Churning out 800 laptops a day, it appears to be a modern, technological wonderland, plonked down amongst the adobe homes of El Alto against a backdrop of the Andean mountainscape. To dole out 116,000 laptops— and that’s just this year— to secondary school students in both rural and urban areas seems like an ideal political, educational, and economic vision to present just months before the next general election. But how does Evo’s computer Wonderland converge with the real world of Bolivia?

The detail of this technological dream is, to be fair, impressive. Each computer will be equipped with a camera; shock protection from drops of up to a metre; resistance to water damage if a child’s juice accidentally makes its way onto the laptop’s surface; safeguards against theft from schools; a temperature sensor; and both chemistry and physics apps to improve scientific literacy. It’s all put together by 60 technicians trained in China. My first thought: Where can I get one?

In fact, according to state news sources, Bolivians should be able to get their hands on similar laptops from the same plant this October for 30 percent cheaper than equivalent computers on the market. Meanwhile, the student laptops, which cost $410 each to produce, are being given out for free. Far from being a dry political promise that will shrivel and fade into the background with winning election ballots, the plant actually physically exists and has delivered— it is tangible proof that the government is taking this project seriously.

Verónica Orozco, a student from Colegio Ayacucho in La Paz who will benefit from the Quipus project, remarks that she and her fellow students can ‘find out more information about the topics they study in the classroom by having access to laptops in school’, especially as she doesn’t have a computer or the Internet at home. Her classmate, Daniel Aguilar, says the computer training the Quipus project will offer ‘will make it easier to get a place at university’.

Am I being sucked into Evo’s Wonderland, or is this project actually starting to sound viable and no longer a far-fetched political punt?

I remember Rafael Correa’s similar project in Ecuador, the revolución ciudadanía, that included donating computers to schools in rural communities. Having spent three months in an indigenous community near Otavalo last year, I witnessed some of the issues of implementation firsthand. Despite the Internet access being described as ‘un milagro’ by one member of the community, only one computer was in use. The other two lay untouched beneath a blue tarpaulin, awaiting repair.

Andy Creadore from the Phoenix Projects in Ecuador comments on these maintenance problems: ‘It was very difficult to maintain the computers in good condition with so much dust and wind where rural schools are situated’. According to community leaders, viruses, prevalent in the local Internet cafés, would also infect school computers via flash drives. Zoë O’Connor, head of the Phoenix Projects, vouches for the situation in two other communities in the north of Ecuador: ‘There were three providers of hardware (the government, the national Internet provider, and the electricity company) who would come independently to resolve issues. Rarely did all the parts work together’. Although in Ecuador Creadore hedges that there ‘might have been a way to contact the Ministry of Education and report a failure’, the support systems were scarce.

These testimonies start to reveal the diverse challenges the Quipus project will face. Whether the laptops are deep in the Amazon jungle, 4090 metres high up in Potosí, or in the urban environment of La Paz, the students’ needs and the maintenance demands will be varied.

The practicality of how to use the laptops also poses a problem for the project if it pans out anything like it did in Ecuador. Creadore says that ‘the majority of the community did not know how to use the Internet or the computers and required assistance to complete tasks’. The Bolivian Ministry of Education’s computer courses for teachers seems necessary then, reflecting O’Connor’s final words on the matter: ‘Training, training, and more training’. Although Mario Mamani, the headmaster of the Colegio de Ayacucho, describes the Quipus project as ‘a tremendous step forward’, he also attests that since 2012 there have only been three training days for their teachers: ‘The government has to continue intensifying the training programme for teachers… The project lacks greater implementation of the technology’. Anticipating my next interview question, he expresses some concerns over the students having access to social networks in the classroom. However, student Aguilar affirms that it is a matter of the students’ self-discipline: ‘If they want to play online games or educate themselves, it is their choice’.

I leave the building where the boss of Quipus resides, having been once again refused an interview. But as I emerge into the modern-traditional hybrid that is La Paz— cholitas jumping onto moving buses, high-tech security banks next to currency exchanges popping up on street corners— I start to think about the project again. Is the reality of its implementation even what I should be concerned with? Yes, its feasibility is important, but perhaps its symbolic worth is just as valuable. Alongside the heritage-preservation image sold to the gringo tourists that flock to La Paz, Evo’s plugging of a modern image that stands up to the Western world suddenly seems vital. An engineer from the Quipus plant, Frank Mizelada, stresses the importance of this dual image: ‘We don’t want to lose our culture; it is our identity, but we want to expand our horizons’. The Quipus project proclaims that ‘Bolivia is a modern country too’, and one that also has heaps of historic culture at that, not a combination every ‘modern’ country can boast of.

Tupac Katari, both the name of the Bolivian satellite and of an 18th century indigenous leader, combines Bolivia’s past and technological future. Just so, the name Quipus refers to both the ancient Andean written language that communicated concepts through a series of knots on strings, and the revolutionary computer company. Within their names, the satellite and the plant embody Evo’s creation of a new image of Bolivia that combines the country’s heritage with its forward-thinking future.

From staple to Super Food 

The United Nations declared 2013 the International Year of Quinoa. But why bring this superfood to the public consciousness for just one year alone? Quinoa, a grain once used as a commodity by Bolivians, is now worshipped by health lovers in the Western world. I set off to investigate the properties of this super-grain, and exactly how it came to claim that year in the limelight.

I meet with research scientist Guillermo Tapia, who has studied the grain extensively, to discuss all things quinoa. He delves into the depths of the biochemical composition of quinoa, and it's clear from the outset he's the man in the know. This small grains is brimming with every nutrient imaginable—antioxidants, anti-inflammatory phytonutrients, omega-3 fatty acid, alpha-linolenic acid, healthy fats, vitamin E, and everything from copper and zinc. Tapia also points out that in addition to eating the plant as grain, it can also be used to produce leche de quinoa, essentially quinoa milk (the Andean equivalent, perhaps, of soy milk).

Andean Valley S.A, a quinoa production plant situated in El Alto, prides itself on the organic royal quinoa product it provides. The rise in demand for quinoa has seen this company grow from a backyard in the south of the city to an international plant with its first exports to the United States in 1998. Seven years ago, Andean Valley could source a 46-kilogram bag of quinoa for the mere price of US$20. Today, that same amount of quinoa goes for US$300. It's not enough for this ever-expanding empire to source sufficient amounts of quinoa from the original 21 farming families that it used to in 2001. More than 450 families within a 200-kilometre radius of Uyuni, in the southern altiplano, are now involved in gathering this grain for the company. What’s to explain the surge in popularity of this Andean staple?

‘Clean’ and ‘raw’ foodstuffs have become increasingly popular in the Western world. Quinoa, with its high nutritional value, has even become trendy in certain circles. It’s the main ingredient of English model and nutritionist Danielle Copperman's newly launched breakfast option Qnola. Back in Bolivia, though, Andean Valley also produces quinoa breakfast cereal, along with quinoa pizza, burgers, pudding and flan, and the company is testing new recipes for quinoa brownies and pancakes.

Javier Fernandez, CEO of Andean Valley, has another theory about the popularity of quinoa. He asks me if I know what la encefalopatía espongiforme bovina is. ‘¿Vacas locas?’—mad cow disease? Since 2007, mad cow disease and the avian flu diminished consumer desire to eat certain meat products. In 2009, swine flu reached pandemic status. So, was the quinoa trend born more from a need for an alternative to meat than it was a simple desire to find healthier food? Quinoa, with its superfood status, may well be the only grain that can be considered a viable alternative to animal flesh. And its ability to grow in the barren conditions of Bolivia's southern altiplano render it unlike any other.

For now, Andean Valley is working to develop technologies and provide harvesting machinery to its farmers in order to maintain its sustainable, organic product. Even as quinoa production in Peru is growing, Fernandez and his company hope to keep the grain quintessentially Bolivian, purchasing from the burgeoning family farms in the high altiplano, whilst still conserving its organic ethic.

A short story by Lulu Shooter fusing Andean legends and English West Country roots. Is the grass always greener in your imagination?

‘You’re doing it wrong, María!’

‘This is exactly right, estúpido. You just add water,’

The cemetery’s bustle worried Cachorroz’s sleep like a puppy chewing on its mother’s ear. He reluctantly got up, and peered into the neighbouring crypt. The pigs were arguing about the best way to make barro pastelero. Cachorroz turned tail and pounded down the cemetery steps two-at-a-time.

Every day, Cachorroz escaped the cemetery to find his family’s fortune. Every night, before bed, his little brothers and sisters would take his empty paws and follow him down the rabbit hole of his imagination.

‘In Coroico’s cloud forest, there flows a sacred river called Quri Wayq'u,’ he began. ‘I was admiring the banks’ pink flowers when all of a sudden I heard some splashing. You’ll never guess what I saw. Some bright blue fishes were beckoning me into the deep water. I jumped in, and there, shining amongst the snakes and stones, was an ametrine gemstone . I grabbed it. It’s worth loads of bones.

‘Suddenly, more seahorses than you can imagine plunged out of the darkness and headed straight for me. We tumbled down the river in a frantic scrum, and everything around us blurred into a dark midnight sky. Praise Inti, a reed wrapped around my ankle and held me fast. The seahorses were swept away in the maelstrom. Inti came to me in the form of a vulture, and carried me back to La Paz.’

Once he’d finished his story, Cacharroz curled up on top of the pile of sleeping puppies and plunged further into his dreams.

‘María, I’m asking you,’

‘Potato is the missing ingredient!’ Cachorroz watched the pig try and reassure her partner. She clamped a wooden spoon between her teeth and frantically stirred a smelly mess.

One of the puppies began chewing his tail. He whipped around.
‘Tell us a story, Cachito!’

Cachorroz met the blue, blind eyes tracking him.

‘You won’t believe your...’ he paused, ‘... Ears. Early this morning, I jumped on a minibus and headed for the distant Andes. I saw a pack of llamas wearing socks on their ears and hoped they’d trade me a pair for a story. I’d just taken a deep breath when suddenly a chinchilla hopped out from the belly folds of a sleeping llama. Instead of being content and warm - he was crying!

‘“Why are you crying, chinchillasito?” I asked.

‘“’Ere!” The chinchilla told me his story in a ridiculous country accent: “We was just mindin’ t’condors t’other week when some ‘orrible rats from t’city came over on one of ‘em tourist busses. We eat ‘em cactuses, right? They’re great: thirst quenchin’ ‘n’ loads of vit’s ‘n’ min’s. ‘Ere, these rats ate our ‘ole plantation! We’ve not got nothin’ to eat now! They keep takin’ our burrows ‘n’ all,”

‘Those countryside chinchillas needed a helping paw from a tough city pup like me. Back at his burrow, you’ll never guess what we saw: All the rats were sprawled on boulders clutching at their bellies and moaning. They’d eaten the whole cactus, spikes and all! We grabbed some sticks, and chased those blighters off the premises,’

Cachorroz tore his eyes away from the setting sun, and surveyed the puppies. The youngest were snoring whilst the eldest were restless still, barking at shadows. At least they share my imagination, he thought, looking around the bare crypt.

‘Tell us another one, Cachito!’

Cachorroz looked around for a bone.

‘This is the last attempt, alright?’ Came a cry from next door.

‘The kantuta flower saved mamá’s life. Now it’s going to save my barro pastelero,’

María’s experiment gave him an idea. His grandmother had once told him the legend of the kantuta flower, and now he could really impress the puppies with his own rendition.

‘Alright you lot,’ the puppies gathered round. ‘Have you ever heard of Santa Cruz? I was sunning myself with the sloths in the city’s main square when I got chatting to a toucanita. She invited me back to her nest. Lucky me, right? No. It turned out she needed help settling a dispute between two families. Well, I was too young for her anyway…

‘When we arrived, two royal toucans were embroiled in a duel. They squawked and flapped their battle cries, and darted at each other like hummingbirds. A second later, we watched their dead bodies crashing down through the trees. In the silence, I began to howl. And you’ll never guess what happened next. The branches began to absorb our tears, and suddenly the royal nests reached out and intertwined. Creepers knotted together and the bows of the trees became one. The families’ kids dubbed the formation a toucan temple to preserve the alliance. Obviously, yours truly is now the temple’s top dog,’

The last word was barely audible, as Cachorroz slipped into a deep sleep.

On the third night, Cachorroz was late back to the crypt. The puppies were waiting for him, eavesdropping and whispering.

‘I’ve got it!’

‘Got what, María?’

A delicious smell drew the puppies’ noses to the pig’s crypt. A fine barro pastelero sat glistening in the sun.

‘Would you like some?’ María spied them, ‘I found a gas heater and remembered I needed to cook the cake! You need water, potato, kantuta and Inti’s breath!’

The puppies wagged their tails and edged closer, when suddenly Cachorroz exploded into the crypt knocking buckets flying and petals sailing.

‘You’ll never guess what happened in La Paz!’ He didn’t wait for an invitation to begin. ‘We thought those red orbs floating above the cemetery were dragons, but they’re actually flying minibuses! I flew across the city. A little bird drew alongside me and told me they’re called the ‘Tele-frío’. I got off the minibus and visited our aunt’s new litter in El Alto. They were clustered around a glowing book. It whirred and whined when suddenly their faces appeared within its pages. Apparently someone’s built a giant spiderweb across the world. You can climb across it and read a book about anyone. I think the spider decided to call it the ‘in-telaraña’, or something stupid. Well, this morning someone had climbed across the spiderweb and told our cousins about another flying minibus which could take you all the way from El Alto to the stars! I know the city like the back of my paw, so I set off to find it. You’ll never guess what happened next.

‘Around the corner of the Multifunctional there was a ladder with a little pod hovering above it. I jumped inside and in my haste, the ladder fell away. The pod floated towards our ancestors, and I was surrounded by a darkness dotted with magic spheres. I drifted in the direction of an emerald blue one. It was even more beautiful than the ametrine gemstone! The pod started rocketing towards it, and, I’ll admit, I got a bit scared. I closed my eyes until the door swung open and I was back in El Alto.’

‘Caca,’

‘No, it’s true! It really happened!’

Chanchitoz, who lived next door, had been listening the whole time.

‘There’s no way you jumped on the Teleférico, surfed Facebook and launched the Bolivian satellite all in one day. Only in your Wonderland, Cachito,’

‘Go out and see for yourselves!’ Cachorroz laughed. The reality was so much better than even he could have imagined.