Hidden in the witches´ market , burnt offerings bring fortune and well-being in Bolivia´s traditional mesas

Money in La Paz can buy you large houses in the Zona Sur, 8 courses of Michelin-star-quality food at 'Gustu' and luxury hummers to transport yourself around the city. But perhaps the most intangible thing that people spend money on here is good fortune. If this is what you seek, then the best place to start your search is the 'Mercado de las Brujas', where traditional mesas can be created and bought.

The mesa is a collection of objects laid out next to one another on a surface and then burnt in order to praise the Andean goddess of Mother Earth, 'Pachamama'. Usually, it includes 5 types of objects: sugary products, a mixture of herbs known as 'Koa', coloured paper and dyed wool. However, the most important component of a mesa is either a llama, alpaca or vicuña foetus, the last of which can cost up to 300 Bolivianos or $50.

""The standard price for a whole mesa is 200-400 Bolivianos or $30-60,"" says Simon, a man I met at the Mercado Brujas, who has been working there since he was a young boy. ""But the more objects you wish to have, the more expensive the mesa will be.""

Different mesas hold different significance. White mesas symbolise health and good fortune, whilst colourful mesas symbolise material assets such as houses, businesses and money. Some companies are willing to purchase the latter to bless new constructions or business deals, requesting large bespoke mesas.

“If you don't pay thanks before a construction,” says Doña Natalia, a yatiri who occupies Esquina Jimenez, “then the building may collapse or a worker may die."" To avoid such risks companies purchase mesas at a high price between 800-1000 Bolivianos or $115-145, to honor ´Pachamama´.

´Pachamama' is the representation of the natural Earth and by revering her one can expect health, luck, forgiveness, blessings and release of all bad spirits. The mesa is burnt and placed in the earth so that Pachamama´ can receive it. According to Doña Natalia, ""The intention is to pay respect to the Earth, in order to receive better crops and a larger harvest."" Pachamama is the highest divinity because she influences fertility and abundance, which affect agriculture and therefore, all life.

The origin of this tradition is ancestral, starting with indigenous peoples of the Andes. Although the use of mesas has become somewhat popular among tourists, it is originally central to indigenous identity. ""It is a connection between the spiritual realm and the physical world of Earth,"" Simon explains. ""Inspired by cosmology, the ritual calls energies from the stars to grant luck and good health.""

Photo: Nick Somers

Cash-in-hand workers wield their political and economic power through organisation and entrepreneurialism. 

But don't let appearances deceive you. When she isn't celebrating Carnival, Bendita is an incredibly professional businesswoman, and this bridge her workplace.

Organized Chaos?

Any other Saturday morning, if you were to walk along this bridge, you would find Bendita and her sisters, Paula and Giovanna, camera in hand, diligently photographing newly married couples. For years, newlyweds on the way to their wedding receptions have been driving over the city's tres puentes for good luck, stopping in this non-descript lay-by to admire the astounding views of the city.

Four years ago, Bendita realised this wedding tradition opened up a gap in the market for an aspiring photographer. Pooling their money to buy a camera, the enterprising group of sisters set up shop on this bridge, offering newlyweds photography services and champagne, not to mention service with a smile.

While this bridge-side photography collective is a fascinating example of the country's booming entrepreneurship, it really is just the tip of the iceberg of Bolivia's informal market. According to the World Bank, a staggering 70% of the Bolivian population are employed in the informal sector, meaning that they run their own small businesses, often working erratic hours and earning unpredictable cash-in-hand salaries.
Initially, the tumultuous morning on the bridge served only to encourage my preconceived notions of the informal economy as erratic and precarious. But I soon came to realise that the apparent chaos and turbulence of La Paz and El Alto’s innumerable street vendors in fact belies strict organisation and a fiercely entrepreneurial spirit. Scratching the surface of this flurry of activity reveals that many of these workers are also organized into unions and associations that defend their rights.

Hardships Abound

Strolling through Sopocachi market, I meet an elderly Bolivian woman sweeping the floor, towered over by an enormous pile of vegetables. Her name is Teresa Flores, and flashing a warm grin, she happily tells me ""my grandmother founded the market 85 years ago. My mother worked here selling fruit and now I'm here with my vegetables"". Whilst her stall here is likely lucrative , her job is not without its hardships. ""The work is very demanding. We are here at the market at 7 each day and won't finish until 8 at night, and I can't take holidays because the vegetables will spoil. And the government won't give us pensions. We get nothing from them.""

Her sentiments are echoed amongst street workers throughout the city. As I make my way through downtown La Paz, stopping to speak to various vendors, I accumulate a long list of grievances. On the sunlit streets of Plaza Abaroa, I meet Ruben, a softly spoken young man, and the proud owner of a bright blue cart from which he sells Brazil nuts. I learn that Ruben is not a La Paz native, and that he transports his produce to the city from his hometown of Riberalta, some 650 kilometres away. It’s that 4-day journey, and his nomadic lifestyle, which Ruben finds most gruelling.
Continuing to traverse the city on foot, I encounter Mario Aquese on a shady corner of Sopocachi - the same corner where he has worked as a plumber for 35 years. ""It's not an easy job"" he tells me, folding his newspaper under his arm. ""There are people who treat us badly. Our work is sometimes discredited.""

After listening to the many worries of these street vendors, I find myself asking why so many Bolivians enter the informal market. The answer is certainly complex. While Bolivia has experienced a period of economic growth over the last decade, the country remains one of the poorest in South America, with an approximate 59% of the population living in conditions of poverty. From this perspective, it is perhaps easy to understand the allure of cash-in-hand work, as it not only provides easy entry employment opportunities for the poor, but also enables workers to employ skills gained outside of a formal education.

Power of the People

Granted, the majority of Bolivians enter the informal market out of necessity and a lack of alternative employment opportunities. But there are also powerful organisations and large sums of money at play.

The street workers of Bolivia unionise in order to demand legal protection. The largest union in La Paz is formed of some 1800 clothes vendors, whilst hundreds of smaller unions coexist, each striving to improve the working and living conditions of its members. Some associations are even attempting to combat the lack of state benefits available to street workers by pooling money when a union member falls unwell, so as to cover their medical costs. The vacuum created by the absence of governmental protection is to some extent being filled by these ever expanding unions.

Perhaps the most striking example of union success here in La Paz is that of the child workers union, UNATSBO. Last year, after relentless campaigning, the minimum working age was reduced from 14 to just 10. While the prospect of child labour being legalised may horrify western sensibilities, for Bolivia's 850,000 child workers, this law aims to provide them with legal protection and respect.
According to Jaime Villalobos, the director of Hormigón Armado, an organisation working to improve the lives of child workers, this law ""accepts the reality that children in Bolivia have to work and will continue to work. Criminalising child labour would only force kids into more clandestine activities, leaving them vulnerable to exploitation.""
We are witnessing a new phase in Bolivia's history of organised labour. The unparalleled success of the UNATSBO union reminds us of the powerful potential of Bolivia's informal workers as a united social and political force.

Vulnerable, yes. Powerless? Certainly not.

From unionisation to blossoming entrepreneurship, informal labourers continue to change the face of working Bolivia.

Photo: Nick Somers

¡Hola! I’m currently on my gap year, travelling through South America. I’ve really liked being in La Paz so far. It’s actually not that different from West London, and most of the cafés have wifi. I’ve definitely felt a lot more spiritual and lightheaded since arriving here, especially when I walk quickly up hills. The language isn’t that hard either. I never thought I was good at languages but I seem to have a natural feel for Spanish. You just have to add an ‘o’ to anything and shout: most people will understand. I’ve had a really successful trip so far. I've gotten over 94 likes on Instagram and 121 for my latest Facebook profile picture. It’s me with a llama, and it only cost me 70 bolivianos. People are friendly here. They keep saying I’m a gringo, which must mean brave or something. I don't think I'm that brave; I’m just doing what comes naturally. I think I’ve found myself, but I’ve also lost my phone and two credit cards.