I first came to Bolivia in 2008 to spend seven months volunteering at a rural college. The Unidad Académica Campesina-Carmen Pampa is a small university nestled in a little village about 40 minutes by minibus from Coroico, in the heart of Bolivian coca and coffee country. It is a place where hundreds of students, largely the children of farmers and other rural dwellers from all over Bolivia come to study agronomy, veterinary science, nursing, education or ecotourism. These students mingle with faculty and administrators, who are often from La Paz, and with a small band of foreign volunteers from all over the world. It’s an intriguing mix of cultures and perspectives from all over Bolivia and the world concentrated in one little place.
Integrated into this microcosm of higher education is a rural community of coca, fruit and coffee farmers; chicken breeders and sheep herders; shopkeepers and taxi drivers. Undoubtedly, the campus serves as a force that ties Carmen Pampa together, but an additional, largely agrarian economy continues here as well. And so during a recent visit to the village it was not a surprise to meet Benita Mollisaca, an elderly coca farmer, harvesting in her cocal (see the cover of this issue). She is just one of many people who would be here regardless, with or without the college. She is a true local campesina.
In this issue of Bolivian Express we step outside of our urban confines to learn more about the Bolivian countryside, or the campo. We visit tourist destinations that provide a taste of rural life, from wineries in Tarija to coffee farms in the Yungas to ayahuasca ceremonies outside of La Paz. We meet craftspeople bringing a bit of the country to the city, including talented artisans near Santa Cruz and restaurateurs providing farm-to-table dining experiences in Bolivia’s major cities. We talk with some young women bringing Bolivian craftspeople onto the stage of global high fashion. And aside from the market and tourism opportunities coming from the countryside, we take a critical look at some of the key issues facing rural communities in Bolivia, including dangerous effects of climate change and the challenges in providing adequate healthcare to far-flung communities.
In working on this issue of the magazine, we realized that the campo is not just another place to visit and experience; in fact, country and city are deeply intertwined here. In every story that we chased, we discovered profound connections between the rural and the urban, and witnessed how what happens in the cities in Bolivia has profound impacts on the countryside, and vice versa.
One of the most important forces shaping rural communities in Bolivia, including in communities surrounding Carmen Pampa, is migration. As agriculture continues to be a difficult way of life, and as major industries – particularly mining – change and adapt to global market and environmental forces, more and more rural residents are moving to the city, at least part-time, in search of economic opportunities. In my travels around Bolivia I’ve seen this much too often. Two years ago I visited the village of Yulo, about three hours from Potosí, where nearly half the homes were empty. Knocking on doors was more often than not a lost cause, and I remember neighbors calling to us as we waited on countless doorsteps. ‘No hay nadie,’ they would say. ‘Todos se fueron.’ Entire families had uprooted and moved to Argentina in search of work. In many places in rural Bolivia, all that remain are the elderly and the very young. Working-age adults and students have moved elsewhere.
In many ways, Benita is lucky (which may explain her infectious belly laugh that never ceased throughout our photo shoot). While she wakes early every day to work in her fields, her son remains by her side. Despite graduating from the college in Carmen Pampa a few years ago with a nursing degree, Reynaldo has opted to stay at home to help his parents in the fields. He certainly has the option to come to El Alto or La Paz and look for work in a clinic or health centre, but instead is happy to be in his community, with his family, picking coca and avocados in the morning sun.
The Bolivian countryside has its own attractive forces that keep people rooted there, and makes it something not to be missed by visitors here. We hope this issue of Bolivian Express offers a window into this often-overlooked side to the Bolivian experience.
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Almost Entirely Preventable, the Disease Still Takes Its Toll
Photo: William Wroblewski
Nicolasa, an 84-year-old widow, says that she moved to Pucarani – a community 55 kilometres from La Paz – after getting married. The passing of time would see her witness all of her children leaving in the search of better opportunities, as well as the death of her husband, leaving her all alone to tackle the duties of working the fields and raising the cattle in her rural dwelling. One day, the pain she felt grew unbearable. Nevertheless, the posta de salud of her village was neither able to diagnose the affliction nor heal her. Luckily, being over 60 entitled her to free medical treatment, so when referred to a clinic in La Paz, the only barriers she needed to overcome were the costs of travelling to the city and waiting for a hospital bed to become available. When she finally saw a doctor, the diagnosis was made: Nicolasa had cervical cancer.
According to the the Bolivian government Health Ministry, by 2010 almost five Bolivian women were dying everyday because of cervical cancer. This staggering figure did drop slightly in 2013, according to the Pan-American Health Organisation, to two women per day. But these deaths are almost all preventable, as cervical cancer is usually caused by the human papillomavirus (HPV). HPV is transmitted sexually and presents no symptoms – except for certain strains that cause genital warts. Like many other countries, Bolivia has a vaccination program that combats the infection and spread of four different strains of HPV – between 2009 and 2011, an average of 28.000 Bolivian girls were vaccinated every year. But there has been no free, state-sponsored vaccination campaign since. (Currently, the HPV vaccine can be bought privately for around US$300 – more than the national monthly minimum wage.) However, HPV and cervical cancer can be treated when detected early by Pap tests, which are provided for free in public health centres. Nevertheless, only 14 percent of Bolivian women that took the test in 2010.
After Nicolasa was diagnosed, she was placed in the hospital’s 14-bed room. Chemotherapy, blood transfusions and several other tests and medications quickly followed. Her son did not stay for long, and she was left alone in the hospital bed, waiting for the treatment to end. Unfortunately, Nicolasa’s plight isn’t unusual, one of the main reasons being that cervical cancer is rarely caught in its early stages, when less invasive and more efficacious treatment is possible. In most rural communities in Bolivia, postas sanitarias are the only medical resources, and Pap tests are not regularly included in routine checkups. Furthermore, conservative rural communities frequently shun discussions of female sexuality and sexual health. Some doctors report that husbands forbid their wives from seeing medical professionals. The combination of shame, fear and ignorance contribute to HPV’s deadly toll.
Making matters worse, Bolivia has only three public hospitals to treat cancer, according to Ana Carola Torres of the Association of Volunteers Against Child Cancer, all of them located in the central axis of the country: Hospital de Clínicas in La Paz, Hospital Viedma in Cochabamba and Hospital Oncológico in Santa Cruz. Additionally, Torres says that these medical centres often lack of the proper equipment and infrastructure for treatment. For example, cobalt radiotherapy machines – an outdated technology from 50 years ago – are still in service. These conditions would prove daunting to a relatively sophisticated cosmopolite from La Paz, let alone a poor, uneducated woman from the countryside.
However trying Nicolasa’s story is, the scenario gets worse for women who live in even more remote communities, where logistics prevent any commute to one of the three public hospitals in the far-flung metropolis. And, with no free national medical insurance for women younger than 60, a bed, blood transfusions and chemotherapy can easily cost tens of thousands of dollars.
Nicolasa’s story is but one of many, her plight highlighting the challenges that cervical cancer poses to many in rural Bolivia. But Nicolasa, as difficult as her story is, is one of the fortunate ones. Cervical cancer has proven itself to be a silent and deadly killer amongst many other women from the Bolivian countryside – one that is treatable and preventable. There is room for improvement, but Bolivia faces an uphill struggle. The public healthcare system is not properly equipped to provide timely diagnosis and treatment, which can prevent or ameliorate the deadly effects of cervical cancer. Women need to be informed, empowered and encouraged to demand their rights and own their bodies. And the state needs to respond to these demands and provide rural women the healthcare and medical infrastructure they deserve.
Virtual boutiques connect Bolivian artisans with global markets
Photo : Iván Rodriguez Petkovic
A strange fact about Bolivian business ventures is this: according to the World Bank, a very high percent of businesses established in Bolivia are not officially registered and undertake their business informally. 95% of these businesses are small or medium-sized, with the owners acting as the business’s main employees. Or they are family businesses, or ones which only employ an average of five people. There are too many obstacles, caused by a lack of knowledge or training, which prevent them from being able to develop as enterprises and to penetrate new markets.
In Bolivia, many business ventures fail upon entering the market and, working with the same few clients they have had since the start, they sometimes never manage to expand into the international market. Nor do they see the need to do so. At present, there are many non-governmental organisations, mostly foreign, who have tried to shed more light on the issue and to help these small enterprises develop their business strategies.
I have always been curious about the trading of specialist artisanal textiles which takes place on Calle Sagárnaga, in the city of La Paz. This place is better known by foreigners as ‘The Witches’ Market’, a tourist area of great prestige, where hundreds of these manufacturers gather together to sell their famous ‘backpacker’ favourites – items made from alpaca or vicuña wool; leather artefacts; and fabrics sporting traditional andean designs, native to the culture of this part of the world. Mostly, these are used as gifts from tourists who delve into this corner of the city and bring the products they find back to their native lands.
This kind of clustering of businesses is seen in other touristy spots of the altiplano like Cuzco and Puno. And there are many connotations associated with this group of small businesses who are dedicated to selling their products. Firstly – and this is known by almost all – is the fact that these salespeople have had to make little effort in order to sell their items. Rather, they just wait until the clients arrive on their doorstep and hope that, if luck would have it, they don’t move on to the stall next door. Secondly, these small ventures mostly came, or still do come, from families located in the rural communities bordering La Paz, and, thanks to the sale of their hand-crafted items they continue to support their children and household. Finally, it’s worth noting that just about everybody is aware of the market potential of these items.
The wider market viability of these products is particularly notable when speaking to former Bolivian Express interns – and that’s over one hundred people – who reaffirmed the potential and success that these sorts of products could have. This is due, first and foremost, to their high quality, but also to the climatic conditions experienced in Europe once winter arrives. This is a market still in its infancy, but with great potential.
Recently, there has been a substantial increase in the promoting of businesses through social media. This has been the main source of commercialisation and publicity for all sorts of product and services, not just in Bolivia, but all over the world. The correct usage of these enormous media outlets can see products flying off the shelves not only in the interior market of whichever country it happens to be in, but also in the foreign market. Tools as accessible as Facebook ads, a good Instagram hashtag, the correct approach to Google Analytics or a memorable ad campaign can revolutionise a business venture instantaneously. This is so widely known that every salesperson gets to grips with the technology, and becomes familiar with these outlets.
Today, there are more and more new businesses making a name for themselves in La Paz city, such as Mistura or Walisuma, two local boutiques renowned for working with, and in some way promoting, artisanal Bolivian producers. And they are using the media platforms previously mentioned. This is the case with Entremetteuses, an ‘intermediary’ business venture – as the name suggests – that provides yet another link between artisans and the global market.
Launched in February of this year, Entremetteuses was brought to life by Laura Lapointe from Canada and Marlene Bevillard from France. Thanks to their experience working in Bolivia with a Canadian NGO, both realised the need of many Bolivian artisans to launch their textile and leather products into the market, often as a way to leave behind poor living conditions and get ahead. Despite being a for-profit business, which has the aim of selling their products through their website and Facebook page, the company also has many aspects of a social project. The company’s two founders work with various communities, including with women who worked previously as escorts and with small-scale businesses who mostly produce leather items. The designs are the artisans’ own creations, and in working with the company the producers have to be innovative and work hard. Their webpage, which reminded me a lot of London-based online retailer Asos due to the method of buying, is very accessible and user-friendly for all, and is impeccably designed.
We at Bolivian Express strongly believe that this type of business venture promoting Bolivian products should be encouraged. We support the daily effort of these artisans who are trying to create better opportunities for themselves in this world. A world which demands our creativity and expects us to do our bit for the economic and social development of our land.
For more information visit: www.entremetteuses.com
Conscious food in La Paz
Photos: Jerusa Pozo
In today’s culture of food-centric television, speaking of ‘food design’ or ‘cocina de autor’ is all the rage. The idea of ‘conscious food’, which is part of that discussion, has begun to penetrate Bolivian society. It is a novel idea in a country that has not paid respect historically to the rights of animals.
This is where Ali Pacha comes in: a restaurant in central La Paz, on Calle Colón near Calle Potosí, that takes its name from an Aymara phrase that means ‘universe of plants’. While restaurants that offer new cuisine are usually found in the southern part of the city, someone thought to bring a new dining experience to the centre of town.
Ali Pacha has a small door. When you're inside, however, it offers a respite from the visual chaos of the city centre. The aesthetics of the place take over your attention: seats made of sacks of rice or flour, exotic liquors, vintage artifacts. You know you are paying for a visual experience as well as a gastronomical one.
You sit down at your table and the waitress asks you what ‘kind of experience’ you want to have. I look at the menu and select the ‘executive menu’ (the cheapest option available), which has three dishes. Shortly thereafter, I am delivered a glass of water, coconut butter and homemade bread to ‘warm the stomach.’
Everything has an eco-friendly look. The restaurant has a very ‘chic’ atmosphere. While I wait for my first dish, I carefully observe the place. The room offers partial views of the kitchen where you can watch interactions between the chefs.
The first dish to come is papaya with something similar to ceviche. The waitress explains in detail how the dish was made and that there is no recipe for it. At Ali Pacha the menu is revamped every two days.
Flavors mingle in my mouth and I like what I feel. Although the food looks small on the plate, it satisfies my palate. At the same time, I wonder if Bolivians could ever become accustomed to such small portions, as we are used to heaping plates of food that nourish our eyes as well as our stomachs.
Then comes the main dish: rice pasta bathed in beet juice with targui flowers. Again, the waitress explains in detail how they made the dish. The flavours invade my mouth and I savour the unique creation.
Finally, the dessert, which is the star of the show: a raspberry sauce with quinoa and vanilla ice cream.
I pay the bill, which is ten times more than a regular lunch at a popular restaurant, but I'm happy and satisfied with the whole experience.
