The coca leaf is perhaps the most indelible symbol of Bolivia: iconic, recognizable, simple. But within its image lies millennia of history and unknown depths of energy and power. Cultivated in the Andes since at least the period of the Tiwanaku – predating the Inca Empire – the coca plant has been employed for a variety of uses, including as a stimulant, an appetite suppressant and as an anesthetic. It is prepared as a tea, applied to wounds and most famously chewed in the mouths of workers of all walks of life here.
Playing such a key role in many societies over centuries, coca is venerated as a sacred plant, and has purpose beyond its biological and medical uses. Yatiris, or shamen, incorporate coca leaves into their practices in many ways. They are spread around in sacred ceremonies and ch’allas, or blessings. Yatiris ‘read’ coca leaves to tell the fortunes of believers. And the leaf is reduced to its essence to make extracts.
It is no wonder that the coca leaf plays a special role in Bolivia’s spiritual, social and economic spheres. It has driven civilizations to greatness, and has enlivened the spirits of their countless inhabitants, as it does today. At the core of this importance is the leaf’s ability to store and give life to those who engage with it. In Bolivia, the coca leaf is more than a symbol, it is the single most potent giver of enduring vitality.
The spirit of the coca leaf resides in many corners of Bolivian society. Similar energising forces which enliven the spirit and bring people together, can be found in other facets of day-to-day Bolivian life. In this issue of Bolivian Express, we explore vitality through the stories of people filled with power and life, from Aymara cholitas scaling the heights of Bolivia’s highest mountains to dancers taking their improvisational movements to the street. La Paz’s famous zebras show us ways to imbue city streets with positive energy, and Korean immigrants and volunteers tell us how they are becoming part of Bolivian society to do good works. We celebrate big advances made for Bolivia’s transgendered community, we also learn about objects and foods filled with the powers to enliven, including Bolivian spirits and the variety of items, old and new, sold at La Paz’s famous Witches Market. Bolivia is known for a number of ‘superfoods’, and we explore their local origins and uses to provide healthy sustenance to people here and abroad. And we dive into the collective national promotion of Vivir Bien, or ‘Living Well’, an abstract idea turning into a tangible, measurable metric for creating and maintaining balance and wellbeing for all of Bolivia’s citizens.
Bolivia is a place with its own kind of energy, its own vibrance. As is the case with every issue of this magazine, here we offer stories that show this beauty in many different ways. We want to show you, the reader, that the same enduring spirit that inhabits the coca leaf also resides in the people, places and things that call this country home. And we hope that you see Bolivia as a place that can be described as, above all, vital.
Download
A Watershed Law for Transgender Bolivians
Over the past few years, the global understanding of gender within cultural and social spheres has advanced with the increasing presence of transgender issues in the public eye. In 2016, Bolivia joined the discussion by passing its Gender Identity Law on the 19th of May 2016 in the Chamber of Deputies. This marks a major constitutional change that gives unprecedented recognition to the transgender community.
The trailblazing law permits citizens over the age of 18 to change their name, gender and photograph on their legal identification documents through a confidential process carried out before the Civil Registry Service. Gender reassignment surgery is not a requirement. Applicants are only obliged to participate in a simple psychological test that verifies the sincerity of their request before their documents are processed. Fast-forward 40 days and the new I.D. is ready.
As of August 1st, when the law came into full effect, at least forty people have begun the process of changing their documentation, with 2,000 people projected to follow swiftly after. This pioneering law is an evident sign that the transgender community has been given a place at the forefront of Bolivian society, after decades of being marginalised by the mainstream political agenda.
The deaths of Dayana Lazarte, Carla Suárez, Luisa Durán and Virgina Wanca Aliaga as a result of transphobic violence are evidence of the towering ideological barriers that the LGBT community has faced in the country. The fact, however, that the head of the Chamber of Deputies, Gabriela Montaño, dedicated the law to their memory shows that the government is willing to facilitate lasting progress.
David Arequipa, a prominent campaigner for the law and eminent member of La Familia Galán, a group of Bolivian trans activists, explains that at the 2007 national congress of the LGBT collective, the community voted to be officially renamed TGLB. This meant to prioritise the rights of transgender people, who had previously struggled to find work or finish school, and were often left homeless or forced to turn to prostitution. After decades of oppression, the law symbolises the full recognition of trans Bolivians as legal citizens. In theory, this should wave goodbye to an era of discrimination and welcome a more equal future.
‘The law is not the end, it is a beginning,’ Arequipa exclaims from his office chair, passionately speaking of the many battles yet to come. In this lucha, activists must focus on creating more employment opportunities for their community and improving its access to education, health and the justice system. The legalisation of gay marriage is yet another hurdle to be overcome, but Arequipa proudly believes that the TGLB community can continue its fight for equality, empowered and armed with a newly earned dignity.
After decades of oppression, the law recognizes trans Bolivians as legal citizens.
Resistance to a more nuanced and progressive perception of gender and sexuality exists due to a degree of hostility amongst the population. Arequipa recounts the initial ripples of opposition that spread in the wake of the law being passed. Some felt it went against nature and the concept of the ‘ordinary’ family. A survey in 2013 found that 57% of Bolivians were hostile towards TGLB issues, a reflection of the underlying conservatism in the country.
A prominent source of opposition in Bolivia are the Catholic and Evangelical communities. Sergio Gutiérrez, a local church leader, would have prefered a national referendum to settle the issue. Objectors in Santa Cruz took to the streets to protest against the law, armed with their own ideological demands. Despite mixed views on the subject within the Catholic Church, it seems this tension will be difficult to resolve since the tenants of the faith view gender change as an action that overrides the will of God.
Manuel Canelas, a member of parliament who coordinated between the activists and his fellow deputies, explains that the main barrier to equality is the ignorance that results from a lack of information. While La Paz is more tolerant due to the visibility of La Familia Galán and other public figures, in the campo and amongst the indigenous population, the idea of transgendered citizens remains largely alien.
‘The majority of Bolivians were apathetic when the law was announced,’ Canelas explains, although he hopes that the recent communication and education initiatives will better inform the people. The government is taking measures to ensure that trans people become more visible across various media outlets, such as the news, TV shows, radio broadcasts and social network sites. In schools, the curriculum is being improved so that children have a broader view of gender and sexuality from an early age. The goal is to show that being trans can be something normal.
According to Canelas, in contrast to the arduous battle fought by TGLB activists, the parliamentary process was surprisingly smooth, with a quick turnover after the initial proposal. Once the law was explained to the members of parliament, 85% of them voted in favour. This suggests education is key required to tackle the lingering antagonism to TGLB rights.
‘The law is not the end, it is a beginning,’–David Arequipa
After being asked about next steps, Canelas explains that efforts are being made to pass a law that allows for gay marriage. Although deeply-embedded traditional values will almost certainly make it a turbulent process, he hopes civil partnership, the first step toward equal marriage rights, will be legal within three years. By increasing the visibility and public discussion of TGLB issues in the country, the transgender law has paved the way towards a more diverse, equal and accepting Bolivia
Illustration : Oscar Zalles
Cholita Climbers break boundaries at the summit
Perhaps the hardest part of climbing a mountain is coming down again. Standing at the 6,088m peak of Huayna Potosí you are met by a view so vast it is encompassed only by the curvature of the earth itself. Yet this spectacle is dwarfed by the unbearable exhaustion that such a vista entails. There is no sudden moment of completion, no immediate release at the top. The long, difficult return awaits, more painful and more arduous than the upwards journey could have suggested. Such a testing path is almost solely reserved for the all-male Bolivian mountain guides and the foreign adventurers they ferry. Why would it be any different?
Except this year it has been different, radically and powerfully different. A group of cholitas, largely a community of cooks with mountain-guide husbands, have made this journey and many others like it. They have endured the peaks of five mountains so far (with the aim of scaling the eight Bolivian summits over 5,970m), and in the process have drawn the attention and acclaim of international media. Only a few months ago, they conquered the so called Patrimonio of La Paz, the colossal Illimani, accompanied by a sizable film crew and even drones to record their achievement. The resulting documentary, produced by Indomita SRL, is aptly called ‘Mujeres de Cumbre’, Summit Women and is due to be released this year.
I spoke at length with Lidia Hauyllas Estrada, one of these ‘cholita climbers’, and joined her family on a hike up Huayna Potosí. At 49 years old, she’s fairly typical of the group whose ages range between 40 and 50, which is extraordinary given the challenges posed by such extreme conditions. As she puts it, their desire to climb doesn’t come from an aspiration to exclusivity: ‘We are the women who have taken the first steps, and we’ve taken them for other women so they can feel what it is like to go [up the mountain] or at least feel they can do this,’ she said. The determination of the cholitas to see the summits for themselves and to do so dressed in their traditional pollera and petticoats (with the addition of modern climbing equipment) reflects the message of tangible action that these women wish to convey. There is something glorious and brilliantly disjointed about the contrast between vibrant patterned skirts and deathly white mountain snow.
Perhaps the greatest example of what these cholitas have achieved is their scaling of Illimani. The symbolic momentousness of this feat aside, the climb is a brutal one. At 6,438m it is the highest peak in La Paz, and second overall in Bolivia. The ascent contains a notorious 200m, near vertical, ice section named the ‘Stairway to Heaven’, so called for all the accidents it is has caused over the years. Certainly there is real danger involved. Lidia says the hardest part of the trip is leaving her children and grandchildren behind. ‘They would always say goodbye and ask that I dedicate the summit to them,’ she says.
‘We are the women who have taken the first steps, and we’ve taken them for other women.’–Lidia Hauyllas Estrada
The trip up to the top took place over three days. Laden with recording equipment and six camera operators, the eleven strong group, along with some of their husband guides, arrived at the high camp the evening before the final climb. They tensely prepared the night the big ascent and set off at 12 am, in the dead of night.
The idea is to climb while the snow remains firm and before the fickle sun has a chance to alter the path altogether. This doesn’t change how fundamentally disorientating this night time departure can be. Heavy with equipment but little sleep and even less oxygen, it is hard to muster the colossal energy needed to place one foot in front of the other, let alone safely navigate the treachery of high altitude glaciers. Temperatures plunge into negative. On the trip I joined up Huayna Potosí, my water bottle was nearly completely frozen. The cold makes the trail even more of a battle. I can only imagine the ice of the most technical and challenging section of Illimani, the ‘Stairway to Heaven’.
So close to the sky, maybe something heavenly did await the cholitas scaling Patrimonio. Cresting the final ridge of the mountain that looks over La Paz they too shared the vision of a goliath. ‘Just beneath us there was a light mist. It was if we stood in the sky,’ Lidia said. ‘Then it started to clear as if the clouds around us were erupting out of a volcano.’ Still, it was the trek back that was truly gruelling. ‘It wasn’t the difficulty of the [return], but the exhaustion,’ she explains. A thick cloud of snow descended on to the group in their journey back to the high camp.
The difficulty of these mountainous comedowns also points to another challenge inherent in what these cholitas are doing. Returning to the world below the clouds and after the media fervour, presents a number of problems for these women who hope to continue climbing. Simply put, the time, supplies and equipment necessary for each trip adds up to an expensive bill. The Illimani climb was sponsored by the La Paz Municipal Government under the promotional project, La Paz Ciudad Maravillosa, but other sources of sponsorship are harder to come by.
There is also the possibility that marital concerns make it difficult to freely schedule climbs. Lidia’s husband, Elio, was eager to talk about how he supports his wife’s endeavours. ‘I feel very proud because I’ve been a mountain guide for eight years and this was a collective project,’ he said. However, on a later trip, he hinted that some husbands may be less supportive.
Whatever the limitations, endurance is at the heart of their endeavor. Lidia hopes to scale mountains for as long as she’s physically able, and the ultimate aims of the group aren’t small. In terms of climbing, Illimani is barely a warm up for the colossus that lurks at the end of the group’s checklist: the largest mountain in South America, Argentina's Aconcagua. In turn, their desire to inspire other women is intergenerational. Just behind me for most of the Potosí climb was Lidia’s daughter, Suibel Gonzales Huayllas. The guides and cholitas want to help Bolivians re-discover the mountains on their doorstep. A sport, Elio wryly notes, they might have more success in than football.
My time with Lidia demonstrated that to climb a mountain is to undertake a journey of epic proportions, a journey that doesn’t end with the high point. These cholita climbers have not only travelled further than anyone could have imagined, but they have created something special in the process. ‘We were over the moon that we had created a story right here in Bolivia,’ Lidia says, ‘that we, the cholitas, had climbed a mountain, something that has never, ever, been seen before’.
Photo: Courtesy Of The Ministry of Health
The Changing Reality of Renal Patients in Bolivia
‘There was a moment in which I wanted to die. I didn’t want to shower, I didn’t want to eat. I was depressed. But now I am better,’ says Jesús Rojas, who is 35 and was diagnosed with chronic kidney disease more than ten years ago.
‘I ignored that it was a chronic disease, that I was going to be ill all my life,’ Roberto Chipana comments, who is 37 and developed kidney failure partly due to high alcohol consumption. ‘I could barely walk up two flights of stairs,’ he says. ‘My work was on the fourth floor.’
Jesús and Roberto do not reflect the successful story of their kidney transplants. Their young faces are lined with worry, fear, resignation, depression. Roberto currently walks on crutches. The dialysis treatment has weakened his body to the extent that the slightest fall could break his bones. Jesús’ voice is quiet. He speaks in short and clipped sentences, pausing frequently to look for a word. He finishes his accounts of depression with, ‘... but now I am better,’ as if to remind himself of his surgery’s success and that he is supposed to feel better now.
Various beliefs regarding death and the body are obstacles to organ donation.
In some places of the world kidney transplants are common surgical procedures, but in Bolivia they used to be practically inaccessible due to high cost and cultural reservations. A few years ago, Roberto had to turn down a kidney simply because he could not afford it. The organ cost about US$14,000 at the time. With the transplant process and necessary treatment, the cost added up to US$30,000 or $40,000. ‘A transplant was impossible for me,’ he recalls. ‘I was resigned to that reality.’
Because of the Programa Nacional de Salud Renal, launched in 2014, Jesús and Roberto can now speak about the nightmare of their illness in the past tense. The programme has made kidney transplants and dialysis treatment accessible and free of charge across Bolivia. This has doubled the number of transplants in the country since 2014. Before the programme, patients who could not afford a transplant or ‘access a dialysis unit due to its high cost, had to go home and pass away there,’ says Dr. Silvia Paz, who heads the initiative.
Despite the programme’s success, there are cultural barriers that lead Bolivians to reject organ transplants in general. ‘We have been able to partially break the paradigm surrounding transplants and organ donations,’ says Dr. Paz, although she is aware of the remaining challenges. In El Alto, she says, the rejection, especially to cadaveric transplants, is most aggressive. ‘One almost had to run out the back door because people wanted to lynch you,’ she remembers from her outreach experience in the area.
According to Milton Eyzaguirre Morales, an anthropologist from the Museo Nacional de Etnografía y Folklore, various beliefs regarding death and the body are co-responsible for this cultural rejection. In many faiths, the cycle of life and death requires that the human body returns the way it was conceived, ‘without a cut or a missing organ,’ he explains. In Andean thought, the body is viewed as the connection between the Ayamarka, or World of the Dead, and the entorno terrestre, or physical world. ‘If someone were to change the appearance of the body, the connection would be broken,’ he says.
Beyond spiritual matters, uninformed fear also present an obstacle to organ donation. ‘People don’t donate because they are scared,’ Roberto says.‘They are scared of falling ill like us.’ This is particularly painful for patients awaiting a lifesaving transplant.
Through educational outreach and the programme's growing presence across the country, attitudes toward organ donation are slowly changing. ‘People listen to you now,’ says Dr. Paz. ‘They are starting to understand. But if eventually they say “no”, we also respect that decision.’
The programme has made dialysis and kidney transplants free of charge across Bolivia.
After years of hardship, misunderstanding and denial, things are clearly getting better for both the programme and its beneficiaries. Jesús and Roberto are on the road to recovery, and the programme is growing and reaching more renal patients. The Programa Nacional represents a milestone for the Ministry of Health and the medical world in Bolivia but it is only a small battle in the fight for making transplants accessible in the country.
