In many parts of rural Bolivia, whether people have come together to hold a community meeting or to celebrate a milestone or holiday, there are many occasions for an apthapi, or communal meal. Most of my experiences with these events have been in areas populated by potato and quinoa farmers and llama herders. In these areas, women gather in a nice shady spot and empty their aguayos of their contents: boiled potatoes, chuño, corn, cheese. . . whatever they can bring from their small farms. At an apthapi, everyone contributes food to share, which is laid out in a long line on the ground, mountains of local foods cooked separately but brought together into one heaping mound.
Once everyone sits around the spread, the real purpose of the gathering begins. After a short greeting and message of thanks from community leaders, everyone leans in and takes their first sampling. Their bare hands search for the perfect potato and tear off a small piece of cheese to accompany it. Their fingers begin to peel the red and brown skins, dropping the casing in the ground to reveal the potatoes’ white, starchy flesh. Everyone digs in, laughing and chatting all the way.
I once described an apthapi as ‘a potluck on the Altiplano’, but the truth is it is more than that. It is an old tradition with unspoken yet set rules: where people sit, who eats first, how to give thanks. The event happens with a surprising amount of order if you look closely. But many of these rules are in place to set expectations, to make sure things go smoothly. With a communal understanding of what is taking place, you can focus on what is important: spending time with the people around you. You can talk business, ask others about their families, trade jokes. It is usually held outside, and the entire community is present. With communal food as the binding factor, it is a gathering not to be missed if given the opportunity to attend.
In this issue of Bolivian Express, we looked at all forms of gatherings, and how opportunities to come together with others make for great experiences. We visited a fine-dress motorcycle rally that brought dapper motorists together for a good cause in Cochabamba. We visited mosques in La Paz and saw how this community prays together to practice their faith. We rocked out with heavy metal fans and watched young women skateboard together, both groups collectively defying community expectations to find a home amongst their like-minded friends. And we learned what it means to be a citizen in a large city, the permanent gatherings many of us navigate every day.
With every issue of this magazine, we try to bring everyone together to share our Bolivian experiences. Our writers tell their stories and adventures in this great country, and we amplify the voices of the people who make Bolivia a fascinating place. While not everyone may be lucky enough to experience a Bolivian apthapi, hopefully this magazine allows people to connect with Bolivia in the same deep way. And hopefully you will enjoy the stories we experience together as we explore the people and places around us.
Download
Illustration: Hugo L. Cuellar
Behind the Walls of a Local Mosque
“Allahu Akhbar” (Allah is the Greatest) sounds through the prayer room of the As-Salam mosque on Friday afternoon, the holy day for Muslims. In La Paz, about forty people, mostly men, gather at the mosque in Sopocachi. Before entering the prayer room, imam Ayman Altaramsi, the religious leader of the mosque, gives me a hijab, or headscarf, to cover my hair. Without it I wouldn’t be allowed to attend the prayer, he explains.
I take off my shoes and sit down in the women's area, which is separated from the men’s by a curtain. On the other side of the room, men kneel down on the carpet as Altaramsi starts the service by thanking Allah (God) for the people’s coming. He begins by reciting Arabic verses and hymns that are elusive to me. Most of the attendees call out the words with full commitment. Looking through the transparent curtain, I see the silhouette of Altaramsi wearing a loose-fitting robe and a head cap
After the service, I meet Altaramsi in another room, and this time he’s wearing a modern suit. When I ask about his metamorphosis, he talks about his job as a doctor and briefly recounts his life story. He was born as a Muslim in Palestine and came to Bolivia to study medicine. Today, Altaramsi volunteers as a mentor for the Islamic Association of Bolivia, which includes tasks such as leading the prayer ceremonies and giving Arabic and Quran lessons.
The Muslim community isn't large in Bolivia. According to Altaramsi, there are about 2,000 people who practice Islam in La Paz and two official Sunni Mosques across the country. The one in La Paz has existed for 11 years. ‘Ninety-five percent of the people who visit it are Bolivian converts of all ages, generally converted between the age of twenty to forty,’ he claims.
The majority of the people attending the Friday ceremony are young men and women. This is because most of the adult men have work responsibilities. According to the National Statistical Institute of Bolivia, the majority of Bolivian citizens self-identify as Catholic. ‘Bosses don’t really keep in mind Muslim duties as they do in the Middle East,’ says Altaramsi. ‘Bolivian society is not structured around Islam.’
The As-Salam mosque functions as an informal center where they teach the values and principles of Islam. People come together to read the holy Quran and to learn about Islamic traditions. ‘Sharing information on the religion is what we do with members of the mosque, but also with newcomers,’ Altaramsi says. ‘As a result, every month we welcome at least three converts to our community.’
Youngsters are crucial for the community because they will continue Islamic traditions in Bolivia. Islam prohibits alcohol and drugs. ‘These stimulants are part of contemporary life,’ Altaramsi acknowledges. ‘Nevertheless we try to persuade youngsters to adopt Islamic identities by showing them the rules of Allah. During the Quran lessons, they learn and read about how to be a good Muslim.’
Another part of being Muslim is eating halal food, which means food that is approved by Islamic law. It is very hard to find it in Bolivia. ‘Five years ago we started producing our own halal meat,’ Altaramsi says proudly. During the month of Ramadan, when Muslims fast from dawn until sunset, ‘about one hundred people come to our Mosque to eat this meat and share their spiritual experiences,’ he says.
The As-Salam mosque functions as an informal center where they teach the values and principles of Islam.
The Islamic Association of Bolivia also organizes sessions in which women come together to discuss Islam. I joined a gathering where all participants were either Bolivian converts or born as Muslims in Bolivia. They called me hermana, and were open about how they converted. Morah Bacinello converted eight years ago after growing up Catholic because Christianity didn’t bring her satisfaction. ‘I came to this mosque to try something else,’ she explains. ‘They told me about eternal life, and this especially caught my interest because I lost a son,’ she says. Bacinello adopted her Arabic name and, two years later, her children also converted to Islam. Now Allah is guiding their lives.
Little by little, Bacinello has taken up the Muslim lifestyle. The separation of men and women is one of the key differences she has had to get accustomed with. ‘This process develops gradually,’ she says. ‘Over time you grow along with the faith that will embrace you for your whole life.’
Like many Muslim women, Bacinello wears a hijab, but only two years ago she started to use it in public. ‘I never had any experiences with people approaching me in a negative way,’ she says. ‘In general, people in Latin America are more spiritual than usual, and perhaps more tolerant in terms of religion.’
‘Some people look at us in a suspicious way,’ says Amina Morales, who was known as Marilin fourteen years ago, before her conversion. This might have to do with the limited knowledge some Bolivians have about the religion. ‘I have even met people who have never heard of Muslims,’ she adds and shares a laughable experience in which people thought she belonged to the Hare Krishna community. ‘We also wear loose-fitting clothes, but Islam is very different,’ she says with a smile.
When I leave the mosque, I find myself outside on the street, back in the vivid neighborhood of Sopocachi. I look at the mosque, which has a golden minaret on top, and think of my conversations with the faithful inside. People are walking down the hilly road, not knowing what is happening behind the walls of this intriguing place. They disappear in the bustle of La Paz, where the members of the As-Salam Mosque also work, live, and thrive.
Illustration: Hugo L. Cuellar
Battling Human Trafficking in Bolivia
‘We invite you to a briefing about job opportunities in France’s most prestigious
hotel chain: ""Hôtel Fleur de l'Ixora"". We are looking for receptionists and valets among others, for our two new hotels on the Caribbean islands of Guadeloupe and Martinique. We offer: €1000 per month, medical insurance, accommodation, and French lessons. You haven’t finished your studies yet? No problem. You don’t speak French? It's okay. Most of our guests are Spanish speakers.
This advertisement, calling college students in La Paz and El Alto to an informational gathering about a foreign job opportunity, was distributed on fliers across two university campuses. The recruitment, however, was not organized by a Caribbean hotel chain. In fact, Fleur de l’loxra doesn’t even exist.
The Service and Training Center for Women (CECASEM) created this fake hotel with fake opportunities to raise awareness on the issue of human trafficking. Executive Director Dra. Patricia Bustamante says it was easy to gather students eager to work at this questionable hotel. It shocked her, but unfortunately this is a reality. Across Latin America and other regions, human traffickers promise anything, most of all economic security and a life of excitement and opportunities for young individuals.
Over the past few years, the number of women trafficking cases has increased in Bolivia. According to CECASEM, last year there was a two-percent increase in reported victims than the year before. The trend is particularly felt in rural regions,where women and young girls flee home for a better future. ‘The areas provide little opportunities for development,’ Bustamante explains. ‘Municipalities don’t invest in proper education and training to prevent girls from becoming sex workers.’ These girls are vulnerable, susceptible, and therefore easy targets.
CECASEM addresses human trafficking through research, public awareness, and policy initiatives. According to Bustamante there is a gap between victims and legislation in Bolivia. She believes the government is focused on drug trafficking in the country, but that it needs to tackle the problem of human trafficking as well. ‘If you rob a bank, there is a law; if you steal something, there is a law; but if you traffick a person, there is simply no proper law,’ she points out.
But Bustamante is hopeful for the future of human trafficking victims. Her organization is working with rural municipalities to improve local support and gather testimonies from the victims. ‘We hope to track down the real numbers to create an evident representation of the problem,’ she says.
In the busy streets of La Paz and El Alto, there is another organization that works with victims of human trafficking, specifically sexual exploitation. Munasim Kullakita, which means “learn to love yourself, sister” in Aymara, aims to provide a safe haven for victims and restore the confidence of these women and girls. Some of the victims are underage, abandoned, and homeless. They don’t have money, a place to stay, or work opportunities.
This is where Munasim Kullakita comes in. For the past ten years, the organization has worked with victims of sexual commercial violence in La Paz and El Alto and has recently expanded to other cities in Bolivia. Subdirector Ariel Ramirez Quiroga says it is a challenge to identify and contact the victims. Every week, Munasim Kullakita hits the streets to talk and listen to women and girls who might have been exposed to this type of violence. ‘They are damaged, so we have to be careful with them,’ Ramirez says. ‘Helping them rebuild their trust is a complex and important process.’
When victims accept the help of the organization, they start with simple activities, such as volleyball, to get to know the social workers. Munasim Kullakita also provides medical check ups, where they screen for sexually transmitted diseases. ‘When we are really certain the person feels secure and safe enough, we start the trajectory of professional psychological help,’ Ramirez explains.
The women and girls stay in a safehouse for a minimum of three months. During this time, the organization tries to contact their families, because eventually the women will have to return to their homes and continue their lives. ‘This is a complicated part of our work,’ Ramirez says. ‘Some of them have families who don’t want to take them back.’ For these women and girls, a special program has been created in which they do light work for five hours a day and are expected to study. The goal is to help them build an independent future.
‘This trajectory takes time, but it’s definitely worth it because the rewards are very encouraging,’ Ramirez says proudly. Generating personal contact is time-consuming and costly, but it allows the organization to do the work that the police simply cannot handle. Munasim Kullakita accompanies the victims in their healing process and assists them in reporting their cases to local authorities.
The workers of CECASEM and Munasim Kullakita encounter the bottlenecks of tracking and preventing sexual commercial violence. Reliable data is limited, and many say there isn’t proper legislation for the perpetrators. The voices of the victims are not loud enough to raise more awareness on this issue. They find themselves in onerous situations that are hard to escape from. Both organizations try to tackle the problem from its root by giving girls and women a safe and prosperous environment to protect them from ending up in the hands of the traffickers.
With its fake hotel, CECASEM has demonstrated how easy it is to become ensnared by people looking to exploit others. Along with Munasim Kullakita, it collects horrifying and telling testimonials. In one of them, an anonymous victim, who is only fifteen years old, delineates the hideous atmosphere of the plazas where the girls and women gather and are picked up by men. It is a sad story, but the organizations are working hard to give her and other women a better future.
Photos: William Wroblewski
Bolivia’s Metal Scene
At a metal concert, it’s easy to find friends, beer, brutal music, and cool performances. Among the numerous tattoos peeking out from under even more numerous band shirts, there’s an amazing energy radiating from that can only be created by this thunderous musical mayhem.
Metal might seem aggressive, and it’s sometimes even blamed as a trigger for a violent behavior. But according to a 2015 study by the University of Queensland in Australia published in the journal Frontiers in Human Neuroscience, metal and other extreme genres of music – emo, hardcore and punk, for example – can actually lead to a state of relaxation and calm in its listeners, producing a result similar to sitting in silence.
These styles of music help their listeners to explore the full gamut of human emotions. And contrary to what many people think, metal typically does not make its fans angrier; listening to it may actually present a healthy way of processing anger for these listeners. And when metaleros congregate with each other at concerts and meet each other, it creates a community and a sense of togetherness. In Bolivia, the chaotic, loud and powerful sounds of metal have attracted young people for decades, turning the taste for this genre of music into an addictive lifestyle difficult to drop.
Gonzalo Martinez Hinojosa has been a metalhead since he was a kid. Now 44, he has an office job like most people. He’s an athlete and leads a healthy life, but his devotion to metal means he takes every opportunity to enjoy the music that he says nourishes his soul. At a young age, he discovered the records of Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, and Deep Purple, thanks to his uncle who played guitar in a rock band at the time. From there, he discovered a whole new world that he doesn’t want to leave. ‘Music chooses you,’ Gonzalo says. ‘It’s something you like so much you never leave. Metal is a style of music of great intensity. It gives you great strength, makes you think about things, keeps you questioning everything.’
During the week, Gonzalo has to wear a suit and tie to go to work. But perhaps the real Gonzalo is the one who wears Anthrax, Slayer, and Megadeth T-shirts. He saves for months in order to attend concerts in different countries, or even in international waters: he is a two-time attendee of ‘70000 Tons of Metal’, an annual Caribbean cruise for metalheads and musicians.
In metal, women play a large and very present role in the scene. One active member of the Bolivian metal community is Julia ‘Hexe’ Ascarrunz, a singer for more than 10 years. She is 28 years old and an anthropologist, but metal will always be one of her main passions.
Julia’s first performance was in El Alto, when she was invited onstage to sing a song alongside the band Effigy of Gods during an album-release show. Her first official band, Metastasys, gave her the opportunity to tour throughout Bolivia and in neighboring countries with the bands Decomposing Flesh and Black October. From 2009 to 2014, she played with her brother Pedro in a project called Blood Rituals. And now she’s currently the lead singer of Carcinoma, a death metal band.
‘It's nice to see new people approaching metal music,’ Julia says. ‘The scene is growing apace.’ But despite this growing interest, however, she points out that today in La Paz there aren’t many spaces where you can listen to or play metal. She also says that not so long ago, discrimination against female metalheads was rampant, but that women themselves have demonstrated their strength and passion for this genre, changing perceptions from within. ‘In recent years, things have changed. Now it’s a privilege to have a girl band playing on your stage.’
‘Metal gives you great strength, makes you think about things, keeps you questioning everything.’
– Gonzalo Martinez Hinojosa
Women are also working behind the scenes. Lucia Zarratti Chevarria and her production company, Dantalian Overactive Producciones, promotes and organizes metal concerts and events and manages several national bands. Lucia’s introduction to metal came 20 years ago, when she first heard the song ‘Symphony of Destruction’, from Megadeth’s classic Countdown to Extinction album, at a friend’s house. ‘I started to copy tapes, buy records, attend concerts, and to choose bands and genres,’ Lucia explains. For Lucia, as for many fans, metal music is a passion that can’t be explained logically, it’s simply lived and applied to daily and professional life. It was with this energy that she started Látex, a clothing business exclusively for female metalheads.
While metal originated far from Bolivia, several national bands have emerged in recent years, and they’ve given the genre a Bolivian flavor. Armadura, which formed 12 years ago with members from La Paz and El Alto, is still going strong, constantly presenting new sounds to its audience. The band’s version of the song ‘Ama Sua, Ama Llulla, Ama Khella’ (originally by the Andean folk group Kalamarka) is metal fusion, but guitarist and songwriter Franz Thames Rossel says the band makes music inspired by the environment, everyday life, and the social problems affecting their country.
Franz, Lucia, Julia and Gonzalo all highlight the importance of organizing festivals and supporting emerging bands. With their collective energy, they are leading the charge in keeping alive the metal scene in Bolivia. Stay heavy, metalheads!
Special thanks to Capotraste Music Bar in San Miguel, La Paz, for providing a location for our portrait of Julia.
