Inti Raymi

Reading: The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Díaz

Andean flute players, Cotacachi

When you google image search “Ecuador,” the first picture that pop up aside from the maps is an idyllic scene of an indigenous market. The second – traditionally dressed indigenous children riding a llama. It’s a justifiable assumption that first thought to come to mind when one thinks of Ecuador is a picturesque Andean scene, with snowcapped volcanoes and high-cheeked, fedora-wearing people (the general American population does not remember that Ecuador is home to the Galapagos). To be fair, it is a rational supposition, given that a third of the country could more or less be accurately described as so.

One of the perks of being in the Peace Corps is that, as a volunteer, we are often placed in the less known and less visited (and consequently, less idealized) parts of the country. That is to say, neither Chimbo nor Paccha fit the above description. Which is probably why neither make it on the typical “backpacker’s map.” Justified for the former and a shame for the latter.

Although neither of my Peace Corps sites have been in a community defined by the Andean indigenous cultural, I still find it completely fascinating. Perhaps it stirs my South Dakota roots, where the Native American cultural still preservers or maybe it is the fact that many of the indigenous, especially in the northern and eastern parts of Ecuador have been able to maintain their cultural practices amidst the modernization of the country. Either way, when given an opportunity to participate in the indigenous Festival of the Sun, Inti Raymi, I was all over it. It helped that I had some stocked up vacation days and a friend from the states visiting – a perfect excuse to travel. As I was saying before, the perks of being a PCV is that we inevitably end up off the beaten path. So, one could safely say that my first experience with Inti Raymi was quite authentic.

There are plenty of online sources explaining the traditions, symbolisms, and practices that make up Inti Raymi, but in short it could be best described as a weekend long dance party involving homebrewed chicha (corn based, beer like beverage), costumes, and small town rivalries. The dancing is centered on the belief that Mother Earth, or Pachamama, will provide an outlet for release of the previous year’s pent-up energy while at the same time offer new, positive energy for the upcoming year. This results in some very high energy, expressive, and intense stomping, dancing, and chanting.

The community of Morochos participating in Inti Raymi

In the Cotacachi area the festival consists of some forty some small community in the surrounding area providing groups of mostly male dancers. (The final day is reserved for women to participate in, as well as visiting gringas. But more on that in another post.) The communities segregate themselves geographically based on whether they are higher up the mountain from Cotacachi (Altos) or down the mountain (Bajos). I am told by the PCV that lives in one of the Alto communities, that this area of the country is extremely peaceful with no hard feelings between these communities. Inti Raymi, however, is the exception.

Pause: before continuing reading, you have to promise me that if you go beyond this point, you will, without a doubt, finish reading the entire post. There are a lot of preconceived misconceptions about safety when living abroad, serving in Peace Corps, and specifically pertaining to Ecuador. I do not wish or intend to further those (ehem, parents.) That being said, there is a universality to be found in what Inti Raymi was, is, and can be. It is, I believe, imperative to remember that. Now, feel free to continue reading…

The weekend began with three of us showed up on Friday completely unaccompanied by the local PCV and her community. As we made our way from the bus station to the main town square, we were greeted with crowds of women, dressed in traditional anacos running away from the direction of the park. Only slightly confused (and deterred) at this point, we then started to notice that most of the women and children were covering their mouth, nose, and eyes. After a moment of confused evaluation of the situation and a faint burning sensation in the air, it was determined that the crowd was probably trying to escape the teargas. We quickly weighed our options, called it a day, and opted to return to Otavalo, with a revised plan of experience the festival the following day under the safeguard of the PCVs host family.

Police barricade around Cotacachi's central park

The next day, we returned to a much more contained Cotacachi due to, as we later found out, the rapid importation of numerous police forces. The pieces of the previous days events slowly began to come together, as we learned that there had indeed been teargas used in response to the violence that had erupted between rival Alto and Bajo communities. Although violence between communities had become increasingly common in recent years, it had remained limited to drunken brawls in the streets and throwing of rocks at one and other – explanation for the strange, wide brimmed witches hats donned by the participating men. This year, however, the violence had escalated to point that four individuals where killed due to the presence of firearms.

The tension on this day following the shootings filled the town of Cotacachi. Yesterday, it had been a ghost town, with shops closed and streets empty aside from the confusion of participating communities. Today, although, people seemed to be waiting, waiting to see if violence, as it so often does, was to beget more violence or if the price of human life had finally put pointless enmities in perspective.

As we watched tentatively from the steps of main church (carefully situated next to the police barricade), the communities came, one by one, to dance in honor of the Summer Solstice. They stomped and chanted, raised their arms and their voices, and danced with a ferocity that could never be described only experienced. But there was something humbling in the ceremony. As dictated by the police oversight, each region, Alto and Bajo, were only given an hour in the morning and an hour in the afternoon to dance separately, regardless if they completed the three traditional passes around the town square. To my knowledge, the police enforced separation of the two was respectfully maintained. The horror of the previous day could not be forgotten. But the rediscovery of the essence of Inti Raymi could honor the lives lost.

I said before, there is a ubiquitous lesson that we can find in this. It would be easy to simply conclude that this was the result of a barbaric and antiquated cultural practice. Instead, think back the last news headline that you saw of a small town rivalry resulting in a tragic bar fight, a tailgating clash gone array, shots between hostile gangs, wars started over misunderstood ideological differences. Pride for one’s community can be a beautiful thing, but we should be wary of when that pride is placed before value of human life.

Inti Raymi dancing