Dan Bryant experiences of a student from Virginia University in Baldalupaxi

I was with Baltazar Paza for only twenty hours, but it was a time I will never forget. I was traveling southward through the Ecuadorian Andes, researching the use of Internet technology and how it might be applied to improve communities. For this reason, I hoped to know a rural community in the Chimborazo province. Baltazar made that possible. When I arrived in Riobamba, I immediately phoned Baltazar to let him know that I would be getting on the bus heading toward Guamote shortly. My plans changed, though, when he alerted me that he too was in Riobamba. He had come to use the Internet, something he could not do in his home community. This immediately re-confirmed one of the phenomena I had been studying in Ecuador, one which Dr. Maximiliano highlighted in our interview – the centralization of resources and tools (herramientas) in cities. Baltazar and I ate a quick lunch in town and took the bus toward Guamote back to Balda Lupaxi, where we began the trek along the dirt road to his home. I was struck by the majesty of the green and yellow rolling hills and open pastures, by the silent gaze of the indígenas as they looked westward over their fields, cloaked in bright tradition. On our way to his home, Baltazar and I took a detour into a nearby garden, where he showed me the beginnings of a reforestation project and explained his hopes for the future of the community. He dreamed of hills covered with trees and protective plants, both for beauty and to preserve the fertility of the soil that blankets his land. He outlined his vision for the strengthening of their traditional identity and the development of a community tourism enterprise so that they might share their way of life with others. Cultural interchange became a theme for my visit, one that, in addition to overarching its entirety, continuously reappeared in small, definable ways. We continued up toward his house, and as we did he described the various buildings -- the community center, the jardín de infantes (a sort of nursery and school), and the few homes he hoped to transform into lodging for future visitors. He showed me his home, and the homes of his close family, which sat just a few feet up and down the hill from his own. I admired his closeness with his family, both in terms of their proximity and their relationship. Baltazar took me behind his home to continue painting the picture he had begun of his life and his community. He explained the beautiful, orange, red, and yellow pastel, wheat-like stalks that wafted there. They were kinwa, a special type of edible grain that comprised part of his livelihood. Most of the families in that area were members of an organization of kinwa exporters, but very few were able to sustain themselves with income from this alone. Some years, he said, one could not produce enough kinwa to sell. They had to eat first what they needed to survive, and consider sales later. Oftentimes, there was nothing left for that second consideration, and sometimes not even enough for the first. He went on to describe his dream of cultivating more of the land for kinwa and other traditional crop production. At this point, Baltazar excused himself for a moment, entered his home, and re-emerged in his traditional dress – a deep red, striped poncho and a felt hat. He also donned heavy rubber boots, better for walking through the wet fields. He explained that he very much preferred this clothing, but that when he went into the city he felt the necessity to change into something more urban. We continued up the hill a few feet to his nephew's home, where I met much of his extended family, including of course, his nephew, Luis, and his two adorable children. After Baltazar showed me the garden and described his plans for its beautification, we continued up the road into the hills, with the children running alongside us for a few minutes. After they turned back, Baltazar and I followed an old path that diminished in size until we reached the Inca Trail. A light rain pattered our faces, and we continued past the trail to the "mirador" (the lookout point), from which one can see five separate volcanoes on a clear day. Clouds obscured some, but Sangay stood out in the southeast like an unchanging monolith. I could feel the serenity of the place. A few minutes after we returned to his nephew's home, Baltazar departed to bring the cows home for the evening. I have an image of him turning in the doorway and disappearing into the twilight that I will never forget. I stayed with his extended family. Baltazar's niece and nephew made tea from the fresh mint leaves of their garden, and it was enough to calm anyone after a long day. I sat for a minute, overwhelmed by the day's passing, and the children came to keep me company. Luis's son was full of energy, and he proudly showed me the "huequito," the little hole in the middle of the table, as if it were a great secret. His curiosity gave me hope. Baltazar returned, and the six of us together ate a delicious and generous filling of traditional cuisine. Baltazar shared his religious views and explained the religious breakdown within the community. Some were Catholic, others Evangelical, but most shared a strong reverence for nature and community. After dinner Baltazar escorted me to my room, just a short way down the hill. Luis's son insisted on joining us, and we three trotted slowly through the serene darkness, punctuated occasionally by the baying of nearby animals. There was only nature in the night. My two companions bid me goodnight, and I quickly relaxed into an eclectic room, where magazine images of Bruce Lee ornamented a contrast with the local crafts and artwork that adorned the walls. I considered further the effects of the Internet and cultural interchange, and these considerations accompanied me as I drifted off to sleep. They were there too as I awoke with the sunrise. After a quick breakfast, Baltazar invited me to join him as he returned the cows to the field. As we -- that is, Baltazar, three bulls, one cow, and I – trudged down the narrow path toward the open fields, he explained to me the importance of these cattle for his livelihood. They grew them from their youth so that they could sell them at maturity, and the twice daily walk with them had become an indelible part of his daily routine. He explained also how the once-open fields had been parceled out and how that had been an important and necessary change in the life of the town. Yet he also explained the simultaneous necessity and importance of communal property in the town center, and he described the community identity that existed, but existed in danger. We returned together up the hill, and he invited me into his home, where I was surprised to find a pristine computer. Again, it offered a distinct contrast of old and new, traditional and innovative, that set me thinking. Baltazar explained to me that the community did not have the Internet, but that he desired the computer for word-processing and video. He then inserted a special video that we watched together. It was entitled "Sawari," (marriage in Kichwa), and documented in vibrant reality both the plights and celebrations of Balda Lupaxi. Baltazar explained to me that his community's traditional identity was among its most treasured riches, but that it presently suffered. This movie, he said, was just one way of sharing that identity and those sufferings with the world. In addition to a jovial marriage, the movie depicted the great urban migration of the community's youth, who were allured by urban ostentation and enticed to cast off their traditional culture. Among the movie's many moving scenes is one of a town meeting in which leaders discuss how they will combat this great outward migration and loss of identity. At movie's end, Baltazar answered many questions that it had stirred in my mind, and he offered to send it to me via email. I knew in just this one gesture that the Internet was a great tool for the strengthening of identity, yet I was conscious of its greatly unequal distribution. After we concluded our conversation in his home, Baltazar walked with me to recover my things, and he escorted me back down that road toward the Pan-American Highway. It had seemed a lifetime or just one second since I had arrived. I did not know which. Baltazar explained how to catch the bus to Guamote, and we parted.I realized that I had developed a great respect for him, a man that cares so deeply for his community and works each day to reinvigorate his cultural identity. I watched him as he turned, crossed the highway, and headed back into Balda Lupaxi to continue his work. I will never forget those twenty hours.