In the jalca it's cold
and there is more distance
between house and house
and its warmth.
In the jalca the hair is restless in the wind
and we hide among the sparse bushes,
because urinating costs more.
And then in the icy air
we eat standing up,
feeling the grace of the food.
Javier Naranjo
El Carmen del Viboral, Colombia
These past few months I have been going out a lot to visit the children with disabilities in the Community Program. Before arriving at a house I always feel some concern. Are these children well? Have they improved a little? Have they been able to have breakfast this morning? These are some of the questions that cross my mind.
Most of the children we accompany live in situations of extreme poverty and in these months the lack of water, which is felt throughout the countryside of Cajamarca, worsens their uneasiness. I see the fires destroying the few remaining forests and I see the women carrying their cans and buckets of water from early in the morning and from far away. I see the farms producing less and less and I see the mining companies “eating” more and more fertile land in the jalca....
The concern is not vain, it is omnipresent.
However, when I arrive at the home of the families we visit and this child with projectable capacities runs to greet us with an immense and eternal hug, I feel that we are doing some good. I feel that our joint efforts serve to alleviate sorrows, to help these children walk - in the broad sense of the word - on the path that the universe has traced for each one of them. And, suddenly, I am the one who feels relief, hope, a light in these journeys. Because these children, these families and this community are balm for the soul. I cannot live without them.
Rita Mocker
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Manuela Vásquez Gonzales is in charge of a Rural Library in Educational Institution (BRIE) at school Nº 82663, in Bambamarca. Manuela is a second grade teacher and she is putting emphasis on bringing books and reading closer to her little eight year old students.
At the moment they are reading the collection of twenty story booklets Biblioteca Campesina ...y otros cuentos, published by The Network. The children take a booklet home for a week, read it and then share it in the classroom. They then exchange the booklets with other classmates. This week, in class, they shared their comments about elves in our stories and what they themselves know about elves.
Manuela writes to us:
To share day by day with the children is to be filled with joy, satisfaction and richness for the wisdom transmitted by their parents and grandparents, a legacy that we can't stop rescuing to keep our culture alive, as we have learned from our friend Alfredo Mires.
Thank you, Manuela, for your kind words and for sharing these experiences with us.
Coffee is, nowadays, one of the most popular beverages in the world. Its aroma, flavour and the intoxicating energy it provides have made it a daily companion. The whole world wants coffee; in the mornings millions of people drink it to start their day, and yet few people imagine where the brown bean comes from and how much it had to go through to reach their table. A little known side of the coffee trade (and of almost every agricultural product) is the imbalance in the value chain, where the farmer is the one who earns the least, generating what we call unfair trade or exploitation.
Today I am going to tell you a different, perhaps happy, story about coffee and a magical town called San Juan de Cutervo in Cajamarca, Peru.
Commissioned by Sarah's Rural Library Fund, and in collaboration with the Rural Libraries Network, I visited this small, beautiful and remote village. With the rural librarians of the area I was able to learn about their coffee production system and the dynamics of the village around their main source of income.
Jorge Carrasco, a teacher at the local school, is also a coffee producer and librarian. He comments that the ecosystem of the zone has welcomed the coffee, which is of good quality, with exalted aromas and flavours.
According to barista experts, it is a very good coffee that is also qualified as organic, since the use of chemical substances in the process is almost nonexistent. Specifically, the origin of this precious bean can be considered happy in San Juan de Cutervo.
And so, between books and coffee, these librarians and farmers share the wisdom that the ancient Cajamarcans told, sitting around the campfire.
Jorge Camacho
A man climbed to the top of a mountain and thought:
- Being up here, I feel I'm the owner of the world.
And the mountain said to the wind:
- Brother, I feel something strange on my back... could you see what I have?
Alfredo Mires
In: The elf of the labyrinth
At the beginning of August we met with the coordinators of the Community Programme and their children for a very special meeting: we wanted to know what these young people who are the second or third generation of ‘librarians’ and ‘companions of the children of the Community Programme’ remember, learn, think, feel and dream about our organisation and our trajectory.
It was a very emotional reunion where we lived with joy in community. We meditated, with all our senses, on how being a member of this network has influenced our lives. We remembered the books of the network and formed a big mandala with them. We wrote down what has impacted us most in all these years of living together and, at the end, we also wrote down the dreams and contributions we want to offer to the Network.
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Here we share some dreams with you:
‘I would be very happy if I were given the opportunity to draw and paint for the Community Programme.’
‘I dream that my children will at some point participate in the Community Programme and the Rural Libraries Network.’
‘I want to re-read some of the books from the Network and read the new books that have been published in the last few years.’
‘I would like to contribute volunteer hours for what is needed in the Network.’
‘I want to open a library in my home, in the schools where I have children from the Community Programme and in the Health Centre where I work.’
‘I want to continue to volunteer my time, my experiences and my knowledge to the Network.’
‘My dream with and for Libraries is that it is allowed to transform, transmute and transcend. That we never lose our essence or direction, but that we are willing to venture down new paths.’
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A few days ago, Readers' Day was celebrated in our country. Regardless of the reason and merit, this date is intended to promote reading as an essential and urgent activity for cultural and personal development. And, certainly, some institutions organise various activities to make this date visible.
It seems strange to us to set aside just one day to celebrate the tenacity of those who dare to be different, to delve into many worlds at once, to dig into the pages of a book to discover something interesting or simply to be entertained. It's good, but at the Rural Libraries Network we see reading as a permanent exercise, which goes beyond any format.
We read books, yes, and we also read the weather, the gestures and wrinkles on the faces of the elderly, the hands and feet of the peasant who tills the soil to give us the fruits of each day. Alfredo Mires said that the oldest book is the earth; it is certainly there that we do our first reading, long before we begin to read with letters and symbols.
Moreover, if it is a question of promoting reading in books, we cannot do it just for one day, because the readers of our Network read all the time. And they don't do it for the photo - even if we like to take a few snapshots of them from time to time. They don't do it for a competition, even though we love to encourage our best readers by gifting them more books. Our readers and our librarians who encourage reading do so spontaneously, with real appreciation for books and for those who write them.
We salute, then, those who always read: without pressure, without the need for call outs, competitions or photographs.
Experiencing first hand, or in person, what is the Rural Libraries, was like lovingly receiving a reading guide from the hands of the villagers.
First from those who meet once or twice a year in their Assembly, and then in the beautiful village of Masintranca, thanks to don Sergio, doña Dona and her daughter Nerly. With their patient and generous company I went through this ‘guide’; not on paper or in classrooms, but through everyday conversations, in meals around the ‘richest’ tables I have ever seen, or in gestures and silences charged with enormous meaning.
The illustrations of this kind of first sketch were the colours of the city, of the sky, of the crops, the tones of voices, the chanting of languages combined around something big that I try to understand with the body, more than with ideas; stories of migrations, of losses and achievements, of hopes and of enormous tasks to be done, to be rethought.
That ‘something big’ that I am still trying to understand is like its guardian hills, its apus, firm and strong in their history, but still in movement, in permanent growth; something that stirs my own roots - as it should be, I think -: the relevance (and belonging) of words, the awareness of the infinite in each one of us, the solitudes and struggles that unite us.
It is curious to call ‘volunteering’ (which we generally associate with ‘giving’ in a top-down way, with a certain paternalistic generosity) an activity that is by no means individual or one-way. My particular encounter with the community members (librarians, coordinators, teachers, students and other volunteers), enlarged and enriched my own notebook of questions, that imaginary notebook that one carries and fills in one's head throughout life, not only to understand others, but also to understand and know oneself. Why is it important that each one is recognised for his or her effort to be in the world? Why are words such a precious gift and at the same time so complex and scarce at certain times? What was that word that, without realising it, changed the course of the relationship with someone we care about? What is it about me that, without even sensing it, I went looking for in other lands? What did I find that was not already within me? Why did I need to meet someone, listen to someone, tell someone, perhaps someone whom, possibly, I will never see again?
Orlanda Agudelo Mejía
from El Carmen del Viboral, Colombia
I want to talk about a beautiful table
where everything occupied
the place of abundance,
abundance of heart
and of fruits and leaves
and roots of the earth.
A table where everything was a human
offering.
We made offerings to the little gods
who were the hands of Doña Dona,
the laughter of Nerly and Salomé
and the generous conversation of Don Sergio.
We made offerings
to the gods of all of us
who appear
when we give thanks.
Javier Naranjo
El Carmen del Viboral, Colombia
When we were fixing up our central premises, built in minga, we would look at the needs that arose and see how to improve them to make us feel more comfortable. Alfredo proposed, drew, took measurements. The rest of us gave our opinions. The master builders would say whether or not it was possible and suggest improvements to optimise space, save on materials, among other details.
After a while, we realised that, despite all our efforts, some spaces had to be improved or corrected, for example: reducing the height of the steps on some stairs, making it easier to get to the dining room if someone needs to use a wheelchair... Until we felt it in ourselves, we didn't see the need. If we already have an elderly parent who needs to be transported in a wheelchair, if our siblings had an accident and is forced to use canes, if we have some difficulty with our knees, then things change. Putting ourselves in the other person's shoes is always important to us.
We acknowledge the support of our volunteer colleague Nathalie Estrada, for the redesign of these spaces and for the coordination she made with the master builder.
Many thanks, also, to our colleagues from the central team for being attentive to the needs of our premises.
On 28th July, a day of great significance for Peruvians, young Ben Heery, son of Dan Heery, set off on an 86 kilometre walk. In just four days he will walk through the Massif Central in France, determined to raise funds for the Rural Libraries Network.
Ben is staying the course despite his young age and the difficulties. He set off accompanied by his friend Alasdair, he will have to camp, prepare or forage for food along the way and will surely continue to face new challenges.
Our appreciation, dear Ben, for all your effort and commitment to the Network's proposal. Our best wishes on this journey: your gesture moves us and motivates us to continue on this path, revaluing culture and promoting reading.
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I lived in Zaña, on the northern coast of Peru, between the ages of seven and eighteen. At that time there was no house without a corral and no corral without a pig.
Conceited, the pig was the sanctum sanctorum of the zañera cuisine. One could die of fright if a piece of pig skin did not appear in the middle of one's beaten beans.
I will not detail the pig's own diet, because the hygienists would be scandalised, but a fundamental expression of its diet was what was called ‘dirty water’: husks, leftovers of food or soft drinks, bran and leftovers, water from rinsing and crumbs, unfinished chewings and gualdrapos constituted the syrup with which the pig gave free rein to its most expensive appetites.
I had to remember this when I was in Ethiopia. Coffee, which I love with great enthusiasm, originated in Keffa.
Coffee has revolutionised tables, palates and conversations in the most unlikely corners or countries of the world.
After drinking coffee in Ethiopia, I realised that the coffee I had drunk in other places, especially canned coffee, had not been coffee: it had just been dirty water.
Alfredo Mires Ortiz
In: Librarianship and the bad thief
Ethiopia, May 2001
I think it is necessary to mention that Alfredo recovered his faith and charm for Peruvian coffee since he met the coffee producers of San Juan de Cutervo, in Cajamarca. And I would especially like to thank Don Aníbal Segura and Professor Jorge Carrasco, librarians and coffee growers in the community of San Juan, who enriched Alfredo's life until the end by giving him coffee from their farms. We still receive this precious gift and every time we roast coffee in the house, not only the faces of Aníbal and Jorge appear, but also Alfredo's smile.
Thank you friends and brothers.
Rita Mocker
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When I am
After many years, I was finally able to come here for a few weeks: to Cajamarca, to the wonderful project of Bibliotecas Rurales. And it feels a bit like always and at the same time completely different. The streets, the sounds, the smells, the blue sky, the Andean sun and the dear friends - a home.
Then the headquarters of Bibliotecas Rurales: the numerous shelves and display cases with books from their own publishing house, the volunteer offices, the creaking wooden staircase leading to the common rooms. Every step tells a story.
One of the most important places in the project is the Hatun Wasi, the main hall, for all the meetings and gatherings. That is where I go first, because I feel the change very strongly: Alfredo is missed a lot and yet he is there. I stand in front of the lovingly designed ‘altar’ that now houses not only Juan's urn, but also Alfredo's. Behind me, on the opposite wall, there is a large photo of him, next to an older photo of Juan. There are the two founders, friends, apus of Rural Libraries, looking at us with a smile. I stand in front of them and greet them. The loss is heavy, heavy and hurts so much. I am crying. But suddenly I hear something familiar and look out: the clicking and buzzing of hummingbirds. They are still there: comforting, soothing, fascinating and uniquely beautiful. They walk between worlds and times. The buzzing of their wings signifies resurgence, confidence, courage, future, and I clearly feel that, after the serious loss, the first steps towards this future in the project have already been taken. The other layers of grief will be taken care of by life, little by little. Together, in community. As it is written in this room: In dark times we are helped by those who have been able to walk in the night.
Thank you for being able to be here with you again!
Kyra Grewe
Mara Mires was born in the heart of the Network, among books and readings, assemblies, mingas and librarians. From a very young age, she accompanied us on trips to the countryside and, even though she could not speak or walk well, she was with us when we visited the children with projectable capacities. When she was older, Mara learned to play with these children, to do some therapy exercises for them or to look for the homeopathic remedy that we indicated to her. At the library assemblies, she taught us how to make origami and helped to record the testimonies during the oral tradition rescues. Today, Mara is responsible for our social networks.
But Mara is not only that. She started practising ballet at the age of seven, then she learned to tap dance and is currently pursuing a degree in dance at the University of Antioquia in Medellín.
We rarely get to see Mara dance, because of the distance. We were very impressed by her contemporary dance performance at an event of the Ballet Academy ‘Coppèlia’ in the Plazuela San Pedro in Cajamarca in recent days.
Congratulations, dear Mara.
Dance, dance, around,
flower, stamps, spin, twirl,
jump, pirouette, play,
frolic, celebrate.
Alfredo Mires Ortiz
In: La ensoñación del Ñaupa (The daydream of Ñaupa)
After three days of intense and emotional interactions at the Assembly of Rural Libraries in the city of Cajamarca, we arrived in the village of Masintranca, where Don Sergio and Doña Donatila coordinate and develop library programmes. For another three days, the two of them, together with their daughter Nerly, were the most loving hosts and guides, like older siblings, who teach us to walk, to see and to listen. From their welcoming home, we tried to get closer to what they do, to understand how the community members persevere in ensuring that the rural libraries continue to be a beacon and a place of meeting and thought for the communities, that the word unites them and helps them to grow together.
One of our objectives - Javier and I, through our meeting with the secondary school students of the Cristo Rey de Masintranca Secondary School, was to get to know a little of the world that these boys and girls live and construct; their desires, their way of seeing and participating in their community, in short, that self that each one puts into play by being part of a family, of a village. The understandable silence of the boys and girls, as well as their teachers (with whom we also did a workshop), before this pair of strange characters who suddenly appear to ask questions, became communion in the written word, in the emotions that in one way or another we all experience, but which sometimes we do not name. From a writing exercise, which basically consists of answering some questions of an existential nature, what is proposed is a sharing of what those answers summon and provoke; to see that, in the end, we are not so different, we are happy and we rejoice and dream in similar ways, even if it is hard to talk about.
Thus came their reflections, typical of thirteen to seventeen year olds, thanks to writing, but especially thanks to their willingness to listen to themselves and to ask things they may not ask themselves in everyday life. And thanks also to their trust in us (and in our being respectful guardians of their affairs), as we also trust them with part of our own stories. There remains a precious little pile of leaves where they are what they are and also what they dream, where they mourn losses and loneliness, mistrust and inequalities, but also where they celebrate and rejoice in the grandeur of the small. We believe, as one of the girls said, that even if we don't want to remember and talk about certain things, doing so ‘will help us to build a better future’. Hence another of the girls said: {I feel} ‘in a cool way, because it allowed us to talk about a little bit of our life, how we were living’.
We were given invaluable gifts: the young students, the possibility of looking out, from their eyes, at the present in this beautiful territory; our kind hosts, including the tiny and beautiful Salomé, the infinite generosity of the hospitality that brings hearts together. To all, our gratitude and sincere desire to meet again.
Orlanda Agudelo Mejía
El Carmen del Viboral, Colombia
