Territorial entities and Andean reciprocity

In the year 2011, Camiña experienced one of the greatest rainstorms in recent memory. The people claimed that in one day it rained what it should in the whole year. The inclement rains widened the historic rivers descending from the mountains, loosening rocks and producing mudslides, destroying homes, flooding the village churches, ruining crops and tearing up the riverbeds. The sound of the thunder joined with the sound of the rocks tumbling, filling the people with terror. If it weren’t for the fact that the downpour occurred in the afternoon, many people likely would have died, among them the eldest of the community given their difficulty in moving. After the storm was over, many voiced that the catastrophe was due to the abandonment of the community’s “customs.” Under the influence of the evangelical Pentecostal church, which considered such practices idolatry, many people of Camiña had stopped their payments to the pachamama [earth mother], who in turn showed her anger through the rainstorm.

This type of experience is common among the Aymara of Tarapacá and demonstrates the importance placed in the relationship with territorial entities. In order to understand this relationship, it is crucial to highlight that these entities cannot be considered in a generic way. A key element in the Andean experience is the knowledge of the specific entity of one place in particular, something that can be appreciated in the following narrative regarding the treatment of agarradura carried out by a Yatiri.

GM: The agarradura is easier… For example, a person says to you: “cure my son, he’s captured by the agarradura.” You have to ask: “Where? What happened? What was he doing? Why was he captured? What is the place called?” So then the person is going to tell you: “in such and such a place.” You ask for a white lamb. If you can’t get a white lamb it can be a white rooster, ok? … So then once they’ve given you the white lamb or the white rooster, you have to grab it and with your patient there, you have to signal him with the lamb or rooster. If it’s a rooster you have to turn it upside down. You grab the rooster’s neck and turn it upside down, and one end of your patient. […] And once the rooster is dead you have to put it there on the table, you have to prepare a table, a table of esta or awayo, anything like that. It can’t have anything black, because this is an agarradura, so it can only have white or flowered things. So they’ve already told you the place, where he was captured, given you the first step to work, where it happened, you already know that. So you have to go there at night. First you have to get your remedies ready, You need copal, incense and bisterio and you put four in pairs.

C: How’s that?

GM: One bisterio, two bisterio, three, four bisterio. Two bisterio in pair, two in pair. Yes, four in pairs, they say. That has to be ready with qolla, and your ointment. All that has to be ready, in a cloth all tied up. Right, so that little bundle you have to put right here [on the chest], right close inside, that’s where you have to put the cloth, all tied up […] So then the gentlemen has to give three gasps: “huh, huh, huh.” You have to go with the package. Of course the gentleman has to do it three times, and with that little package you go, ok? Where he is captured. They already told you where … that’s where you have to go. So you have to be strong […] because now you are at the place where the person has been captured. You have to go there and ask for forgiveness from that place: “Forgive him, Virgin” or “Forgive him, stream.” What place is it? What name does it have? Forgive him. And with that you have to take this and burn it, right there. (GM, 70 years of age, Yatiri, Aymara, Catholic, farmer)

As can be seen in these narratives, according to Andean cosmology nature is capable of establishing and sustaining social relationships. It does not participate in social relationships solely as an object, but rather does so actively as an actor immersed in a web of reciprocity. Here we understand reciprocity as a relationship of correspondence among actors whose exchange is subject to certain obligations.¹⁰ Although important criticisms of the concept of reciprocity exist regarding its contribution to the concealment of inequity^11,12) and the construction of an ideology of moral norms,¹³ we consider it a useful concept because it satisfactorily characterizes the elements and the logic of Andean medical knowledge. Additionally, it substitutes a series of subordinate concepts such as worship, magic, suggestion, projection, etc., which offer little to the comprehension of the types of relationships we are seeking to describe. This does not mean that we posit reciprocity as a foundational symbolic matrix for all types of exchanges. We use it because it restores the transitivity characteristic to the relationship between human beings and territorial entities, which should always be contrasted empirically according to the case under study, contributing in this way to the denaturalization of the “reification of Andean divinities.”¹⁴ This is relevant in theoretical terms because one of the most difficult aspects to consider under the umbrella of naturalism is the existence of a social relationship among territorial entities and people, especially in the direction going from the natural to the social.^6,15 Here we must remember the clarification of the Aymara leader Ramón Conde in the 1980s:

We, the Aymaras, do not “worship” but rather carry out ayni or mink’a in reciprocity with the protective beings... What we do is, because they are our elders, we reward them with ayni, we mink’a because the Pachamama gives us her fruits.¹⁶

How can we characterize the repertoire of reciprocity with the territorial entities? We uphold that it is not enough to affirm a vitalist perspective.¹⁷ We have to go a step further and take on the social character of the relationships established and, more specifically, the logic of reciprocity that articulates them.^{6,7,18,19,20,21,22)} In this way, for example, it is not enough to indicate that territorial entities eat, but rather it is necessary to understand that they participate as dinner guests in the banquets they are offered.²³ They are not simply places where the soul is lost, but rather, many mountains, for example, really capture (ay. katjata) the soul and on occasions can even have sexual relationships with their victims. They do not only hold mineral riches, but negotiate access to these riches in exchange for offerings, among them, human lives. They do not just relate reciprocally with humans, but are also disproportionately demanding (“voracious”) in these relationships. They do not just interact through symbols and practices, but can also establish diverse forms of dialogue, especially with the Yatiri and under specific conditions.¹⁴

Paradoxically, although it is possible to describe a repertoire of reciprocity in the Andean region,²⁴ the territorial entities also have certain characteristics that situate them closer to pole of the a-social: they present in situations as wild, uncontrollable and at the margins of the social (puruma).³⁾ However, that which escapes control, the wild, appears to us to be less a characteristic of the entities than an emerging property of their subjection to reciprocity, an inevitable result of reciprocity as a non-deterministic, non-mechanical logic. Contributing to this are the specificity of those taking part in the interaction, their relational history, the variations in acknowledgement, the ambiguity of the territorial entities, and the vicissitudes of the concrete actions of reciprocity, which can be well or poorly realized (according to all the variables mentioned). This lack of control is not a deficiency of the “technique” by which the relationships are established, but rather a characteristic of the type of reciprocity, which does not necessarily presuppose connaturality or equivalence.¹⁷ At the same time, it allows us to see how the condition of a-sociality does not necessarily coincide with the absence of reciprocity.

The logic of Andean medical knowledge^25,26 rests in the construction of these relationships of reciprocal correspondence among humans and territorial entities, composed of a broad repertoire of practices that include elements as diverse as acknowledgement, commensality, dialogue or affectivity, in a complex webs of reciprocity. Inasmuch as each of these relationships contribute with their portion of indetermination, it becomes absolutely irrelevant to demand of them the efficacy and determination characteristic of naturalistic assessments, developed based on a cosmology that reduces and excludes the intentionality, will and historicity from nature. At this point, it is necessary to briefly outline the main precepts underlying naturalism, so as to then move forward in the description of the specificity of the phenomenon of reciprocity in Andean medical knowledge in contrast with a naturalistic logic.

Mal paraje and mala hora: a local, non-naturalistic knowledge

When asking the people of Camiña why they experience certain illnesses like susto,^37,38,39agarradura^2,9,40 or the sickness of the gentiles,^9,41 many explained that these came about after having been in or passed through a mal paraje at a mala hora. As we discussed previously, these types of illness are treated by the Yatiri, practicing a knowledge that contains conceptions of space and time that go beyond naturalistic logic. We will start with the first: mal paraje.

In Camiña there is a true topology of malos parajes, as a knowledge of space exists based on the identification of certain places recognized as dangerous, characterized by their voracity or fierceness. As we have pointed out, these parajes should not be understood as spaces devoid of intentionality. Rather, they are specific territorial entities with whom it is recommendable to establish relations of reciprocity.³⁶ The parajes are capable of giving and receiving with varying levels of demands, voracity and generosity, in an non-mechanic way, under the sign of recognition or caprice, in connection with the history of established relations and the present moment. The sense of equanimity of the parajes does not assure that the results will always be those that were hoped for, but are always englobed within the webs of reciprocity, even when many members of the community intentionally reconfigure the exchange with them given their ideological shifts, as occurs today with the expansion of the Pentecostal religion.^42,43

Taking these specifications into consideration, and in light of our ethnographic work, we have been able to identify three meanings associated with the notion of mal paraje. First, mal paraje refers to the territorial entities that form part of the Andean imaginary. In Camiña, these fierce places are often springs inhabited by serenos; waterfalls in which invisible troupes of musicians can be heard; mallkus where the devil appears personified as an ostentatious man on a horse; spaces like the Laguna Roja where stories tell of the misadventures of those devoured by the place; chullperíos or stretches of funerary constructions that speak to the existence of previous peoples. Mal paraje can also be an infrequently used road where misfortune may strike, certain places in the mountains where it is known there are ancient burial grounds, or entrances to the insides of the mountains where mineral riches may be accessed.

To contemplate the specificity of a set of entities so apparently heterogeneous, it is useful to appeal to the concepts of Taypi and Puruma in the Aymara culture.³ In this way, Taypi refers to the age and space of central value to the community, because they constitute its origins. Puruma, on the other hand, refers to certain spaces and times characterized by their liminal condition. In general, this concept is connected to death, which borders life, and the wild, which borders the social, although more specifically it has been associated with the fierceness of places according to Bouysse Cassagne and Harris³ as well as Martínez-Soto.⁴⁴ Based in these categories it is possible to consider why certain places are fierce in a non-naturalistic way: they are entities, spaces or times that make reference to the origins of the community/territory or the boundaries of the social, the human and life itself. Neither of these two conditions imply being outside the relationships of reciprocity.³

Secondly, mal paraje may refer to the presence of a malignant spirit. Concretely, this would be a place where the devil or one of his complicit spirits lives or frequents. In this second sense, mal paraje refers to the Christian imaginary of the devil, represented as a sulfurous male goat popularly called el cachudo [the horned one]. Ethnographically, we have seen that all the places of the territory it is known that the devil frequents are malos parajes (for example, the “devil’s slope”, “the spring of the rooster”, etc.).

As can be expected given the process of colonization experienced by these societies,^14,45 a conceptual superposition of both of these meanings of mal paraje exists: frequently the presence of the devil is recognized in the territorial entities and therefore the majority of the territorial entities have been demonized. In this way, the malos parajes coincide with the places where colonization and Evangelization have historically demonized the local territorial entities, superposing them with the figure of the devil and establishing mutual implications among both traditions.^2,45 The expression mal paraje reflects in this way a polarization; because of this demonization, the territorial entities cease to ambiguous within reciprocity and become exclusively negative entities (bad, fierce or ferocious).^44,45 It is also important to hightlight that the notion of mal paraje contains a certain conceptual excess; if for the Christian ideologies the devil may be present in any place, the concepts of Taypi and Puruma remind us the importance of specific territorial anchorage to understand why certain places (and not just any) are malos parajes.

To understand the last meaning attributed to mal paraje we should highlight that, although there is detailed local knowledge about the territory that allows identifying certain places as fierce, ferocious or connected to the devil, it is also true that not all malos parajes are predictable or clearly identifiable a priori under this categorization. That is, a mal paraje can be discovered as such because it is the place where a mala hora occurred. This evident relationship between mal paraje and mala hora obliges us to describe this second local concept.

When Don VF was passing through with his goats he never imagined that there were chullpas in his way. Only that night, when he couldn’t sleep, did he suspect that he had passed through a gentilar. The visit to a Yatiri allowed him to recognize that that was what had happened, simply because of his lack of knowledge of those parajes. Now, it was not the first time that VF had been to that place and on the other occasions nothing had happened. What occurred in that specific moment that had a negative effect for him? He went through the place at a mala hora.

These types of narratives are very frequent when investigating the health problems that the Yatiri treat and it is necessary to analyze the local meaning they possess. In addition to the description of the malos parajes, we can say that, in a first meaning associated with malas horas, they can be understood as threshold times. They are times or moments that mark the passage from one time of day to another, like noon and sundown, called oscurana [darkeness] by the residents of Camiña.

C: And him … who might that person have been?

MC: The devil, man. And that bit of time was the mala hora, spending time there during the mala hora, she went there by herself and there she saw the horned one.

C: I’ve heard that here they talk about the mala hora, what’s that?

MC: It’s the time when evil roams.

C: It’s not just a specific time?...

MC: It can be any time, at 12, at 7 when it’s getting dark, that time is always the time [the devil roams], and at 12 exactly too, 12 noon. Those times are always tricky and so is 12 at night…and that’s when he presented himself. (MC, 62 years of age, Aymara, Catholic, farmer)

Secondly, another dimension of the malas horas is that they are more likely to occur on certain specific days. Tuesdays and Fridays are days especially susceptible to actions occurring in mala hora because, as one informant commented, on these days the malignant spirits are more alive, are stronger and can attack.

Thirdly, mala hora is also the time when “the devil runs loose,” where “evil roams” or where “malignant spirits” appear. That is, the notion of mala hora is also nourished in one of its meanings directly by the traditional Catholic Christian imaginary, to refer to those times in which the devil, in his different manifestations, or his allied spirits make themselves visible. In the multitude of manifestations possible, there is an important local reference, as the devil can appear as a deformed animal with anomalies (like two heads), a black rooster, a lizard, a snake, etc.

CJ: But if they frighten you in buena hora it’s no problem, but if at that time it’s mala hora, and you get scared, they grab you, they make you sick, and you go crazy.

C: When is mala hora?

CJ: We don’t know. Only the spirit knows if it’s mala hora or buena hora. When it’s buena hora nothing happens. You can see that animal, pick it up, kill it or just let it be, however you want.

C: But if it’s mala hora?

CJ: Then you should be afraid… if you kill that little animal, you’re worse off, if it’s mala hora it’s worse for you… And then, you’ll get sick… Oh! You’re sick and you get recaída, you can’t eat well. (CJ, 90 years of age, Yatiri, Aymara, Catholic, farmer).

A last meaning we have found for this term is associated with the improper practice of “customs” (rituals) with which the relationships of reciprocity are established with the territorial entities. For example, if the customs are not carried out with respect, if the order of ritual actions is modified, if while naming the mallkus who inhabit the territory an important one is missed, the anger of one of the territorial entities or idols of the Catholic pantheon can be triggered. In this case, it is understood that the mistake was made at a mala hora.

Given the multiple meanings of mala hora, we can now better situate a last meaning for the expression mal paraje. In this way, a mal paraje can be any place in which mala hora occurred: the site of the encounter with the devil, the place where the reciprocity practices with the territorial entities failed, the area where one was crying at sunset, or the specific place where a chullpa entered into a body. All of these are malos parajes.

Without failing to acknowledge that all the meanings of mal paraje and mala hora have equal local value, we believe that this last meaning is especially useful for considering the non-naturalistic specificity. When the mal paraje cannot be situated a priori based on topological knowledge, but rather is discovered retrospectively in conjunction with a mala hora, this is about not just the interrelation of two notions within Andean medical knowledge, but also the interrelation among the people of Camiña and the territorial entities. Both notions allow us to understand and act regarding a set of situations in which the territorial entities exercise their agency in a way that does not respond to the human objectives and expectations. The concrete use of these notions is carried out in the framework of relationships among beings who acknowledge one another, converse, share a relational historicity, and can be voracious, and whose confluence allows for mutual production through reciprocity practices. For this reason, in the knowledge that organizes these practices, we consider the notions of mal paraje and mala hora to be fundamental, as they reveal this relationality and invite critical questioning of the violence present when the naturalistic presuppositions are reproduced.