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sábado, 3 de abril de 2010

My arrival at Mollepata


My arrival at Mollepata
Heir Uchus indigenous communities, is located at an altitude of 2800 meters in the spurs of the Andes on its western side, which form the crux of Mollepata. It comes through one of the most rugged roads, which in truth is worth taking the soul in his hand. When we look at their cliffs with the neighboring towns of Pampas, Conchucos and others that belong to the department of Ancash, but are at the same altitude, but Tablachaca divided by the river, a tributary of the majestic River Main St..
The journey takes about six hours of travel. I left my native Santiago de Chuco at three in the afternoon, passing Cachicadan communities, where we find the thermal baths that were used by the Sapa Inca in its purification to climb to the shrine in Icchal Catequil, is still touring the Cochapampa communities, Algallama, then crowned in Cullizcanra community. There, the cold is intense, only grows and is ichu graze in the distance some sheep and alpacas that sustain the communities that are pastoralists,




but despite these difficulties have also been devoted to agriculture, planting a variety potato that resists frost and altitude, and which is nearly 4 300 meters above sea level. Once many years ago, I had the opportunity to experience the chill of the community, not its people, if not the environment. The temperature this time under almost five degrees below zero, but the lack of oxygen at altitude, the cold makes you feel even the bones. Until then the road does not present major problems and even when broken down the apples, which is at the back of the large rock that looks great Angasmarca, very little to do the bus to go down to the river of the same name, which currently takes building materials to the mining town, is what has become the population once milk and cheese, in its previous fame before the war that our country lived.
Already Angasmarca the bus stopped so that more passengers go up to move deeper into our province. Some with their fit-so tells the load to be carried back, usually rural women-which also overlapped in their arms to their small children, who looked like they were already accustomed to these chores. They got some small candy and sweets offered us to continue our journey, many of these are products of the small mining town and the prosmiscuinidad runaway in which the population is involved, that many young indigenous people are the solution to economic problems are delivered into the arms of young adult workers or miners, many of them are not these places, who promise them the moon and the stars, and as their jobs are sporadic, and leave out the problem with indigenous women these areas, who send their children to show mercy to produce and bus passengers who pass through there. When one sees for the first time, you eat one's heart, knowing that they carry a little money for their large families to feed.



After seeing the picture started in the direction of our destiny, we border some small streets that travel to the just left the vehicle, until we could win and the road to the interior. No sooner would travel half an hour we stopped the farmers of several communities that had blocked the road for the death of a brother indigenous patrolman in the hands of special police had taken possession to protect the entrance to an open pit mine. This mine as well versions belonging to drug dealers confirmed that they are protected by the Government of Mr. Alan Garcia Perez. The same that have made the town of Mollebamba their particular ghetto, where they are dominion and rule in all matters. We talked to the brothers and many knew me as some indigenous teachers were unemployed in the last review that the government committed a huge fraud, they could not enter the teaching profession. I also had been in the same situation, but it seems the government did not dare to face that is more openly unmasked despite their slogans were made to curb my soul a bit rebellious. And when it was evening We went through the land of my ancestors, which stood until recent years, the MITM Panaka my Ethnicity and nation. Look at how far the land where horses frolicked llamas and alpacas and many rejoiced that my childhood often spoiled child and cocky for my entire family. Finally we reached a small hill where they could see the villages and distant Mollebamba Pallasca and Pampas. There he fell some teachers. The town looked like a city under stress, had no great joy, we breathed a spirit of danger, many of the passengers do not dare even talk, remained very quiet. It is the capital of the family is not respected, feared and despised just for what it represents for many people and for the country.
We continued our journey and already in a depression could see the lights of Mollepata, as I remarked a friend of Pampas with whom we were talking in my native Santiago de Chuco. We would not have advanced or fifteen minutes we came to a fork in the road, one going to the stud, which is a hamlet of Mollepata, and another that goes directly to the district. The car will fly first to the stud, there is also another way for the district, where we arrived with a slight drizzle and misty sky. There rose a nun of the Sisters of Charity with five girls, all very worried about their luggage, pulled their heads every time you open the trunk of the bus. Hastily commented that always watch over you will not swipe your stuff. I thought that girls who do not know if they stop here for a needle in the middle of the street, no one takes and rather ask for the owner until you find him and tell him where to find what was lost. Finally finished downloading all the parcels and will fly back to our final destination. Seen as the driver maneuvers was most unlikely to weather the narrowness of the road. If you looked down you could see the lights of the district. Until finally we Mollepata, and also there I was waiting for the director of the school, and went to his house where pernoctaría that night and who knows more.

Tupac Isaac II
Juan Esteban Villalobos Yupanqui
http://juanestebanyupanqui.blogspot.com

Here I am...