As most of you probably know, Kate and I are anthropologists. Moreover, the reason we are in Monteverde to begin with has to do with my anthropological research. Thus I feel it would be nice to share some of my research experiences with you all.
But I wouldn't do anthropology any justice if I didn't provide some background information first. Prior to 1953, the Monteverde Zone was a scarcely populated area. The major subsistence activity revolved around small scale agriculture, mostly for household consumption. There were a few families that owned most of the land in the area, and the rest of the people worked on the large landowners' land, sharing with them some of their crops. It was in essence a semi-feudal system.
1953 comes around, and a series of world events provided the impetus that would make this area the one-in-a-million place that it is. Disenchanted with the United States' foreign policy, 14 Quaker families from Alabama began researching other countries, looking for a place that combined ecological conditions suitable for some form of farming activity with a social-democratic political system that eschewed violence. It came down to Switzerland and Costa Rica, and the latter prevailed in the minds of the soon to be settlers. Having recently abolished our army in 1948, Costa Rica provided a naturally appealing political system for peace-loving Quakers. And as for the ecology, well, hopefully you have seen some of the pictures and videos we have on this blog. The 14 Quaker families bought up plenty of land and began to practice dairy farming.
With the establishment of a successful dairy industry, more Costa Rican families began to populate the area. As the father of a friend of mine who came in the early 1960s told me, “At that time there were 50 families living here, including the Quakers.” Cars were scarce (either Land Rovers or Jeep Willys), and if you were a guy without a nice mustache, good luck getting a girl.
Fast-forward a few decades to the 1980s, and another series of political-economic events at the global level began to have direct impacts on the way people in this area lived. The decade marked an abrupt shift in the macro-economic strategies for most Latin American nations. Before the 1980s there was a strong emphasis on strengthening the national productive apparatus (including farming). This project was, in part, a reaction against the colonialist and neo-colonialist legacies that have shaped our nations. With the 1980s, however, a series of financial reforms took place that once again made Latin American governments focus on infrastructure that would benefit foreign investment. In the case of Costa Rica, this was most notable in the tourist and mono-crop agriculture realms.
These economic and social transformations, taken together with Costa Rica's relative peaceful and stable history, made our country a hot spot for tourism (it still remains so today).
So here I am, researching how the shift away from agricultural activities is affecting people's access to food and their overall health status. And believe it or not, one of my most effective research tools is my machete. Yes, my machete. As an anthropologist, I strive to understand local dynamics from the perspectives of the people whose lives I research. Throughout my experience here, I have found that the best way to establish nice relationships with people—and thus get them to talk to me about their lives—is to help them with their work. As a young male, I fit perfectly the gender role of strong worker, which comes in handy as I try to understand the obstacles that agricultural producers face in their daily lives.
So last Tuesday comes around, and the alarm clock sounds extra unappetizing at 5am. I roll out of bed, let Kaia out, and stretch a bit as I wait for the water for my coffee to boil. I eat a huge bowl of our homemade granola, pack some beans, homemade bread and bananas, put on my rubber boots and go. Machete hanging by my side, I am jogging down one of the most decrepit trails I have ever waltzed on. It is steep—dropping (or climbing, as on my way back) close to 1,000 meters (3,280 feet) in around a mile's (1,600m) distance. And it is muddy and covered with big rocks. I find it easier to sort of let loose and jog it, applying principles from surfing and Taoism, as I react to the ground, barely directing, balancing effort and effortless motion. This day it took me 22 minutes. I have since improved my descent time to 17 minutes, while carrying a surf board. But that is neither here nor there.
Sixish in the a.m., and I can hear Ulisis swinging machete, but I can't see him.
“Oh!!!”
A reply,
“Oh!!!”
Working my way through thick brush and thin trees, 10 feet tall, I find him like a bulldozer making his way through a wayless way. That is to say, mowing down everything that stood in front of him. “Hay que hacer carriles” (We have to make lanes), he says. Now my first reaction was “Hell no! How am I going to do that?”. It had been just around a year since I last swung a machete, so I was a bit nervous to get back into it with such a heavy task. “Oh well”, and I started parallel to him, about 6 feet above him. Yes, above, because we were working on the side of a mountain, on a very steep grade. Each step I took was a balancing act. My first swings were pathetic. My machete kept getting caught on everything, while I cut nothing. He smiled, and said “Diay, nadie nace aprendido” (Well, nobody is born knowing already), and motored on. I collected myself, and began treating the motion as if it were a martial arts strike. Speed, agility, more so than strength—and a whole lot of hip, and I was in business. Sure, I wasn't moving as fast as Ulisis, but I was moving, and that's what mattered.
Three “lanes” done, and Ulisis walked through them spreading beans on the ground. “Now we chop it down”, he informed me. “Ok. Chop what down?”. “Well, everything.”
This is when I learned why they call it “tapando frijoles” (covering beans). So, there I was, thinking that making the lanes was the hard part, and I realized that that wasn't even a tenth of our task. Back to swinging. Five hours later, with four new blisters on each hand, we had cleared 2624 squared feet (800m cuadrados) of land, with just two machetes.
“Damn”, I thought. “That was rough.” And then he said, “And now comes the rough part. We need to chop everything on the ground so it is nice and even." It might have been tougher just because I was more tired now, but it took us less time - only two hours - to complete this portion. At 1pm, he asked me for the time, which I provided. “What? Should we eat?”. “Yeah, I could eat”, I replied. Finally!
So we walked to his house, where his wife and 15 year old daughter gave us each a bowl with rice, beans and meat from a calf he had slaughtered two days ago. We discussed his lifestyle, the strengths and challenges of being a small-scale producer, and the pride he gets from working the land. “Before it was our sport. During this time of year, everybody was “covering beans”. And the guy who made his “lanes” first, then he would have bragging rights for the best farm worker. The strongest. Yeah this life is tough, but at least we have our freedom”, he told me.
I spent the rest of the week hanging out with Ulisis and his family. We planted beans in another field with the help of my cousin Jane, and of Ulisis' three year old daughter, Katherine.
I am currently working on improving my time down the mountain, and on my machete swinging abilities. I love my work.
Ernesto
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