Third Quarterly Report (Bolivia Recap)
Dear Watson Family,
As you announced the next class of Watson Fellows, I am in disbelief that it was a year ago that I myself received news of the fellowship acceptance. I remember reading the email and literally breaking down into tears: a mix of excitement, astonishment, fear, and gratitude. Nine months later, these feelings still exist except they are far more tangible and amplified. Instead of theorizing how I might feel being away from family, friends, and everything I had ever known, I am now not only experiencing and surviving, but also thriving. I think this year offers crucial perspective and is going to make anything in the future seem possible and much less daunting.
During my three months in Bolivia, I focused solely on quinoa, a tiny pseudo-grain and “Lost Crop of the Incas.” I began to realize early on that the quinoa dynamic is even more complex and controversial than I had originally thought. The social, economic, and environmental impacts of the “boom” in the West are far-reaching and complicated. It is important to note that quinoa is practically a complete protein rich in vitamins and minerals, high in fiber, and both cholesterol and gluten-free. While western consumers’ craze with this “superfood” has helped uplift previously marginalized farmers by providing them with remunerative prices for their crop, it also renders quinoa too expensive for many urban Bolivians to afford. This paradox raises questions of domestic food security in a country where roughly 1 in 5 children is chronically malnourished and cheap imports and processed food abound. The lack of widespread domestic consumption is further complicated by the fact that many urban elites have historically looked down upon quinoa as a sort of dirty peasant/native food.
Unsurprisingly, however, increased prices (a threefold increase in four years) have instigated a sort of “repeasantization” of the countryside in which both young and old people alike are returning to their native villages to cultivate quinoa on what is often forsaken ancestral land, which is creating resource conflicts and community tension, especially surrounding indigenous governance and land management systems. Furthermore, the increased demand in the US and EU is encouraging farmers to expand and intensify production (while simultaneously abandoning traditional cultivation methods such as fallow fields, crop rotation, and animal husbandry of llamas), which has the likely potential of eroding soils and depleting nutrients in areas that were ecologically fragile from the beginning.
The region of interest is the Altiplano or “high plain” and more specifically, the southern Altiplano and inter-salar region, which is the only location in the world where royal quinoa grows (a larger grained, higher value variety). Quinoa is a sort of miracle crop in that it flourishes in harsh environments where most other plants cannot exist: sandy saline soil, little rainfall, high altitude, and subfreezing temperatures. With global climate change in mind and the expected increases in drought, desertification, and weather extremes, quinoa proves rather promising, compounded by its high nutrition in the context of prevailing global hunger. It makes sense then why the United Nations declared 2013 “The International Year of Quinoa” (and 2014 has been dubbed “The International Year of Family Farming” – how fitting for my Watson!).
My hopes while in Bolivia included following the quinoa commodity chain from field to export, exploring the on-farm management practices, organic certification, post-harvest processing, marketing and sales. I wanted to understand how farmers have altered their production methods and/or adopted new technologies because of increased demand from the West and the social, economic, and environmental impacts of these changes. I also hoped to spend time living in quinoa producing villages learning how to grow and maintain it. I was curious as to the role of both the State and NGOs in the strategic planning of quinoa commercialization, as well as of cooperatives and private export companies, which may be facilitating technical support and marketing. In short, by the time I was to leave Bolivia for the next leg of the Watson, I wanted to be a quinoa expert, having spent time in the field and the warehouse working through the nuances of this Andean pseudo-cereal. I really enjoy eating quinoa at home, but I also strived to understand the complex political economy and environmental ramifications surrounding my gastronomic preferences. Looking back on the last three months, did I “succeed”?
Well, Bolivia hasn’t been easy, that’s for sure. After experiencing the loneliest holiday season of my life, things did not pick up. My first month was virtually stagnant: I was struggling with the language, it was raining every single day, and people weren’t answering emails or phone calls. It took me more than a month to really get on my feet and get my bearings (especially working up the courage just to run around the city of La Paz knocking on doors with my broken Spanish). In fact, early on in the planning process, someone mentioned to me that carrying out my research on the Bolivian Altiplano wouldn’t be very feasible and that the communities with which I am attempting to work (indigenous farmers) are historically the most marginalized demographic and are naturally suspicious of foreigners, as well as the fact that Bolivia has been characterized as being “fiercely autonomous.” She even suggested that I all together switch to Peru to carry out my research. While Bolivia hasn’t been a joy ride, but rather a slap in the face – it’s been an important reality check and perspective for my research. Sure, I could have gone to Peru where maybe it would have been easier and I seriously thought about it. My reasons for wanting to go there, however, were flawed – because it would be easy? That’s certainly not what the Watson is all about. And I am glad I didn’t.
Bolivia is the birthplace/center of origin of quinoa and is currently the largest producer in the world. It’s also home to a president who detests the US, kicked out USAID last year, and wants to remove the American embassy. However, I think it’s been really good for me to go somewhere where America isn’t worshipped, as a pleasant reminder that my country is not the hegemony and paradigm for everyone in the world. Yet for a while, I was ready to throw in the towel on Bolivia, truly convinced that I wasn’t going to achieve what I wanted, that I would never make it to the southern Altiplano to regions where royal quinoa is grown for export. I was flailing around without contacts, disheartened by the words of some colleagues who suggested that perhaps my work was redundant, overly ambitious, and unfeasible given my lofty goals and relatively short time period in Bolivia. Discouraged, I told myself, “for once in your life, don’t Lauren Howe the heck out of this” – i.e. take what you can get, do what you can with the resources at your disposal, and don’t kill yourself. Well that mentality was short-lived in retrospect, since now I am trying my hardest to accomplish everything I possibly can in the next few days before I leave for Europe with the second half of my time here having been so incredibly fruitful that it definitely made up for the stagnation and frustration at the beginning.
At first, I mainly focused on working with PROINPA (Promotion and Investigation of Andean Products) on their “Food Security and Adaptation to Climate Change” quinoa project, which focuses on the use of short-cycle varieties of improved seeds, promoting seed saving and certified seed production, better management practices, and eventually some commercialization after household food security. I was able to participate in about ten visits to various agricultural communities in Pacajes province. Field activities included teaching the farmers how to identify pests and how to prepare and apply bio-inputs. It was a wonderful opportunity to meet and speak with producers, participate in communal "apthapi” lunches, and even assist with some fieldwork in spraying and seed selecting. However, like everything in Bolivia, the work wasn’t effortless. We normally spent about six hours with the farmers, with another eight hours driving in the truck, making for a 14-hour day. Sometimes our field visits were marred with downpours, hailstorms, or even snow, and to top it all off, when a community preferred to speak their indigenous language Aymara, I couldn’t understand a word. So as soon as I felt like I was getting a grip on Spanish, these days felt particularly arduous and futile.
Following my fieldwork in Pacajes, I was able to live with one family and participate in their daily activities of herding cattle and tending their quinoa. I can safely say that this farm-stay was my Bolivian experience in a nutshell: difficult and trying (physically and emotionally). Bridges are hard to come by in the campo (“countryside”), so four times we had to ford the river, which was less than 50 degrees and more than knee-deep…shoeless. My host, Amalia, her two young children, and I would spend seven hours a day herding nine cows. I have never herded cattle, mind you, but I think my brain atrophied a bit during these few days. I don’t think I could ever herd cattle for a living – I was going crazy after only a few hours. At least with farming, you can see that you’re giving life, growing something, and can reap a reward at the end. I would describe animal husbandry and the tedious act of herding more specifically as doing a dance – back and forth, leading, following, and ushering the bovines, never quite knowing where to go yet simultaneously wondering if they know the way. During these long, hot hours in the blazing sun, which is even stronger with the high altitude, I realize more how the Bolivian Altiplano is a vast and empty place, treeless with virtual silence except the occasional howl of the wind, baah of a sheep, or hum of the radio that Amalia keeps in her awayu blanket. The silence was further undisturbed by the fact that she never liked to engage in conversation.
After this low point, things really started to look up. The rainy season was tapering off and my Spanish was slowly improving. Next, I spent several days living on Lake Titicaca, the highest navigable lake in the world and the largest in South America, in the small village of Santiago de Okola. Okola has been hosting tourists for seven years now, a testament to their commitment to eco/agrotourism and agrobiodiversity conservation. I knew I wanted to visit Lake Titicaca, a center of origin for many Andean crops, including quinoa. I was able to attend a meeting with the president of Okola’s Tourism Body (Tomas), during which they discussed a project to safeguard and recover indigenous knowledge, as well as ensure that the wide variety of native crops continue to be cultivated, especially in the context of rural out-migration of the youth. While in Okola, I met with the school director, interviewed Tomas, harvested potatoes, hiked up to the top of the “Sleeping Dragon” mountain, and went fishing for dinner. This fishing, however, was nothing like that of my childhood. Instead of bait and poles, we dragged a large net through the water close to the shore. After doing this several times, we filled an awayu with small minnow-like fish called ispi. That night, we enjoyed a delicious dinner of potatoes and fried ispi, heads, tails, bones, and all, which were sort of like crunchy French fries.
Following my time in Okola, I felt rejuvenated and ready to re-tackle royal quinoa on Bolivia’s southern Altiplano, and through judicious planning, I was able to attend a one-week producers’ tour with California-based Andean Naturals, the largest importer of organic quinoa in the United States. Our group consisted of the founding brothers: Sergio and Fabricio, their agronomists, an Australian quinoa farmer and businessman, and two American importers/clients. Sergio was named by Time Magazine as one of the “Nine Gods of Food” (on the same list as Vandana Shiva and Michael Pollan!!) and the “King of Quinoa.” Needless to say, this was one of the most exciting foodie/ag celebrity moments of this year (right on par with my interviews with Indians Devinder Sharma and MS Swaminathan). The tour involved visits to almost ten producers’ associations along the southern Altiplano. We visited Challapata, a tiny town I’d been planning to see for almost two years, which has been referred to as the “hub” of the quinoa industry in Bolivia for its weekly market where quinoa prices have historically been set. Finally venturing south was like a dream come true, and through this one week tour, I learned more about the challenges of the quinoa industry than I had in an entire month.
As a result of this tour and its introductions, I was able to spend time living in the quinoa-producing village of Santuario de Quillacas. In many ways, the Bolivian Altiplano has reminded me of Ladakh, the region in northernmost India where I spent five weeks, two of which on a barley farm assisting with the harvest and threshing. The Ladakhi and Altiplano landscape are similar: barren, vast, and mountainous with high altitudes, sapphire blue skies, and strong sun. Yet when we walked past the neighbors working, it was as if I was literally transported back in time to the Ladakhi village of Likir. The quinoa plants had been cut and set into neat piles on the ground. The Bolivian quinueros (quinoa farmers) proceeded to scoop up the heaps and were stacking them in teepee like structures to dry. This was exactly what we had to do in Likir with the barley. Perhaps it is a traditional practice characteristic of all grains, but I found it strangely comforting, as if I already was familiar with the rhythms of harvesting quinoa, which proved useful as I was able to get my hands dirty assisting with the reaping.
I also feel that so much has changed in the Bolivian quinoa industry, especially as a result of 2013 and United Nation’s International Year of the Quinoa, so writing off my research as “repetitive” didn’t make sense. I can’t believe that I considered skipping Bolivia in favor of Peru because I thought it would be too difficult. Here I am, I now feel like I have been part of something big, really big. I am getting both a literal and figurative taste of what’s happening in the wake of 2013 and in the midst of the global quinoa craze. Quinoa is a manifestation of EVERYTHING I’ve been exploring over the past nine months, namely the tension between tradition and innovation. Quinoa also includes themes of: intensive versus extensive agriculture, access to finance/credit and markets, contract farming, labor shortages, NGO dependency, ICT technology, contraband/illegal trafficking, the importance of partnerships and collaboration, risk management, appropriate technology, farmers’ cooperatives and associations, favorable government policies in production/trade/nutrition/food safety, the importance of research and development, ecotypes/seed varieties/plant breeding, climate change, yield, conservation/low-till farming, place-based solutions, lack of adequate extension services, certified organic and fair trade, post-harvest processing and value-addition, commodity supply chains, the power of middlemen/intermediaries, government subsidies, and the free market. In fact, I wrote an identical list following a conference in India and almost every single one of these aspects is also relevant to quinoa farmers in the Bolivian Altiplano. Similarly, there is also no silver bullet magic solution to making quinoa sustainable environmentally, economically, and socially in the future, but rather, the industry demands cross-collaboration of stakeholders and commitment to strategic planning for the long-term.
In sum, I was able to do more than thirty interviews with a variety of actors including producers’ associations/cooperatives, NGOs, government officials, private businesses, organic certifying agencies, farmers, and scholars. I lived with and participated in the work of three farming families and in some ways, was able to achieve my overly ambitious goal of a “comparative study” of the three main quinoa producing regions in Bolivia (northern, central, and southern Altiplano). Even though my experiences in Bolivia were difficult, I can’t think of a more exciting and dynamic time or place to be studying the changes in quinoa production. Like one woman said, these next few months are going to be a game changer for Bolivia, though whether positively or negatively has yet to be determined. But I can feel it. It’s like the buzz around quinoa and this so-called tipping point is tangible; the dynamism is alive and well.
I don’t know if after this year, I am going to want to eat as much quinoa as I can and work for an organic and fair trade quinoa company when I return to the States OR alternatively, never want to see it again (at least for a while, ha). I do feel, however, that quinoa can change the world. Reflecting back on the last nine months, I have become enamored with places (Ladakh), cultures (Bhutan), and people (India), but here for the first time, I feel like I’ve fallen in love with a crop. I love the way quinoa looks when the sun rises or sets behind it, illuminating the panicle and giving it a soft iridescence. This glow is particularly prominent with the red quinoa and I think the prettiest is the Pandela variety of white royal quinoa, which appears pink. If I were to go on a date with quinoa, we would drink quinoa beer, eat quinoa salad with cranberries, walnuts, roasted carrots and avocados with a lemon poppy seed dressing, and quinoa chocolate chip cookies for dessert while watching the documentary “Mother Grain.” It sounds crazy, but something about this ancient Andean pseudo-cereal resonates so strongly with me. Where at times, I have felt a disconnect and void in the culture, food, and people of Bolivia, quinoa has more than compensated. It is such a powerful entity with far-reaching impacts, involving so many stakeholders on all levels from grassroots (literally, farmers working the soil) to international with the involvement of the United Nations. It will be fascinating to see what the future has in store for quinoa or alternatively, what quinoa has in store for the future.
So back to the question of did I “succeed”? While this year is certainly not about conventional measures of success, I still think I can safely say “yes.” I am coming away with so much knowledge and a deeper understanding of the complex dynamic, my brain might just explode quinoa. Sure, it was slow going and I had some of my lowest moments of the year in Bolivia (from almost getting robbed by a fake tourist and illegitimate police officer to a terrible experience with a Spanish tutor), but I think that made it feel that much more rewarding when I recovered after feeling so close to “failure.” Thus, it seems very fitting that I will end my time in Bolivia by joining “La Ruta de La Quinua,” a three-day government-sponsored initiative with more than 100 participants. A caravan of twenty jeeps will follow the “quinoa route” starting from La Paz and ending in the far south in Uyuni, stopping to visit research centers, meet producers, and see technological demonstrations.
After South America, I am transitioning to Europe where I will spend six weeks studying the high-value horticulture supply chain, high tech greenhouses, and urban agriculture in the Netherlands, followed by one month in Iceland examining geo-thermal powered greenhouses and traditional sheep and horse rearing. Holland, with its reliable public transportation and below-sea-level cities, will certainly be a massive change from the chaotic, albeit beautiful Bolivian highlands. I am preparing to brace myself for reverse culture shock as I transition continents. And in the meantime, thank you again for giving me this opportunity to test my own limits, to “fail up” and realize what I am truly capable of.
Sincerely,
Lauren
Dear Watson Family,
As you announced the next class of Watson Fellows, I am in disbelief that it was a year ago that I myself received news of the fellowship acceptance. I remember reading the email and literally breaking down into tears: a mix of excitement, astonishment, fear, and gratitude. Nine months later, these feelings still exist except they are far more tangible and amplified. Instead of theorizing how I might feel being away from family, friends, and everything I had ever known, I am now not only experiencing and surviving, but also thriving. I think this year offers crucial perspective and is going to make anything in the future seem possible and much less daunting.
During my three months in Bolivia, I focused solely on quinoa, a tiny pseudo-grain and “Lost Crop of the Incas.” I began to realize early on that the quinoa dynamic is even more complex and controversial than I had originally thought. The social, economic, and environmental impacts of the “boom” in the West are far-reaching and complicated. It is important to note that quinoa is practically a complete protein rich in vitamins and minerals, high in fiber, and both cholesterol and gluten-free. While western consumers’ craze with this “superfood” has helped uplift previously marginalized farmers by providing them with remunerative prices for their crop, it also renders quinoa too expensive for many urban Bolivians to afford. This paradox raises questions of domestic food security in a country where roughly 1 in 5 children is chronically malnourished and cheap imports and processed food abound. The lack of widespread domestic consumption is further complicated by the fact that many urban elites have historically looked down upon quinoa as a sort of dirty peasant/native food.
Unsurprisingly, however, increased prices (a threefold increase in four years) have instigated a sort of “repeasantization” of the countryside in which both young and old people alike are returning to their native villages to cultivate quinoa on what is often forsaken ancestral land, which is creating resource conflicts and community tension, especially surrounding indigenous governance and land management systems. Furthermore, the increased demand in the US and EU is encouraging farmers to expand and intensify production (while simultaneously abandoning traditional cultivation methods such as fallow fields, crop rotation, and animal husbandry of llamas), which has the likely potential of eroding soils and depleting nutrients in areas that were ecologically fragile from the beginning.
The region of interest is the Altiplano or “high plain” and more specifically, the southern Altiplano and inter-salar region, which is the only location in the world where royal quinoa grows (a larger grained, higher value variety). Quinoa is a sort of miracle crop in that it flourishes in harsh environments where most other plants cannot exist: sandy saline soil, little rainfall, high altitude, and subfreezing temperatures. With global climate change in mind and the expected increases in drought, desertification, and weather extremes, quinoa proves rather promising, compounded by its high nutrition in the context of prevailing global hunger. It makes sense then why the United Nations declared 2013 “The International Year of Quinoa” (and 2014 has been dubbed “The International Year of Family Farming” – how fitting for my Watson!).
My hopes while in Bolivia included following the quinoa commodity chain from field to export, exploring the on-farm management practices, organic certification, post-harvest processing, marketing and sales. I wanted to understand how farmers have altered their production methods and/or adopted new technologies because of increased demand from the West and the social, economic, and environmental impacts of these changes. I also hoped to spend time living in quinoa producing villages learning how to grow and maintain it. I was curious as to the role of both the State and NGOs in the strategic planning of quinoa commercialization, as well as of cooperatives and private export companies, which may be facilitating technical support and marketing. In short, by the time I was to leave Bolivia for the next leg of the Watson, I wanted to be a quinoa expert, having spent time in the field and the warehouse working through the nuances of this Andean pseudo-cereal. I really enjoy eating quinoa at home, but I also strived to understand the complex political economy and environmental ramifications surrounding my gastronomic preferences. Looking back on the last three months, did I “succeed”?
Well, Bolivia hasn’t been easy, that’s for sure. After experiencing the loneliest holiday season of my life, things did not pick up. My first month was virtually stagnant: I was struggling with the language, it was raining every single day, and people weren’t answering emails or phone calls. It took me more than a month to really get on my feet and get my bearings (especially working up the courage just to run around the city of La Paz knocking on doors with my broken Spanish). In fact, early on in the planning process, someone mentioned to me that carrying out my research on the Bolivian Altiplano wouldn’t be very feasible and that the communities with which I am attempting to work (indigenous farmers) are historically the most marginalized demographic and are naturally suspicious of foreigners, as well as the fact that Bolivia has been characterized as being “fiercely autonomous.” She even suggested that I all together switch to Peru to carry out my research. While Bolivia hasn’t been a joy ride, but rather a slap in the face – it’s been an important reality check and perspective for my research. Sure, I could have gone to Peru where maybe it would have been easier and I seriously thought about it. My reasons for wanting to go there, however, were flawed – because it would be easy? That’s certainly not what the Watson is all about. And I am glad I didn’t.
Bolivia is the birthplace/center of origin of quinoa and is currently the largest producer in the world. It’s also home to a president who detests the US, kicked out USAID last year, and wants to remove the American embassy. However, I think it’s been really good for me to go somewhere where America isn’t worshipped, as a pleasant reminder that my country is not the hegemony and paradigm for everyone in the world. Yet for a while, I was ready to throw in the towel on Bolivia, truly convinced that I wasn’t going to achieve what I wanted, that I would never make it to the southern Altiplano to regions where royal quinoa is grown for export. I was flailing around without contacts, disheartened by the words of some colleagues who suggested that perhaps my work was redundant, overly ambitious, and unfeasible given my lofty goals and relatively short time period in Bolivia. Discouraged, I told myself, “for once in your life, don’t Lauren Howe the heck out of this” – i.e. take what you can get, do what you can with the resources at your disposal, and don’t kill yourself. Well that mentality was short-lived in retrospect, since now I am trying my hardest to accomplish everything I possibly can in the next few days before I leave for Europe with the second half of my time here having been so incredibly fruitful that it definitely made up for the stagnation and frustration at the beginning.
At first, I mainly focused on working with PROINPA (Promotion and Investigation of Andean Products) on their “Food Security and Adaptation to Climate Change” quinoa project, which focuses on the use of short-cycle varieties of improved seeds, promoting seed saving and certified seed production, better management practices, and eventually some commercialization after household food security. I was able to participate in about ten visits to various agricultural communities in Pacajes province. Field activities included teaching the farmers how to identify pests and how to prepare and apply bio-inputs. It was a wonderful opportunity to meet and speak with producers, participate in communal "apthapi” lunches, and even assist with some fieldwork in spraying and seed selecting. However, like everything in Bolivia, the work wasn’t effortless. We normally spent about six hours with the farmers, with another eight hours driving in the truck, making for a 14-hour day. Sometimes our field visits were marred with downpours, hailstorms, or even snow, and to top it all off, when a community preferred to speak their indigenous language Aymara, I couldn’t understand a word. So as soon as I felt like I was getting a grip on Spanish, these days felt particularly arduous and futile.
Following my fieldwork in Pacajes, I was able to live with one family and participate in their daily activities of herding cattle and tending their quinoa. I can safely say that this farm-stay was my Bolivian experience in a nutshell: difficult and trying (physically and emotionally). Bridges are hard to come by in the campo (“countryside”), so four times we had to ford the river, which was less than 50 degrees and more than knee-deep…shoeless. My host, Amalia, her two young children, and I would spend seven hours a day herding nine cows. I have never herded cattle, mind you, but I think my brain atrophied a bit during these few days. I don’t think I could ever herd cattle for a living – I was going crazy after only a few hours. At least with farming, you can see that you’re giving life, growing something, and can reap a reward at the end. I would describe animal husbandry and the tedious act of herding more specifically as doing a dance – back and forth, leading, following, and ushering the bovines, never quite knowing where to go yet simultaneously wondering if they know the way. During these long, hot hours in the blazing sun, which is even stronger with the high altitude, I realize more how the Bolivian Altiplano is a vast and empty place, treeless with virtual silence except the occasional howl of the wind, baah of a sheep, or hum of the radio that Amalia keeps in her awayu blanket. The silence was further undisturbed by the fact that she never liked to engage in conversation.
After this low point, things really started to look up. The rainy season was tapering off and my Spanish was slowly improving. Next, I spent several days living on Lake Titicaca, the highest navigable lake in the world and the largest in South America, in the small village of Santiago de Okola. Okola has been hosting tourists for seven years now, a testament to their commitment to eco/agrotourism and agrobiodiversity conservation. I knew I wanted to visit Lake Titicaca, a center of origin for many Andean crops, including quinoa. I was able to attend a meeting with the president of Okola’s Tourism Body (Tomas), during which they discussed a project to safeguard and recover indigenous knowledge, as well as ensure that the wide variety of native crops continue to be cultivated, especially in the context of rural out-migration of the youth. While in Okola, I met with the school director, interviewed Tomas, harvested potatoes, hiked up to the top of the “Sleeping Dragon” mountain, and went fishing for dinner. This fishing, however, was nothing like that of my childhood. Instead of bait and poles, we dragged a large net through the water close to the shore. After doing this several times, we filled an awayu with small minnow-like fish called ispi. That night, we enjoyed a delicious dinner of potatoes and fried ispi, heads, tails, bones, and all, which were sort of like crunchy French fries.
Following my time in Okola, I felt rejuvenated and ready to re-tackle royal quinoa on Bolivia’s southern Altiplano, and through judicious planning, I was able to attend a one-week producers’ tour with California-based Andean Naturals, the largest importer of organic quinoa in the United States. Our group consisted of the founding brothers: Sergio and Fabricio, their agronomists, an Australian quinoa farmer and businessman, and two American importers/clients. Sergio was named by Time Magazine as one of the “Nine Gods of Food” (on the same list as Vandana Shiva and Michael Pollan!!) and the “King of Quinoa.” Needless to say, this was one of the most exciting foodie/ag celebrity moments of this year (right on par with my interviews with Indians Devinder Sharma and MS Swaminathan). The tour involved visits to almost ten producers’ associations along the southern Altiplano. We visited Challapata, a tiny town I’d been planning to see for almost two years, which has been referred to as the “hub” of the quinoa industry in Bolivia for its weekly market where quinoa prices have historically been set. Finally venturing south was like a dream come true, and through this one week tour, I learned more about the challenges of the quinoa industry than I had in an entire month.
As a result of this tour and its introductions, I was able to spend time living in the quinoa-producing village of Santuario de Quillacas. In many ways, the Bolivian Altiplano has reminded me of Ladakh, the region in northernmost India where I spent five weeks, two of which on a barley farm assisting with the harvest and threshing. The Ladakhi and Altiplano landscape are similar: barren, vast, and mountainous with high altitudes, sapphire blue skies, and strong sun. Yet when we walked past the neighbors working, it was as if I was literally transported back in time to the Ladakhi village of Likir. The quinoa plants had been cut and set into neat piles on the ground. The Bolivian quinueros (quinoa farmers) proceeded to scoop up the heaps and were stacking them in teepee like structures to dry. This was exactly what we had to do in Likir with the barley. Perhaps it is a traditional practice characteristic of all grains, but I found it strangely comforting, as if I already was familiar with the rhythms of harvesting quinoa, which proved useful as I was able to get my hands dirty assisting with the reaping.
I also feel that so much has changed in the Bolivian quinoa industry, especially as a result of 2013 and United Nation’s International Year of the Quinoa, so writing off my research as “repetitive” didn’t make sense. I can’t believe that I considered skipping Bolivia in favor of Peru because I thought it would be too difficult. Here I am, I now feel like I have been part of something big, really big. I am getting both a literal and figurative taste of what’s happening in the wake of 2013 and in the midst of the global quinoa craze. Quinoa is a manifestation of EVERYTHING I’ve been exploring over the past nine months, namely the tension between tradition and innovation. Quinoa also includes themes of: intensive versus extensive agriculture, access to finance/credit and markets, contract farming, labor shortages, NGO dependency, ICT technology, contraband/illegal trafficking, the importance of partnerships and collaboration, risk management, appropriate technology, farmers’ cooperatives and associations, favorable government policies in production/trade/nutrition/food safety, the importance of research and development, ecotypes/seed varieties/plant breeding, climate change, yield, conservation/low-till farming, place-based solutions, lack of adequate extension services, certified organic and fair trade, post-harvest processing and value-addition, commodity supply chains, the power of middlemen/intermediaries, government subsidies, and the free market. In fact, I wrote an identical list following a conference in India and almost every single one of these aspects is also relevant to quinoa farmers in the Bolivian Altiplano. Similarly, there is also no silver bullet magic solution to making quinoa sustainable environmentally, economically, and socially in the future, but rather, the industry demands cross-collaboration of stakeholders and commitment to strategic planning for the long-term.
In sum, I was able to do more than thirty interviews with a variety of actors including producers’ associations/cooperatives, NGOs, government officials, private businesses, organic certifying agencies, farmers, and scholars. I lived with and participated in the work of three farming families and in some ways, was able to achieve my overly ambitious goal of a “comparative study” of the three main quinoa producing regions in Bolivia (northern, central, and southern Altiplano). Even though my experiences in Bolivia were difficult, I can’t think of a more exciting and dynamic time or place to be studying the changes in quinoa production. Like one woman said, these next few months are going to be a game changer for Bolivia, though whether positively or negatively has yet to be determined. But I can feel it. It’s like the buzz around quinoa and this so-called tipping point is tangible; the dynamism is alive and well.
I don’t know if after this year, I am going to want to eat as much quinoa as I can and work for an organic and fair trade quinoa company when I return to the States OR alternatively, never want to see it again (at least for a while, ha). I do feel, however, that quinoa can change the world. Reflecting back on the last nine months, I have become enamored with places (Ladakh), cultures (Bhutan), and people (India), but here for the first time, I feel like I’ve fallen in love with a crop. I love the way quinoa looks when the sun rises or sets behind it, illuminating the panicle and giving it a soft iridescence. This glow is particularly prominent with the red quinoa and I think the prettiest is the Pandela variety of white royal quinoa, which appears pink. If I were to go on a date with quinoa, we would drink quinoa beer, eat quinoa salad with cranberries, walnuts, roasted carrots and avocados with a lemon poppy seed dressing, and quinoa chocolate chip cookies for dessert while watching the documentary “Mother Grain.” It sounds crazy, but something about this ancient Andean pseudo-cereal resonates so strongly with me. Where at times, I have felt a disconnect and void in the culture, food, and people of Bolivia, quinoa has more than compensated. It is such a powerful entity with far-reaching impacts, involving so many stakeholders on all levels from grassroots (literally, farmers working the soil) to international with the involvement of the United Nations. It will be fascinating to see what the future has in store for quinoa or alternatively, what quinoa has in store for the future.
So back to the question of did I “succeed”? While this year is certainly not about conventional measures of success, I still think I can safely say “yes.” I am coming away with so much knowledge and a deeper understanding of the complex dynamic, my brain might just explode quinoa. Sure, it was slow going and I had some of my lowest moments of the year in Bolivia (from almost getting robbed by a fake tourist and illegitimate police officer to a terrible experience with a Spanish tutor), but I think that made it feel that much more rewarding when I recovered after feeling so close to “failure.” Thus, it seems very fitting that I will end my time in Bolivia by joining “La Ruta de La Quinua,” a three-day government-sponsored initiative with more than 100 participants. A caravan of twenty jeeps will follow the “quinoa route” starting from La Paz and ending in the far south in Uyuni, stopping to visit research centers, meet producers, and see technological demonstrations.
After South America, I am transitioning to Europe where I will spend six weeks studying the high-value horticulture supply chain, high tech greenhouses, and urban agriculture in the Netherlands, followed by one month in Iceland examining geo-thermal powered greenhouses and traditional sheep and horse rearing. Holland, with its reliable public transportation and below-sea-level cities, will certainly be a massive change from the chaotic, albeit beautiful Bolivian highlands. I am preparing to brace myself for reverse culture shock as I transition continents. And in the meantime, thank you again for giving me this opportunity to test my own limits, to “fail up” and realize what I am truly capable of.
Sincerely,
Lauren
No comments:
Post a Comment