YUNGAS, Bolivia (AP) 鈥 Cielo Torres had always lived in Bolivia. Yet before moving at age 17 to the remote town of Toca帽a 鈥 where much of the country鈥檚 Afro-descendant community lives 鈥 she had rarely encountered people who looked like her.
鈥淏ack in Santa Cruz, we were the only Afro,鈥 said Torres, now 25. 鈥淏ut when I saw others like me, I told myself: This is where I want to be. Here I feel comfortable and understood.鈥
Her sense of belonging echoes the experience of many Afro-Bolivians. Although officially recognized in the constitution since 2009, they remain one of Bolivia’s least visible groups, struggling to feel at home in their own land.
鈥淢any think that we are foreigners and we don鈥檛 have any rights,鈥 said Carmen Angola, executive director of the Afro-Bolivian National Council (CONAFRO). 鈥淏ut we were born here.鈥
More than 11.3 million people live in Bolivia. Around 23,000 identified as Afro in a 2012 census, the first and only time they appeared as a distinct category. Most live in Yungas, a region where roads and communications are scarce but plantations abound.
鈥淥ur Afro communities depend on coca harvesting or honey production,鈥 said Torres, who runs a beekeeping business with her husband.
鈥淲e are people used to walking trails instead of paved roads,鈥 she added. 鈥淧eople who learn from the land.鈥
Symbolic gestures, scarce change
Official information on the community鈥檚 history is hard to come by. 鈥淲e have been made invisible by the state,鈥 said activist M贸nica Rey. 鈥淭here weren鈥檛 any written registers reflecting our reality. We wrote that history down ourselves.鈥
She said some progress was made in 2007, a year after became Bolivia鈥檚 president. 鈥淏y 2009 we were included in the constitution,鈥 she added. 鈥淏ut we have demanded our inclusion and rights to all the past governments.鈥
Morales supported CONAFRO鈥檚 founding in 2011. That same year, Sept. 23 was established as the National Day of the Afro-Bolivian People and Culture. Still, according to Rey, symbolic recognition is not enough to achieve structural change.
鈥淭he idea was that this day would serve to reaffirm our identity and that the state would create public policies for the Afro people,鈥 Rey said. 鈥淏ut it turns out we celebrate among ourselves and the government doesn鈥檛 do anything.鈥
She and Carmen Angola contend that promoting their people鈥檚 legacy has proven difficult. Angola has tried to convince local authorities to allow a group of Afro-Bolivians to visit schools and share insights of their community. None have agreed so far.
鈥淭hey just say they鈥檙e going to address discrimination, history and racism,鈥 Angola said. 鈥淏ut the people who created the curricula aren鈥檛 Black. Their history is not ours.鈥
From the mines to the 鈥榟aciendas鈥
CONAFRO joined efforts with another organization to gather testimonies documenting the Afro-Bolivian community鈥檚 long-lost past. A comprehensive document was released in 2013.
鈥淲e got our history back,鈥 Rey said. 鈥淥ur experiences, our elders鈥 tales, our culture, have been retrieved and documented.鈥
The Afro-Bolivian people descend from the Africans enslaved in the Americas during the European conquest between the 16th and 17th centuries.
Mostly born in Congo and Angola, they were initially taken to Potos铆, a colonial mining city located about 340 miles (550 kilometers) southeast of La Paz.
The high altitude 鈥 13,700 feet (4,175 meters) above sea level 鈥 and the extreme weather quickly took a toll. Later on, exposure to mercury and other substances in mining led to severe illnesses 鈥 from tooth loss, respiratory disease and death.
Two centuries later, the ancestors of the current Afro-Bolivian population were forcibly relocated to Yungas. There they settled and started working in large estates known as 鈥榟aciendas,鈥 where coca leaf, coffee and sugar cane were grown.
鈥淭he Afro people were dying and that was inconvenient because they were considered investments,鈥 said sociologist 脫scar Mattaz. 鈥淪o people started buying them and taking them away.鈥
Now Toca帽a and neighboring towns are considered the cultural heart of Afro-Bolivians.
A king with no crown
In Mururata lives Julio Pinedo, a symbolic leader regarded as the king of the Afro-Bolivians.
Bolivia鈥檚 Black community has recognized kings for centuries. Pinedo鈥檚 role carries no political weight within the government, but he is considered a guardian of his people鈥檚 rights. Local authorities acknowledge his title and even attended his coronation in 1992.
鈥淭he king was a symbolic means to show there鈥檚 royalty in the community,鈥 Mattaz said. 鈥淗e was very influential, worked hard and was respected.鈥
His position hardly made a difference in his lifestyle. Pinedo, now 83, resides in the same humble home he has always lived. He now relies on his son鈥檚 coca harvest for income.
Pinedo welcomes visitors. But engaging in conversation is hard due to his age. According to his wife, Ang茅lica Larrea, his royal ancestry dates back 500 years.
鈥淚 remember his coronation,鈥 she said. 鈥淧eople came from other communities. They danced and there was a procession. A priest came and we celebrated Mass.鈥
A handful of Afro-Bolivians have tried to decipher what their ancestors鈥 spirituality was. Yet the community remains overwhelmingly Catholic.
Close to Pinedo’s home, the sole parish of Mururata has no resident priest. Nonetheless, a group of devoted women are welcomed to read the Bible each Sunday.
Isabel Rey 鈥 a distant relative of M贸nica 鈥 said her ancestors were Catholics. And even without a priest to rely on, the catechist in charge of the church has kept the community鈥檚 faith strong.
鈥淪he will soon celebrate 40 years sharing the Lord鈥檚 word,鈥 Rey said. 鈥淚 help her, because she can鈥檛 keep up the work alone.鈥
A dance of struggle and love
There might not be an Afro-Bolivian spirituality, but the community鈥檚 soul remains bonded through the 鈥渟aya,鈥 a traditional dance performed with drums and chants.
鈥淥ur demands were born through this music,鈥 Rey said. 鈥淭he saya has become our instrument to gain visibility. We protest with drums and songs.鈥
Torres recalled dancing saya before moving to Toca帽a. Yet her feelings while performing it changed.
鈥淗ere it鈥檚 danced from the heart,鈥 she said. 鈥淚 learned how to sing and listen. It鈥檚 no ordinary music because we tell our history through it.鈥
She said each detail in their garments bears meaning. The white symbolizes peace and the red honors the blood shed by their ancestors. Men wear black hats to remember how their predecessors worked endlessly under the sun. And the women鈥檚 braids depict the roads they dreamed of to escape.
鈥淚t may seem like fashion, but it鈥檚 not,鈥 Torres said. 鈥淚t鈥檚 our culture.鈥
For more than a decade now, she has learned new moves and saya songs. She became fluent in her community鈥檚 language 鈥 a variation of Spanish that is not officially recognized 鈥 and is proud of her identity.
鈥淚 used to feel embarrassed for dancing saya,鈥 Torres said. 鈥淏ut when I saw people dancing here, I told myself: 鈥楾his is what I am. I am Black.鈥欌
Committed to raising her daughter to also be proud of her ancestry, she constantly praises her skin color, hair and moves.
鈥淪he already dances saya,鈥 Torres said. 鈥淚 tell her: 鈥榊ou are Black. My Black little girl.鈥欌
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Associated Press religion coverage receives support through the AP鈥檚 with The Conversation US, with funding from Lilly Endowment Inc. The AP is solely responsible for this content.
