Unlike last time, Fanny basically told me that we were going walking today. I agreed, but told her I couldn't walk the same distance as last time because of the altitude. Thankfully, she understood, and we walked a little slower and not quite as far. And then she made me use the exercise machines located throughout the park, like playgrounds for adults. Sigh.
I then went to the Plaza de Ponchos in Otavalo to try to make new contacts, and hopefully find some familiar faces. After failing to find Doña Rosa on Saturday, I was excited to find her daughter Huayta today. She was in a different concrete stall than I had remembered, and she had two additional kiosks made of tables and metal frames. She looked familiar, but I doubted myself, so I walked around for about 15 minutes trying to find her mother. Finally, I gave in, waited for her friend to leave, and asked if she knew a man named Michael Stuckart who is a professor in the U.S. She looked confused, asked his last name again, and shook her head. Then, she clearly remembered something and asked me if he taught English. Yes, I said, he used to teach them English to help them make sales to tourists. She finally remembered Michael, but still looked confused, so I told her that I had visited Ecuador with Michael in 2009. She asked if I had danced San Juanes with her during Inti Raymi, in traditional clothing. When I said yes, she was excited to be able to place me. She told me that they have a picture of me in traditional clothing in their house. She asked if I wanted to see her mother, and I said yes, that I had been looking for her, but I wasn't able to find her.
Huayta presented me to her mother, and we basically repeated the same conversation. They were both rather surprised to see me and hear about Michael because they hadn't heard from him in four years (since his last visit in 2010). He is a copadre for Paccha (another daughter of Doña Rosa), and they had tried to contact him three years ago when Paccha was getting married. They were certain that Michael must be dead; that was the only reason they could think of to explain his silence. I did my best to reassure them that Michael was fine, but it was a little difficult because I didn't have many details to give them.
Once we cleared that up, I asked about her other children, and Doña Rosa told me that the youngest, Bryan, is now 7 years old and in school. Her other son is 11. I learned that Paccha (24, nearly 25) is married, has a one and a half year old baby, and is selling artesanias in Colombia for her husband. She has been there for less than a year, and recently visited Otavalo for 15 days, but has returned to Colombia for two more years. Huayta (23, nearly 24) lives at home and helps sell in the market most days. She go married last August.
Her aunt Elena, cousin Marisol, and uncle were all making Aya Huma masks (also called "the devil" masks, that are worn by boisterous male leaders who shout and call out during Inti Raymi celebrations; see below for pictures) to get ready for Inti Raymi. The uncle was holding a mask that looked complete, and was cutting the balls of yarn on top to make fringe. Elena's mask came only to the top of the eyes when I sat down; about 40 minutes later, the main body of the mask was complete, as she busily crocheted. It was still missing the ears, nose, tongue, and fringe, but it would at least cover one's face. Marisol held a nearly complete mask. I watched as she crocheted and attached the ears, decorated the eyes with 2 colors of yarn, and then declared it was done. The cousin explained that they were for sale, and people (especially tourists) buy them for Halloween or other festivals. She said that some days, they are really popular, and other days, they are not; they never knew which kind of day it would be. The cousin had learned to crochet from her mom when she was 10 years old. I commented on how fast they were working, but they disagreed.
Elena told me that they could also crochet hats. In fact, the Aya Huma masks come in 2 styles: 1 like a hat, with the face on the back of the head, and other other, a full ski mask with a different face on the front and back. They didn't make anything else, though, despite selling ponchos, sweaters, scarves, and blankets. They confirmed what Doña Rosa had told me: plenty of women in Peguche weave, but they didn't provide me with any names.
Huayta had shown me that she decorates shirts, sewing beads around the collars of the shirts traditionally worn by Otavalan women. She said she sells them on Saturdays in the street (because the Plaza itself has limited space). She said she can't embroider, weave, or make the Aya Huma masks; she only sews designs with beads. Her aunt and cousin joked that she is not a real woman, that she is a man, because she can't make anything.
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