When I returned to Mocachi after a month away, the neighbor children came running over to greet me. After I unpacked my stuff, we visited in bubbles of excitement sitting in the earth-walled kitchen at the kerosene lamp lit table.
They recounted the distribution of sheep and llamas and cows from the re-structuring of the local government farming cooperative.
“We got eight merinos (sheep),” Mario boasted. “So we’re going to butcher our chuskas (mongrels) and then we’ll have all merinos! We got eight cows, too,” he bragged.
“No you didn’t!”
“Yes, we did!” And so rolled on traditional “my father is bigger than your father” competition of children.
According to Domitilla, her family already butchered one of the alpacas. But her sister Agripina said that was a lie!
The kitchen warmed with childhood storytelling and fantasies.
Early the next morning, Julia, one of the children’s grandmothers, came into my enclosure with a bowl of quinoa dough drops and fried bread dough. She thought I’d need some breakfast since I had just gotten back last night.
“Are you going to be home at noon?” she asked. “Well, I’ll bring over all you need for a nice barley soup and you can cook it up together for yourself and Marlene.”
“Oh, Julia, you’re a sweet heart!”
It was delicious!
