As we climb upward, a small village appears – several time-worn adobe houses with tiled roofs, a tiny tienda or market, and a few curious smiling Quechua children. The bus turns into this tiny village, and our driver carefully navigates between water-filled irrigation ditches that edge the narrow cobbled street. With the old adobe houses fronting directly on the streets, he has very little room for error.
Once through the village, the cobblestones vanish, and we wind our way up hills, around sharp corners, along muddy and bumpy roads, between misty cornfields, tethered pigs and cows, climbing ever upward. We all gasp as the bus maneuvers around a precious dairy cow that is tied to a tether right on the track’s edge. The road becomes steeper, and we find ourselves holding our breath as the bus slowly climbs through the rain.
We come up a final rise, and the land flattens out. This is our destination – the family home of Don Carlos, a local Shaman. Through the mist we can smell the clean sharp scent of eucalyptus trees. Immediately behind us rise the cultivated flanks of Father Imbabura; away to the left, hidden by mists, is Mojanda; across the valley is Mama Cotacachi; and in the distance, unseen behind the low clouds to the right, rears snow-capped Cayumbe. We are in a center of spiritual power, here between these four imposing volcanoes.
Don Carlos’ dream is to create, here on his ancestral lands, a centre for the ‘Old Ones’ – those elderly people of his village who have nothing. In the centre he intends to build, they can live and do honorable work, participating in those crafts that they learned throughout their lives; and sell their products to support themselves.
It was right here, in the field beside the bus, that his mother gave birth to this man, a child she knew would be special, and where we will have a ceremony of blessing.
To be continued....
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