Colonialism has created cultural hybridity across the globe. Much of modern-day Latin American culture is the syncretic consequence of the Spaniards invading its indigenous communities in the early 16th century. As a double major in anthropology and sociology, I am both fascinated and troubled by the postcolonial fabric of present-day society.
In some areas of the world, native populations have been nearly erased by European influence. But I am interested in what came before, and I had grown tired of only reading about rich histories that have been eclipsed by monolithic History. So, I sought out service learning opportunities in indigenous communities. This led me to Máximo Nivel’s unique Andean immersion program.
Housed in mountainous villages outside of Cusco, their cultural exchange placements are advertised as unique opportunities to live and work within quechua speaking communities. I was struck by how distinct this experience would be, and packed my bags for two weeks tucked away in the Andes. Apart from what I could read on the page, I was unsure of what to expect.
It wasn’t simply a cultural exchange, but a melding of multiple histories and civilizations. I was stepping into a different time and place, in which I could get a glimpse of the best-preserved aspects of not only Peruvian culture but native Quecha-Andean culture. This was without even considering the mosaic of ancient civilizations that had already assimilated into the Inca Empire long before Spanish colonizers added another layer of custom.
And unlike typical volunteer programs in Latin American cities, I was not boarding a bus every day alongside local business people. I was moving in with a Quecha family to serve the community from within. The joint working and living arrangement was in itself the truest form of cross-cultural experience. I was not there to change anything, just to absorb myself in their daily rhythms and learn from what I saw.
It was inspiring to take part in a lifestyle that was so sustainable. My host family didn’t have anything that was without a purpose, and the community worked together to live off the land. Resourceful and independent, the town always found support from within, rather than turning outward to meet their needs.
Though there are still faint echoes of other dialects throughout the region, the community I was placed in spoke the primary indigenous language—Quechua. I could use my Spanish to communicate with some of the people I met, but older community members mostly spoke quecha.
This is only one example of the ongoing tensions between cultural preservation and societal integration. My host parents told me that there is a lot of outside pressure on the community to conform to more mainstream practices. For example, integrating standardized economic and educational systems.
From an outsider’s perspective, adopting recognized monetary practices might benefit the community, but they value tradition. Because of this, the remote village I lived in remains a time capsule of culture in many ways. However, an ability to live both apart from and in conjunction with modern society has been instrumental to their survival.
The persistence of tradition is evident in their more communal lifestyle. Individual and financial success seem of little importance when you can live in harmony with the world around you. The family I lived with was an excellent model of not wasting natural resources and creating minimal waste. Even their young children were experts at herding livestock and harvesting corn and potato crops.
The traces of sophisticated irrigation visible at many Inca archaeological sites are also manifest in the modern-day farming of indigenous communities. Graded terraces cut into the hillsides allow farmers to harness the natural power of rainfall and maximize the agricultural production of the region’s fertile soil.
The world I was living in was self-sufficient and sheltered from contemporary influence. I was reminded of this when noting the gender dynamics of the community. Careful to respect the accepted framework of my quechua family, I mostly helped within the home. I learned a little bit about cooking traditional dishes and weaving in addition to helping the kids with light farm work.
In some ways, the rigidity of traditional gender roles made me grateful for the freedom I have to pursue higher education and travel independently. On the other hand, these social norms were simply a sign of cultural preservation. Even though equality is important to me, it should not be limited to gender disparities.
Indigenous cultures should be as respected as mainstream society. Many native communities have become the minority in their own homelands, but this shouldn’t strip them of their validity. There is a lot to be learned from the lifestyles of these quechua communities. In two short weeks, I became part of a steady rhythm.
The family I stayed with lived quietly and peacefully. They didn’t want for a lot, and each villager worked for the greater good of their community. Not only did the families fit together seamlessly, but each aspect of their daily lives was also naturally interconnected. Lines between spirituality, ecology, physical needs, and social life blurred into a grounded sense of purpose.
The prioritization of community life was at once very simple and very powerful. As I return to my more fragmented world of workplace banter, gym routines, library study sessions, and a privatized home life, I want to remember the selfless simplicity of these two weeks. Progress is a subjective concept, and stepping outside of mainstream society reinforced for me the value of cultural diversity.