Doña Olga

On our return from Coroico, Karen had a house warming planned so that I could meet a whole lot of people she knows and, more importantly, we could have our house blessed. I kid you not, this is terribly important and all those white, middle class Bolivians take it just as seriously as anyone else. So a Challa was called for which doña Olga would perform. Setting up ‘the table’, as she calls it, is a much more complicated matter than I expected.

First it was terribly important to identify in which direction was the Illimany, the sacred mountain, so that the ‘table’ could be set appropriately. Then she built a square tower 20 cms tall or so with sticks. On top went a sheet of paper that included llama wool, llama fat (I could tell you a long story about the differences of llama and sheep fat and the very different way it handles but I won’t), a series of tablets with pictures of a house, a couple, a bus, a sun, a moon… All these pictures depict various aspects of our lives and, before placing them on the ‘table’ we had to make wishes for each of these. On top went some ‘magic powder’ the nature of which doña Olga would not disclose. Next, we had to crack open one walnut each. You won’t believe the relief in doña Olga’s eyes when both proved to be healthy inside and white when broken. They were also placed in different corners of the table.

Finally, she uncovered a llama foetus which she wrapped in gold leaf and placed on top of everything else. Next were the prayers and the walking around the table, dropping a few drops of sweet wine on the floor to Pachamama next to every corner of the table, after which we had to drink a little of the wine. Once we had all performed this act while she prayed in Aymara, a little alcohol was poured on the offerings themselves and the whole thing set on fire. Again, to her relief, the offerings caught fire very quickly and very evenly, something which is mean to be a good omen. After more prayers in which all three held hands towards the fire, we were allowed into the living room to collect the three people who we know best (Gaby, Lilly and Jessica), who stood by the fire while they cleansed their bad spirits with a stick of wood, just like Karen and I had done minutes earlier. The final act included opening a bottle of beer and shaking it violently all over the floor and the fire that didn’t get put out (all good, again). The fire was allowed to burn and the smoke allowed to circulate through the entire flat. When the pyre had burnt completely, the remains of the llama foetus were buried in a flower pot that we still have to plant something in. And that’s it. The main offering to Pachamama lives in our flat and will protect us from bad things, I hope.