2 hours ago · Life · 0 comments

A visit to a farm high in the Andes. A man and two women. Several dogs and cages of Guinea pigs that are being raised for market. The fields where they grow beans, potatoes and some other vegetables that looked like a cross between potatoes and carrots, are worked by hand. They speak Kichwa, an indigenous language that has several dialects, and some Spanish. I tried to ask how many generations had farmed their piece of land, but I don’t think my question was understood. All the little fading photographs and mementos on the wall of one of the farm’s two structures told me all I needed to know.

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