Animal Farm - Otavalo Style

April 26^th

Susie and Jacky (Mike's sisters) contemplating breakfast?

     Those of us who are meat eaters  in the western world (we are aspiring vegetarians who can’t quite make the leap) rarely confront the connection between the cute animals we see on farms, and the concoction served on our plates in restaurants or at home.  There are exceptions of course – those who hunt, and those who actually work in slaughter-houses, but any moral objections we may have about the treatment of animals is conveniently shielded by societies that do a good job of masking the more unpleasant aspects of our lifestyles.

     The Otavalo animal market does not expose us to the actual slaughter animals, but it is an incredible display of the trading relationship between people and the animals we eat.  Held on Saturday mornings in a field on the edge of town, it is a feast for the photographer, as well as a preparation for feasts to come.  Walking to the market early in the morning (between 6 and 7 is good), the first awareness of something different is the sight of people walking away from the field carrying chickens or walking a pig. Then we come to the main road where large numbers of people are gathered, either arriving or waiting for a ride to leave with their new lively purchases. The entrance was a narrow gap in the fence on the side of the road, so we clambered through along with others making their way in. There were a handful of observers such as our selves, but it seemed that most people were there to trade. The rough field was divided up according to animal type – chickens along one side, pigs in the middle (surprise!), cattle at the far end, a handful of sheeps, goats and llamas, and other assorted small animals such as cats, dogs and guinea pigs near the entrance. 

 

     People selling animals simply stood there waiting for prospective buyers to come and make their bids.  A lot of Quechua was being spoken, so it was hard to understand the process.  The small animals traded quite quickly – perhaps for fairly standard prices, but haggling over the larger animals appeared to be a longer process, with people engaged in focused, though not very intense discussions.  In some cases, children were there selling animals.  Indeed, our host, Margot told us that when she was quite young, she would go to the market with a small collection of pigs and be expected to sell them there.

 

     This really isn’t Sainsbury’s or Stop-and-Shop.  Apart from the fact that the products are still alive, all of the activity is overlooked by the surrounding mountains and, when we were there, the sun rising above the mighty Imbabura.  The noise is different too.  No piped music or intercom calls for Brian on lane 2.  Here there is the excited buzz of conversation, cocks crowing, a megaphone delivering a repetitive sales pitch on what sounded like proper pregnancy testing, and the frequent squeals of pigs being pulled away to their new owners.  We could only wonder if they were upset at leaving the home they knew, or if they understood the fate awaiting them.

 

Cuy - Guinea Pigs

  Around the field, other traders gather to take advantage of the crowds.  A line of cafés serve the hungry, and one can also find baskets, sweets, underwear, soap and other goodies.  Trucks come and go.  On my second visit, I learned more about the selling technique.  About a dozen pigs were jammed in the back, released one by one to the ‘display’ area, while some people would come to the truck to examine the range of pigs available.

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     I am not familiar with the real inner workings of the meat industry in the West, though I do know that those of us who do eat meat could all probably eat a whole lot less.  How do we reconcile our love of pets with the battery farming of chickens? Where do we draw the line between the desire to eat meat, and the huge contribution that such habits make to climate change and irrational agricultural policies? The answers to such questions are not obvious here in Otavalo.  What is most apparent is the need to make a living.  The woman holding a sack of a dozen guinea pigs which one can peer into and make a choice is presumably more concerned with what she can afford once she has sold her animals.  While still a meat eater, I am reassured by the habit we have seen here which is that a little meat goes a long way.