With its endless markets, its rebelliousness, and a complexity that defies description, El Alto, Bolivia is a city like no other. Two new books from the El Alto publishing house Sobras Selectas offer unique and in-depth insights into everyday life in the city.
Quya Reyna’s 2022 book, Los Hijos de Goni, is a powerful collection of chronicles from the interior of El Alto. This highland city is often portrayed and defined by outsiders. It is often described as a crime-ridden space, while others emphasize the city’s rebellious nature and its ability to overthrow tyrannical governments or organize social movements, like the 2003 Gas War.
But here we have a different El Alto, narrated by a writer who paints a loving, sensitive, and socially vibrant portrait of one of Latin America’s most dynamic cities, where the majority are working-class Aymara residents.
Quya Reyna ‘s first story illustrates the phrase that gives the book its title. Growing up in a home where poverty was commonplace, austerity measures were the norm. In this context, when leaving leftovers on the plate, the writer’s father would say, “Who do you think you are, leaving leftover food! Do you think you’re Goni’s children? Go live with Goni!”
Goni is the former Bolivian president, Gonzalo Sánchez de Lozada, who belongs to the old elite and speaks like a gringo. His neoliberal government was the number one enemy during the Bolivian Gas War that fought against neoliberal policies, state repression, and a gas export and privatization plan.
“For my father, [Goni] was the ultimate representation of the Q’ara in the country: someone who believed he was ‘white,’ a racist who came to impose his moral and religious standards on us, who hated the poor, etc., etc.,” Reyna writes. She got to know “Goni through my father, since he also told us that, besides hating the poor, he hated everything my family identified with: You are children of campesinos, Aymara children!”
Quya Reyna shares the various worlds that exist within the city. Another story focuses on the apthapi of the Children’s Day celebrations, where each child would bring something to school to share with everyone for a communal meal. Given her economic situation, Quya Reyna looked forward to this day as it was an opportunity to get food to take home and share with her family. The story is a window into the cuisine and traditions of El Alto, as well as a metaphor for the social and political fabric that surrounds it.
“From that apthapi you can receive from others, you can give something of your own, too, and take home more than you gave. I did it so I could see my dad and mom eating like that. I think that’s why the people of El Alto don’t need to have much to receive a lot from this city,” writes Reyna.
And that’s what this book does: it shares a bit of El Alto. Whether it’s the cold wind blowing in the highlands, the mountain air, or the wonder of the view from this Aymara capital.
Many of Quya Reyna’s family stories express universal meanings. In one story, her mother, Adela, is portrayed as having a deep empathy for others. For example, when the government sends soldiers to El Alto to shoot protesters; when another community suffers, she suffers with them, feeling for them.
“She carries the entire racist structure she resisted,” Reyna explains. “Adela was more concerned about strangers because my mother was always one of them.”
Many of Quya Reyna’s stories feature a revealing comparison between La Paz and El Alto. One example is the vivid story of her journey from El Alto to the wealthier Zona Sur of La Paz with her father, who worked as a carpenter. During these early visits to La Paz as a child, Reyna felt “very far from home, because I felt like I was a person from another country. I felt like a foreigner.”
The descriptions of this trip are moving and vivid, detailing how the city stays with its people and the reader, “A little bit of El Alto got off the bus and stayed in the city,” writes Reyna.
And that’s what this book does: it shares a bit of El Alto. Whether it’s the cold wind blowing in the highlands, the mountain air, or the wonder of the view from this Aymara capital.
In a similar note, the collection of El Alto chronicles, “No Me Jodas, No Te Jodo ” (2019), edited by Alexis Arguello Sandoval, also focuses on the city’s daily life, history, and socio-commercial world, often told from a personal perspective.
It begins with an extravagant but entirely true story: in 2001, a penguin was sold at El Alto’s most popular fair (16 de Julio) for 250 bolivianos. The price was negotiable and increased by 30 pesos for the animal’s coat. “Of course, the penguin was no great wonder: small, with gray, scaly legs, dark brown plumage, and lost eyes,” one of the book’s authors relates.
This book of chronicles contains the city itself, described in one passage through the aromas that waft through its streets: “Mordor has different aromas and flavors: How do you identify and classify them? First, you’re distracted by a chilly breeze, and so, over the days, weeks, and months, you begin to identify the smell of fried ispis on the street, raw fish on the pavement, and the pejerrey (silverside fish) of La Ceja, which contrasts with the aroma of the El Ceibo chocolate factory. There’s also that familiar smell of burnt gasoline from vehicle exhaust fumes, the rancid oil from street food stalls, and the popular broaster tripitas, a popular dish from El Alto at Bs. 3.”
These books are like flowers from El Alto: they share the charm and scents of its blooming streets.
Another story includes an account of newly arrived residents of the city who get to know their neighbors through the warmth and solidarity generated by mutual hatred and a near-lynching of a thief who, apparently, had robbed them all.
A shared affinity stems from their mutual resentment and desire for revenge. The police, in this context, are completely useless and make things worse; perhaps evidence that community justice is urgently needed.
Another charming story is that of Choco, the guard dog of Ciudad Satélite, known in the neighborhood for being a friend to everyone. He is kind to all children and able to easily sniff out a criminal, according to locals. “Thanks to his size, he scared off thieves and helped neighbors get home safely. Choco understood ayni, the famous Andean reciprocity.”
The dog was seen as a hero with superpowers. “I’ve never met a dog like him in my life,” says Doña Claudia.
When he died, he was buried in the square where he reigned. A local resident commented about the dog’s grave: “I don’t think even [the famous writer] Jaime Sáenz’s grave ever saw such fresh flowers.”
These books are like flowers from El Alto: they share the charm and scents of its blooming streets.
Ben Dangl is a Senior Lecturer of Communication and Journalism at the University of Vermont. He is currently based in Latin America writing a book on social movement media in the region for the University of North Carolina Press.