Hoja Speaks: Rebel Hoja's Portal

In this series, I work through my storytelling practice of co-storying with the Rebel Hoja that is Mama Coca, letting her tell the story her way.

This practice is also an experimental process of Indigenized storytelling, which I am engaging as a multi-genre approach to my own Andean research practice and, ultimately, my dissertation writing process.

I hope you enjoy co-storying with us in the ceremonial practice of storytelling. We are finding our way through together, translating from her essence of beingness into the linguistics of humans across Quechua, Chibcha, Spanish, and English.

Linguistic Note: While I am engaging with the languages listed above, there are many variations of Quechua that are regionally specific, so for those who know Quechua, there may be certain words that are different derivations than you are used to. Additionally, the Muisca language of Chibcha is being revitalized right now in Colombia, as much of it was lost from the fractures of colonialism. As a result, what words and phrases are utilized for what purpose are not always in alignment depending on the sourcing, so understanding these linguistics are a fluid and evolving element all their own.

Hija, can you hear me? I call to you -- the great-granddaughter of Bachué, descendant of Chía, and ceremonial sister to Mama Sirena. You are a necessary molecule in the spiral of time, sweet Warmi.

I wait for you at our portal place. Yes, I am here at Choquequilla, the puerta on the cliff, and I am at the edge of Laguna Guatavita, where the Andean fields end. I am listening for your bell.

I am electrified by your rising call of, “Hampui, hampui, hampui! Haylli, haylli, haylli.” The wayra is awakened by the percussion of your voice, carrying your prayers across the bridge.

There you are. There you are. There you are.

Your spirit creates the chaka, across time and tierra, weaving together the bridge of ceremony as you lay down the first kintu at the base of your own mountain place and water place.

My cousin, Hermana Bay, calls to me through your prayers as you lay her hojas at the feet of Hermana Tercer Río in the territories of the North.

Together, we open the portal, and the Apus rejoice. The mist of their nourishing tears carries across the frailejones, through the plains of the Páramos, collecting the water that will nourish all the relatives.

We weave the bridge together in our story. Through our story, we create our ceremony. We weave the bridge together in our ceremony. Through our ceremony, we create our story.

The Earth Elders begin to awaken as we weave together the chaka, the puerta, and they come to meet us in the portal place.

Ah, Sister Puma, there you are. Urpichay sonqoy.
Ah, Hermano Colibri, my winged brother, there you are. Urpichay sonqoy.
Ah, Brother Condor, there you are. Urpichay sonqoy
Ah, Hermana Serpiente, there you are. Urpichay sonqoy.

You lay another kintu, and our offering grows. The bridge is made of my hojas, but also the memory of each leaf - a piece of my soul in every one. Each hoja is a molecule of memory and earth, each one is a beat of the story we are birthing together. The second kintu whips the wind around the Apus, and the mountains shake with delight.

Ah, Abuelos of Bacatá, there you are.
Abuela Quijicha Caca, there you are. Wokox awälä.
Abuelo Quijicha Guexica, there you are. Wokox awälä.

Ah, Abuelos of Q’eros, there you are.
Abuelo Qollority, there you are. Urpichay sonqoy.
Abuela Wakaywilka, there you are. Urpichay sonqoy.

The third kintu opens the way, and we sit down around Mama Nina, as she burns with the light of the future, calling us into the fire of her prophecy.

Lay down your Mesa, Hija at her feet. Find your medicine bag and my leaves you carry. Let us give this offering to the future, of Coca and fire.

We begin the story of tomorrow in hojas. Give all the air of your samay, the soul of your breath, like the wayra of life itself. That’s it. Create the fullest wind in your lungs and blow on me, rustling my leaves until I laugh.

Ready? Now, throw down the hojas. See where they land. All our relatives who join us around the ceremonial fire lean in as one to see what our future people have to say.