Afro-Bolivians Embrace Culture Through Dance and Memory

In Bolivia, Afro-descendants are striving to combat their historical invisibility through cultural expression, particularly through dance and storytelling. The Afro-Bolivian community, though officially recognized in the constitution since 2009, continues to grapple with a lack of representation and understanding within the broader society. In the remote town of Tocaña, many individuals, including Cielo Torres, have found a sense of belonging and identity that was previously elusive.

Torres, now 25, moved to Tocaña at the age of 17 and quickly discovered a community that resonated with her own experiences. “Back in Santa Cruz, we were the only Afro,” she recalled. “But when I saw others like me, I told myself: This is where I want to be.” Her sentiments reflect those of many Afro-Bolivians, who often feel marginalized and misunderstood in their own country.

According to Carmen Angola, executive director of the Afro-Bolivian National Council (CONAFRO), the community faces significant barriers. “Many think that we are foreigners and we don’t have any rights,” she stated. “But we were born here.” The population of Bolivia stands at over 11.3 million, with only around 23,000 identifying as Afro-Bolivian, based on a 2012 census, the first to recognize them as a distinct group.

Struggles for Recognition and Inclusion

The majority of Afro-Bolivians reside in Yungas, a region characterized by limited infrastructure and a reliance on traditional industries such as coca leaf harvesting and honey production. Torres, who runs a beekeeping business, emphasized the community’s deep connection to the land. “We are people used to walking trails instead of paved roads,” she noted.

Despite some progress since the election of Evo Morales, Bolivia’s first Indigenous president, the Afro-Bolivian community still seeks meaningful recognition. The establishment of September 23 as the National Day of the Afro-Bolivian People and Culture in 2011 by Morales was intended to bolster their identity. Yet, activists like Mónica Rey argue that symbolic gestures have not translated into substantial change. “We celebrate among ourselves and the government doesn’t do anything,” she lamented.

Efforts to incorporate Afro-Bolivian history into educational curricula have been met with resistance. Angola has approached local authorities to facilitate visits by community members to schools, but her requests have been consistently denied. “They just say they’re going to address discrimination, history and racism,” she explained. “But the people who created the curricula aren’t Black. Their history is not ours.”

Rediscovering History and Culture

In a bid to reclaim their history, CONAFRO collaborated with other organizations to document the narratives of Afro-Bolivians. A comprehensive report released in 2013 aimed to retrieve the rich experiences and cultural stories that had long been overlooked. “We got our history back,” Rey stated. “Our experiences, our elders’ tales, our culture, have been retrieved and documented.”

The roots of the Afro-Bolivian community trace back to enslaved Africans transported to the Americas during the European conquest in the 16th and 17th centuries. Initially brought to Potosí, a colonial mining hub, many suffered from harsh conditions and diseases. Over time, the descendants of these individuals were forcibly relocated to Yungas, where they became laborers on large estates known as ‘haciendas.’

Sociologist Óscar Mattaz explained that the treatment of Afro-Bolivians as disposable investments led to their exploitation and suffering. Now, towns like Tocaña are recognized as the cultural epicenter of Afro-Bolivians, where traditions are preserved and celebrated.

Julio Pinedo, who resides in Mururata, serves as a symbolic leader for the Afro-Bolivian community. Though his title carries no political power, he is regarded as a guardian of rights and heritage. Local authorities recognized his position, attending his coronation in 1992. At 83, Pinedo remains a respected figure, although he now relies on his son’s coca harvest for income. His wife, Angélica Larrea, recalls the lively celebrations surrounding his coronation, which included dancing and a Mass led by a priest.

Despite a historical connection to various spiritual practices, the community today is predominantly Catholic. Close to Pinedo’s home, a parish operates without a resident priest, relying on a dedicated group of women to maintain the faith. Isabel Rey, a distant relative of Mónica, assists the catechist in keeping the community engaged in religious practices.

The spirit of the Afro-Bolivian community is perhaps most vividly expressed through the traditional dance known as the “saya.” Rey described the dance as a powerful medium for cultural expression and protest. “Our demands were born through this music,” she said. “The saya has become our instrument to gain visibility.”

Torres, who learned to dance the saya in Tocaña, emphasized its significance in her life. “Here it’s danced from the heart,” she remarked. Each element of the dance attire carries meaning; the colors symbolize peace and sacrifice, while the braids worn by women allude to dreams of freedom.

“Dancing saya used to make me feel embarrassed,” Torres admitted. “But now, I am proud. I tell my daughter, ‘You are Black. My Black little girl.’” As she raises her daughter to embrace their heritage, Torres continues to celebrate their identity through dance, weaving their history into the fabric of everyday life.