They tell me about when there were no roads, only bridleways. They tell me about how they traveled from Cusin to Ibarra to sell Creole chicken eggs, then on their way back to buy them in Otavalo. They tell me about how they traveled on horseback to Intag to bring panela and sweets. They tell me about the civil war and the help their great-grandparents gave General Robles Plaza, carrying rifles on their backs from Tulcán to Quito. They tell me about the Andean mission that in the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s told them, “Rise up, peasant!” They tell me about the schools that emerged from these missions, and many more stories.
Thank you for reading this post, don't forget to subscribe!The ones who tell me these adventures are the Angla bell ringers, a unique group of musicians in Ecuador. They say their music is unique and individual. They learned it from their great-grandparents, grandparents, and parents, but their children aren’t interested; they are the last, and the tradition dies with them.
They say their ancestors played it while climbing the Cusin volcano, herding cattle. They stayed for up to 20 days with the horses and sheep grazing on the moor. They danced, sang, and played the flute; the young women secretly followed them and then went into their huts. They carried cooked grains in a small bag to eat, but since they ran out quickly, they convinced the women to share the food they brought…
I spent a magical afternoon sharing with them. We agreed to talk, meet again, take more photos, and hear more stories.
Six years and a pandemic passed before we met again. Now they’re organized and are recruiting young people who don’t want this tradition to be lost.
