By Mike Safley
A light rain fell as we forded the river on our way to Macusani from Nunoa. It was exactly a year since I last visited Don Julio Barreda at Accoyo on November 17, 2006. The rain turned to hail as we approached the white stucco casa; Elena was there to greet us. On the entry table lay his Gucci sun glasses, alpaca knit cap, and scarf. The table was set for five: bread, cheese, olives, alpaca meat sandwiches, and coca tea. The room was exactly as it was one year ago with pictures of heroes and villains on the wall. And just as I had during fifteen years of visits to Accoyo, I learned.
We began to talk-Elena, Elena's sister Lupe, and me. With help from Shinny, an East Indian nun who works with Quechua Benefit, we overcame the language barrier and made small talk. I asked about the family. "They are all well," Elena said, but the room was full of heavy hearts. We needed to cry and we did at the first mention of Don Julio's passing. Elena said, "It was his heart." But I knew his heart was strong-it created and endured for eighty-seven years. It was just time to go to the other side. Read more