BBC News, by
Irene Caselli, Apahua, Ecuador, 28 November 2011
 |
| Fabiola Quishpe wants to share her experiences to help other women |
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As Fabiola
Quishpe stands in a field wearing a bright red shawl and black hat, there is
little that sets her apart from the other indigenous women in her small
community in the Ecuadorean Andes.
But she is
far from typical.
At 43, she
is divorced, has no children, and has flown more than once.
And for the
women in Apahua, a small Quechua settlement, Ms Quishpe is more than a sister
to laugh with: she is a model to look up to.
After being
married to an abusive man for several years, Ms Quishpe left him, went back to
her parents' home and started dedicating herself to her community.
"There
used to be a lot of sexism," she says. "Husbands were not letting
their women out - we were not allowed to participate in public meetings.
"We
were already in charge of the home, of raising our children and the animals, we
were in charge of the fields and of food.
"We
started thinking, why can't we women also participate in public events and get
organised?"
 |
Local women have traditionally tended the flocks
and grown the crops |
What
started as a group of 38 women pushing for more female participation in the
community is now an organisation recognised for its environmental work.
Two-hundred
women are now involved and several non-governmental organisations have come
here to provide training and technical support.
When Ms
Quishpe and other women first got together in 2003, they realised that the
environment around them was changing.
"We
started noticing that there was less water available in the community,"
she says.
Native
seeds
Water
capacity in the Andean highlands depends on a delicate ecosystem known as
paramo, a sponge-like grassland that absorbs water from rivers and rainfall and
releases it gradually.
Some
organisations say that up to 30% of the paramo has been destroyed nationwide in
recent years.
"People
in the community used the paramo to let their animals graze," says Ms
Quishpe.
"There
were a lot of animals - goats, llamas, cows, and pigs - and they would destroy
the grasslands."
"When
there is paramo, there is water," says Ms Quishpe.
"When
there is no paramo, there is no water."
Apahua is
an isolated place, some four hours south of Ecuador's capital city, Quito, and
located some 4,000m (13,000ft) above sea level.
Given the
scarce job opportunities in the area and the high levels of poverty, most men
have left for Quito or other cities to find work and send money home. It was
the women who were left to tackle the water problem.
They
stopped animals grazing and decided that no trees should be planted there. They
also started a conservation scheme to recover and preserve native seeds.
They now
grow 30 varieties of potatoes, as well as different species of broad beans and
local root vegetables.
 |
| Farming together allows the women to share the work - and the fun |
As she
walks around her plot of land, Maria, another organisation member, is very
proud of how productive her fields have become - at a very low cost.
"In
the past we used chemicals," she says. "But now we use guinea pig
manure. It's our own compost, we don't have to buy it."
Ms Quishpe
adds that their new awareness is also helping to improve the community's diet.
"If
you want to buy something in the city, you can do it only if you have
money," says Ms Quishpe.
"But
if you work in your own fields, you always have something to eat."
Getting an
education
In December
2009, she flew to Copenhagen to participate in the United Nations climate
change negotiations.
It was the
first time she had left Ecuador, and the first time she had flown.
"I was
scared," she says. "I was amazed. I asked myself, how did I end up
here?"
 |
The project is allowing the women to
produce better and more varied food |
She says
her community involvement started when she was 14 and travelled with
missionaries to teach people about Catholicism.
Her
participation in the climate change meeting reminded her of that work, Ms
Quishpe says, because she was able to share her knowledge with other women from
around the world.
"In
the past we always knew when it was summer, and when it was winter. Now, we
don't know anymore," she says. "We women need to be prepared to face
climate change."
Every week
the women gather for a minga - a Quechua word meaning collective work. They
tend to a small community garden to grow vegetables which they they cook and
eat together. Every new step is discussed at meetings.
As Ms
Quishpe tells her story, sitting on a patch of land by the side of a road, some
women listen with admiration, while others knit and laugh, gossiping about the
cars that drive by.
Some
changes are evident, says Ms Quishpe, as she encourages the others to explain
how the organisation has influenced their lives.
Some older
women say they learnt how to read and write. Others say men are slowly becoming
less aggressive.
"There
aren't many cases of rape anymore," says Maria Josefina. "Earlier men
always used to beat us up, and call us names.
"We
were always scared and we kept to ourselves."
"We
have a good time together," says Marta. "Every time we come here we
can laugh together."
