An indigenous Peruvian woman tells her story of overcoming poverty and discrimination to live a life for Christ and others.
By Marìa Espinoza Huamanì de Obregòn
Introduced, edited and translated by Fr. Peter V. Woodruff

The indigenous people of many countries who were colonized by Europeans are now a minority in their own land. Even so, they have organized and struggled to reclaim a place in the modern nation. Such is the case in the United States, Canada, New Zealand and Australia.

In many Latin-American countries colonized by Spain in the 16th century, however, the indigenous make up the majority of the population. For example, those who identify with an Andean cultural heritage in Bolivia, Ecuador and Peru form the vast majority. Yet they must continue to finds ways of reclaiming their just rights in societies that have exploited and marginalized them for centuries.

Their struggle for justice is varied, but every person’s struggle is personal and unique and happens in a context formed by social movements and a variety of organized political, labor and cultural projects.

The following narrative explains the Andean Catholic spirituality that underpins the life of one woman as she struggles to live to the full despite the disadvantages imposed on her by poverty and cultural discrimination. Millions of Andean women living in similar circumstances face the challenges of life with the same intelligence, courage, faith and love that shine through in María’s story.

My name is Marìa Espinoza Huamnaì de Obregòn. I am from San Diego de Ishua, a village in the department of Ayacucho, the part of Peru that was most devastated by the armed conflict between the radical Sendero Luminoso (Shining Path) Communist insurgents and the Peruvian armed forces.Throughout Peru from 1980 into the 1990s, approximately 70,000 people died in this civil war, most of whom were civilians who speak Quechua, our native language. I grew up speaking Quechua and still speak it with my mother. I began to learn to speak Spanish at school and then in Lima after I migrated there at age 11.

I do not belong to a tribe or a specific ethnic group. My ancestors have farmed their land in the Andes Mountains for thousands of years. They conquered and were conquered at different periods of history. The latest conquerors to arrive were the Spaniards, who changed our way of life in many ways.

They introduced animals from Europe, especially cows, sheep, horses and donkeys. Even though we already had maize, potatoes and beans, the Spaniards brought other crops to our land, such as wheat and barley. With new animals and crops and iron farming tools, so much changed.

They imposed upon us a new language and brought with them a new religion they gradually made our own.

My parents worked the land, sewing, irrigating and harvesting and looking after a few cows, sheep, chickens and two donkeys. In times of scarcity, my mother traveled to other towns where she exchanged peaches and other fruit for potatoes, maize, cheese or meat.

The people of my hometown in the Andes relied on a God who, for them, was both a merciful protector and a stern authority figure who rewarded good deeds and punished bad ones. However, there was always the tender, loving care of Mary, the mother of Jesus, who was solemnly venerated by our community on many occasions each year. Our patron saint, St. Isidore the Farmer, also drew us together for worship and revelry at the time of his fiesta each year.

God As Family
I learned about God from my family and that for God, nothing is impossible. When my mother, Rebeca, prayed at night, she seemed to be telling God all that had happened during the day. She asked for solutions to her problems, so she obviously trusted in the goodness of God. But she also threatened us with God’s punishment.

For me now, God is my mother, my father, my friend. God is great and powerful and works marvels through me. I learned this from reading the Bible but, as a child, I had a confused image of God, as the apparent goodness and the hardness of God seemed to me to contradict each other.

I had left San Diego de Ishua at age 9 when I came to Lima to look for my father. He worked in Lima and returned home at least once a year, but that year he had not returned and we had no news about him.

A neighbor took me to Lima where I found my father and went to live with him, but he only had one room and worked as a nightwatchman.

His boss would not allow me to stay with him, so he found a place for me with a family where I helped with domestic work in exchange for a secure home and the chance to go to school for half a day. My father came to see me on Sundays and took me for trips around Lima.

I was 10 when my father returned to San Diego de Ishua. In a small suitcase he left me a blanket, a sheet, some clothes, a little Bible, a rosary and a missal. That was a key moment in my life. I found myself alone; at night I cried; I looked at the roof, the walls and the family I was with and felt that nothing was mine.

From that moment I began to shape my own spirituality that was rooted in the traditions of San Diego de Ishua and born out of the experience of facing up to life as a Quechua speaker in Spanish-speaking Lima. I taught myself about my Christian faith reading my Bible, praying the rosary and going to Mass.

An Altered Dream
At age 14, I dreamt of dedicating my life as a nun in the service of God and neighbor. When I reached 18, my parents refused their consent to this idea as they had no money for the dowry.

I feel that the constancy in my commitment to Jesus Christ up until this day comes out of that frustrated dream. As a young adult, I dreamt of bettering myself socially, culturally and economically via a university education leading to a job as a teacher. I liked teaching children. I wanted to have a boyfriend. I dreamt of marrying Lima style after completing my tertiary studies; I wanted to marry someone who loved me and never hit me.

Of course, so much of this never came to pass. I never got to university. I have never had stable employment nor a well-paid job of any kind. My first boyfriend became my husband when I was 21. I did not marry in the way I had hoped, as my parents obliged me to marry without respecting our wishes. In a less formal way, I lived out my dreams: evangelizing as a catechist and serving God in my community with the support of my husband and family.

When I met my husband, he was a drunk as he lived and worked just to drink. When we began to go out together, I told him to stop getting drunk as it was bad for his health, and I could not stand the smell of liquor. He loved me and gave up the drink, but drinks socially at family gatherings but without getting drunk. He respects me and my wishes as I do him and his wishes.

When he is not out working he helps in the home. He knows how to cook, wash and look after babies. Some of the men in the barrio laugh at this but, for me, he is a responsible and loving husband and father.

I began to volunteer in preventive health with our local mothers’ club. My first son had just been born by Caesarean section, and I carried him on my back everywhere I went. Having children and a husband actually helped me work in the community. I eventually had two sons and two daughters.

I have worked in a variety of jobs: secretary, cleaning, making shoes and teaching little children. I earned very little and my husband, who is a truck driver, sometimes did not have steady work. Still, I feel that there has always been a certain dignity in our lives, as we never resorted to stealing.

The Power Of El Señor
Since I was a teen-ager, I have felt the sustaining power of El Señor de los Milagros (The Lord of the Miracles) in my life. In the procession in honor of El Señor, I talk with the crucified Christ. On one occasion, when I was a teen-ager, I cried as I talked to El Señor of my sadness, loneliness and bitterness.

I complained about the hard work that I had to do in the house where I was employed as a domestic servant, the marginalization that I felt in society (because of the way I spoke Spanish), and the humiliation that I had to put up with at school because I liked to read the Bible.

Looking directly at the disfigured face of the crucified Christ, I asked, “Where are you, Jesus?”
I heard the reply, “I am here with you, and I will always be at your side. You have never been alone. I am your mother, your father and your brothers. Come and follow me, continue to read my letter, I wrote it for you (the Bible). I will look after you and save you from the oppression of your boss.”

I had been in kind of a trance and when I came out of it, the procession had moved on quite a way and I didn’t know where I was. I was in a crush of people in the center of Lima, and I had to get to a suburb a few miles away.

I remember returning to where I worked feeling so much freer and joyful, confident in God with me. From there on, I learned to insist that others respect me and my decisions. But, thank God, at the end of that year my father arrived from the mountains and took me back to San Diego de Ishua where I studied for one year.

Meeting Jesus in the procession was a key moment for me, as I said to him, “Yes, I will follow you,” and years later I continue to put on the purple habit of El Señor de los Milagros during October and go to the procession in Lima and in my parish.

The Face Of God’s Love & Understanding
Not all my employers were harsh. Yolanda and Geronimo, who were Jehovah’s Witnesses, showed me the face of God by their love and understanding, their respect for my Catholic faith and by treating me as if I were one of their children. We ate, played and watched television together.

They had 12 children, 10 girls and two boys, so I had plenty to do. Of course, we argued about religion, but I knew how to defend my own religious convictions. After a few months, they allowed me time to go to Mass on Sundays. I also was able to go to school at night.

They were a wonderful family, sharing what they had with their neighbors, and I felt they were so fair with me.

I left their house to look after my mother when she was sick, and when I returned they had moved to another house, but none of the neighbors knew their new address.

They, like so many other mo-ments in my life, remain a memory of God walking with us.

Columban Father Peter V. Woodruff first went to Peru in 1967, the same year as his ordination. He returned in 2004 after two years away.