Children of South America

by Katharine A. Hodge

Another reason why Indians have such small families is that when the children grow up to be twelve or thirteen years of age they marry and have homes of their own.

Mr and Mrs Will Payne did some splendid pioneer work amongst these people before the liberty of preaching the Gospel was proclaimed in the Republic. They suffered much persecution at the hands of the Roman Catholics, but now missionary work can go forward without hindrance, and to-day the South American Missionary Society is at work in Southern Bolivia, while the Bolivian Indian Mission is ministering to the Quechua-speaking remnant of the bygone Inca race.

In writing of the children, one of the missionaries in San Pedro says of the school work:—

“The school is open to all, and boys and girls of the white and half-caste classes attend. (The Indians do not live in the town.) The school opens every morning with the singing of a hymn, a Scripture lesson and prayer, in all of which great interest is taken. Mother earth constitutes the floor. The walls are of mud, and the ceiling is of a rough thatching of rushes. For years the room served as a cook-house, and knew neither chimney nor window, nor any other means of exit for the smoke.

“Nowadays two large holes in the wall, one shuttered, the other not, admit light which reveals a blackness that water cannot cleanse. Two or three geography maps gravely endeavour to hide the sooty walls, and, aided by three mud seats that traverse the room, humbly announce that this is Ch’iquipampa School-house.”

Outside, mounted upon a pole which stands in the centre of the “estancia” courtyard, is the school bell. For nearly a century it hung in the belfry of a Roman Catholic chapel away out among the Bolivian mountains. But it, too, has felt the impulse of modernism, and now follows a reformed calling.

The sun is the only time-keeper known in the “campo.” The only definite hours are those of his rising and setting; therefore the bell sounds the assemble at sunrise, and soon two or three groups of children, enveloped in gay-coloured and picturesque ponchos, are seen leisurely sauntering to obey the summons—perhaps. In they come at the open door, doffing their “sombreros” (hats) respectfully enough, with a “Buenos dias, Señor!” (“Good day, Sir”).

Now we have before us seven or eight black heads, whose owners range in age from five to fifteen years. There are really as many grades as there are individuals.

Modestly, seated farthest back is Haquin, a bright Indian lad. He came to school early, and has already been a full half-hour hard at his reading-book, for he must soon leave in order to take his father’s cattle afield to pasture. Three months ago, he did not know a single letter. Now he reads and writes fairly large words.

Now slates, books, and pencils are served out, and for three long hours our young Bolivians are under restraint. Lazy little Antonio raises his slate high in air with both hands and yawns audibly. A tap on the big, black head, and a quiet word, recall him to his task. During a full half-hour he has written only one word, but Government forbids the rod.