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Meet Alipio Melo, a young Quechua man from a community high in the Andes, and hear—in his own words—about the joys and challenges of raising his beloved alpaca in the Peruvian highlands.
Alipio Melo6 min read
When Alipio Melo was a child in the early 1980s, communication between his home high in the Andes and the nearest town, Pitumarca, would have involved hiking down the mountains for several hours to a mere 11,700 feet and having your say. Today, Alipio has a cell phone, and the Andean highlands has at least spotty service at the high altitudes where he lives and herds his alpacas. Thus, thanks to audio recording, Google Translate, and a touch of AI, Alipio can share his story in his own words here. We are delighted to tag along with Alipio to visit the alpacas, and we hope you will be, too. —Linda Ligon
Well, when I grew up, we always had my mom’s and my grandmother’s alpacas and llamas, which was no less than 480 alpacas and about 200 llamas. I had about 20 cows and about 150 sheep or so. My grandmother’s animals belonged to her, and we lived there taking care of them.
Back in those days, there were no roads, and my mom enrolled me in school in Pitumarca, which was about a six hour walk from where we lived. She stayed up on the mountain with the alpacas and left me with some relatives.
Llamas and alpacas wend their way on a high mountain trail. They bear carrying sacks, or costales, tied on with hand-braided ropes of llama fiber. Alipio is skilled in making these useful textiles.
I studied only up to about second grade in primary school. After that, I left and dedicated my time to our life in the mountain marshes. But my main goal was always to have pasture for the alpacas.
Later on, my grandmother passed her inheritance to us. We had to separate, and we no longer lived together. At that time, we had about 40 alpacas, about 10 llamas, some sheep, and two cows. I still remember that.
Alipio Melo finds joy in the hard life of tending his beloved alpacas. Alipio’s mother, Estefa Irco Rojo, tends the flock on her own when Alipio has gone down the mountain to work with the weavers in Pitumarca.
After that, there were some problems. Our alpaca herd almost disappeared—at one time there were only 10 alpacas left and no sheep. I thought to myself, “I’ll buy some more, work hard, and build up the herd again.” So we left and moved around from one place to another. We lived with my grandmother. Eventually we bought more alpacas and things started coming together.
Right now, I have about 320 alpacas and no llamas. I have three sheep left, but that’s it. More than anything, I now have the herd I have always wanted. Alpacas are beautiful animals—when you dedicate yourself to them, they bring results; if you don’t, there won’t be any.
Natural-occurring wetlands, bofadales, provide both water and forage for alpacas. Finding water is becoming increasingly difficult in the high Andes.
We’re now working with these alpacas, and they need a lot of bofedales—wetlands that provide both water and grass. We’re also preparing for the fiber shearing season, which starts around January. Instead of selling the fiber right away, we’ve decided to save it. We’ve also been seeing more births among the alpacas. They’re giving birth to smaller alpacas these days, and they need a lot of care. Also, alpacas are prone to certain diseases, and you need to know when to treat them, depending on the time of year.
Alipio takes pride in the health and growth of his flock, but has concerns for the future as climate change threatens water and forage resources. Alipio and his mother shear their prize alpacas, saving the best fiber for their own use. Hand shears are their tools of choice.
I’ve learned all this, and it’s now second nature to me. But my biggest worry is for my alpacas. Where we live, there’s no water. Everything is dry, and when the drought season hits, it’s completely barren. When it rains, life returns, but I still worry. We’re thinking about the next four or five years, and I fear there won’t be any life left in the place where we live with the alpacas, because there’s no water. I don’t know what will happen. That’s my biggest concern, and it’s already becoming a reality.
When grass is available, alpaca farmers rejoice.
This year, the drought has severely affected us—I’ve lost more than eighty alpacas. We have been really worried. There has been no water. We moved here, but the authorities don’t offer much support. There is a way to bring water from a distant source, but we need a budget, and we don’t have enough funds. So we have just made do with what we have. That’s my main concern.
Alpacas thrive at high altitudes, and their coats are well suited to the cold.
I feel happy and proud to have been born into an alpaca-raising family. For me, living with alpacas is wonderful. When you put in the effort, like I’m describing, it feels like saving money. You can sell the alpacas and keep some of the earnings, though it’s not much—just enough to get by. I also make textiles and I no longer have to buy wool because I have alpaca fiber. I can choose the colors I want.
As many as twenty or more color variations can be found in an alpaca herd. The white alpaca fiber is valued for dyeing.
But, of course, I also sell products in the market. Not everything can be finished quickly. That’s why I feel proud to be with the alpacas. Now my main focus is handicrafts and alpaca care. It’s a tough situation, but thanks to them, we continue. Without the alpacas, I wouldn’t be able to manage everything on my own. I have to decide whether to stick with handicrafts or my alpacas. So I ask God to help me get through this difficult situation.
Click below to watch Alipio’s video footage of the land where his alpaca roam.
Alipio Melo is an alpaca farmer and president of the weaver’s association in Pitumarca.
If you visit the Mitchell Group’s website, which is a huge corporation with a global reach from its base near Arequipa, Peru, you’ll get a sense of how the many, many tons of alpaca fiber produced in Peru each year are processed, spun, dyed, and distributed. On the other hand, if you visit any of the small villages in the high Andes, you will see first-hand how the very best fiber that small farmers raise for themselves is treated.
Alipio’s herd consists of white, black, brown, and gray alpacas, with many shades in between. The locks shown here from Pitumarca range from 5 to 9 inches long. Photos by Matt Graves
Cleaning. Alpaca is not greasy, so does not need to be washed before spinning. And because the land is so devoid of plant life, the bits of vegetable matter that might find their way into it can be shaken out or picked out by hand. If they are particularly dusty, locks can be quickly dipped in warm water and shaken out to dry. It’s that simple.
Photos courtesy of Alipio Melo
Spinning. To spin yarn, or puskhay, the universal spinning device in the Peruvian highlands is the pushka, or handspindle. Some communities use a long draw and drop the pushka, rotating it counterclockwise. This style of spinning can be done while walking around or standing. In other communities, the pushka is rested in a small ceramic bowl or perhaps a broken piece of roof tile, and a shorter draft allows for working out any irregularities in the clump of fiber being spun. This style of spinning, what we might call supported spinning, is called pukhu. Much depends on the weight of the pushka (heavier ones are used for thicker threads) and the intended use of the yarn.
Photo courtesy of Alipio Melo
If the yarn is to be used for weaving, it is given a very firm twist, and then plied back clockwise. For knitting, a softer twist and looser ply is practiced, though since much traditional knitting is done on small-diameter wire needles at 15 or more stitches per inch, the yarn is much finer and tighter in the ply than we are accustomed to.
—Linda Ligon
Special thanks to Nilda Callañaupa Alvarez at Center for Traditional Textiles of Cusco for her help with this article.
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