Threads of Peru Blog

The pedido (literally request or order) is one of the most important steps in getting Threads of Peru goods to market.  In fact, it is one of the three pillars of our community outreach program; the other two being the dye workshops and the entregas  (deliveries).

The pedido falls right in the middle of the process; after the women have dyed their wool and before we return to the villages to pick up the final product.

 Pedidos are crucial to building sustainability in our organization. It is the time when the Threads staff can dialogue with the weavers about what is selling and how they can improve their work to appeal to our customers. Getting closer to what the market wants means more work for the women and more development in their communities.

Of course, we always strive to maintain the integrity of the Andean weaving tradition in this process, sometimes to even a higher standard than the women themselves would keep. For instance, many of our weavers prefer the deeply saturated colors of synthetic dyes, while our customers prefer the more rustic hues of natural dyes.

Pedidos also offer us a chance to build the community that is so important to working in the Andes. While there is certainly lots of weaving going on, there is also a lot of time for chatting and eating together. Building trust helps with communication and lets the weavers know we are there for the long term.

 The first step to a successful request day begins long before the actual day itself. Two of our co-founders, Adam Collins and Angie Hodder, keep track of what is selling and what trends are emerging in our corner of the fashion world. Once they are satisfied with their collection, they send the data to Peru, where it is interpreted into Spanish, and into a format that is easier to convey to the women in the communities.  The final collection is a collaboration between the Western culture, an understanding of what is possible from the women, and then melded into the final product by the Quechua interpretation of our request. 

Our master weaver Daniel Sonqo joining the weaving process.

The day of the pedido begins with the woman setting up their looms and our master weaver, Daniel Sonqo, helping the women translate the designs from paper to reality. Daniel possesses an amazing talent for looking at a design, reading a few details about the measurements, and then knowing how to bring it into the real world. His experience has taught him how to know the exact thread count each band of color in a weaving requires.

Once Daniel is satisfied that the women are off to a good start, the real weaving begins. Two women sit across from each other. Each drives two posts into the ground and secures a cross bar between them. Then balls of yarn are tossed back and forth between the women — creating the initial structure of the weaving. During their work, Daniel keeps checking in to make sure the thread counts are correct and offers helpful advice.

When the loom is full, the job falls on one or the other of the women. She straps the weaving around her waist and begins the process of cross-weaving. Much like a traditional loom, a large needle is used to pull thread between the fibers that were strung across the loom earlier. This is the point where designs and intricate patterns take shape.

At the end of the day, the women roll up their weavings and take them home where they will be finished. Many times, Threads’ staff holds a final meeting with the women to talk about what they learned and any concerns either party might have.

Goodbyes involve lots of handshakes and exchanges of thanks before Threads’ staff drives (or walks) away and the women carry their crafts home. The next time we see the women will be at the entrega, when their balls of yarn and rolled up weavings will have become the products we ship all over the world!

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For two weeks we’ve been talking about dyeing workshops — about getting there and about the process. This third and final entry talks about the people behind our weavings.

I want to close my story about Threads of Peru’s dye workshop in the community of Rumira Sondormayo by talking about the women themselves. When I arrived on the field where the workshop was held, I was met mostly with sideways glances and little direct contact. Of course, the women of Rumira aren’t unfriendly, it’s just that I am new, foreign, male, and — if what I’ve been told is true — a little frightening in appearance (6’3”,  240lbs, big red beard).

I decided I would hang back a bit and observe, to let the women get comfortable with me and my camera. I watched as the women spooled dozens of meters of wool around their arms. I watched as they built fires, tended their children, and joked in Quechua.

I listened to the women laugh when someone told a funny story and giggle when someone pointed at me. I saw their skill in their products and witnessed their determination as they washed wool in the river.

The women of Rumira are not only artisans but also strong workers. I watched two women pull down a large branch for firewood and carry it across the river. Later I saw another women carrying a branch almost as large by herself. Many of the women work with their infants in blankets slung over their backs. If it wasn’t for the occasional sniffle or cry from the pouch, you wouldn’t even know they were carrying the extra weight. Once a pot of hot dye almost tipped over but two women caught it with their bare hands and held it for several seconds before someone with a blanket took over.

As the day went on, the women grew more comfortable with me. Both my Spanish and the women’s Spanish were limited but they did their best to answer my questions about the dyeing process when our master weaver, Daniel Sonqo wasn’t available. They even tried to talk to me in Quechua and we all laughed when it was clear I was completely lost.

When it came time to get names to go with photos, they were understandably shy but with the help of our guide, Urbano, who knew a few Quechua jokes himself, we were able to get a lot of smiles. One of the ladies even struck a pose for her photo, something that was completely unexpected.

Besides our weavers, there were a couple of children who spent the day at the workshop. One boy, who wore a bright red poncho, seemed to have an uncanny ability to tell when the camera was pointed in his direction. Every time I aimed my lens at him he would stop dead in his tracks, grab his nearest friend, and stand up straight facing directly at the camera. If it had been school picture day, this kid would have been a dream.

 By the time we left I was beginning to recognize each woman and see their different personalities. Not wanting to overstep any culture boundaries, I had avoided touching or attempting to shake hands with any of the women. But right before we walked up the hill and back to the car, an older woman put out her hand to me. I extended mine and she grasped it in both of hers. She shook my hand firmly and thanked me for visiting. I returned the courtesies, smiled, and walked away.

 The women of Rumira were captured on my camera’s sensor and in my mind. And I wouldn’t be surprised if the latter lasted longer.

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Last week I talked about getting to our weaving community of Rumira for a dye workshop. This week I take a look at the actual dyeing process.

  We walked down a muddy hill and onto a level area near a shallow stream. Here women dressed in traditional Andean clothes tended fires and filled big pots with water from the icy river. A few introductions were made but, with a long day of work ahead, there wasn’t much time for formalities.

As the fires burned higher, the open field that served as the workshop’s classroom filled with thick and bitter smoke from oily eucalyptus wood still green and only cut that morning. Most of the Westerners backed away, rubbing their eyes and coughing. The Peruvian women remained.

The women relied on simple but innovative techniques for keeping the fires going. Instead of fanning the flames, the women used pieces of metal pipe — about two feet long — to blow directly on the coals. It looked simple but it really took a lot of skill. At least one of the Threads’ team members tried it and ended up with a mouthful of smoke. When more wood was needed for the flames, the women walked to the nearest tree and liberated a branch. This was then split with a heavy-headed axe and thrown onto the coals.

The fires were built between stones about the size of a football which served as supports for the big pots where the wool would be dyed. Heating the water is an important part of the dyeing process as it helps to extract the color from the natural herbs and other ingredients. However, on this cold and drippy morning, it took some of the pots more than an hour before they were ready for wool.

The wool the women used at the workshops came from both alpacas and sheep. Most of it was from their own flocks but due to shortages, some machine spun wool was also purchased. Once this is dyed, the women will pull apart the threads and re-spin them by hand because many of their looms won’t work with the finer machined wool.

When the water was hot, natural dyes were added followed by the wool which had been washed in the river to rid it of any oils that could keep the dyes from taking. To get a deep red color, handfuls of crushed chochineal — an insect native to Latin America — were stirred into steaming water. For yellow, bags of Qolle flowers were added to the water, and green was achieved by boiling Ch’illca leaves with the wool. Other colors like purple and orange were created by using the same ingredients as red and yellow but with the addition of additives like lemon salt.

Wool remains soaking in the water and dye for a set amount of time depending on the desired color and shade. Once the women were satisfied with the tones their wool had taken on, they pulled the steamy bundle from the pot and put it in a plastic tub. When it had cooled further, they took the wool to the river. In the water the women scrubbed the wool and washed it with soap.

The dyed and washed wool was then hung to dry. The day was rainy and dry surfaces were in high demand. Bright bundles of wool were soon covering many of the rocks and bushes near the workshop.

When the time came for our departure, the women were still hard at work over the fires and in the river. Work paused for a moment as the women brought out some of their weaving to demonstrate the final product. The soggy tangles of wool that hung all around us would someday wind up as these carefully crafted scarves, bracelets, and hats.

 We said our goodbyes and got into the van. An hour of bumpy roads would take us back to Ollantaytambo. As we pulled out of the village, I could still see the smoke floating up from the riverside. We were going home and the women were going back to work.

Next week look for an article on the people of Rumira. 

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