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Spanish professor Carol D'Lugo's special areas of research and teaching include the Mexican and Argentine novel. In a paper given at the Congress of the International Institute of Iberoamerican Literature, she reflected on the novel Los herederos del hambre: una nueva imagen de Chiapas. |
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Iterations of Hunger and Apathy in Chiapas:
Los herederos del hambre: una nueva imagen de Chiapas
The following is the text of a paper by Carol D'Lugo to be presented at the Congress of the International Institute of Iberoamerican Literature, July 2002.
En concreto, ser pobre quiere decir morir de hambre,
ser analfabeto, ser explotado por otros hombres, no saber
que se es explotado, no saber que se es hombre.--
Gustavo Gutiérrez, Teología de la liberación: perspectivas
Vivimos como animales, y la única diferencia entre
nosotros y nuestros compañeros está en que ellos
han perdido la conciencia de eso.--
Jesús Magdaleno Cañavera, Los herederos del hambre
Jesús Magdaleno Cañavera's Los herederos del hambre: una nueva imagen de Chiapas appears in 1994, the same year that began with the uprising of the Ejército Zapatista de Liberación Nacional [EZLN]. The Zapatistas privileged January first to coincide with the start of NAFTA [in Spanish, TLC, Tratado de Libre Comercio, the irony gained in the English associations of the acronym: Tender Loving Care]. In the novel, Cañavera chooses to privilege in the first section two pivotal moments in the development of the treatment of and reactions by the indigenous. The first is a confrontation between a governor wed to power and an advocate for the Indian poor that sorts out for readers fundamental points of contention in the on-going struggle between those who reflect the Spanish colonizers and those who represent the original holders of the land, now reduced to outright ostracism or economically-induced servitude. The second lays bare the full degree of repressed emotion latent in the Indians of the highlands who, when shorn of their lands [the animal terminology is apt; it is akin to removing their skin, their life source and maintenance, and they are treated like animals by their superiors], retaliate by attacking another Indian group whose members work the tobacco farms.
The initial dialogical sequence is between the area's governor, Benjamín Pastrana, and Filemón Pedraza, a lawyer who has been in his employ for a few months. The men represent, respectively, the mouthpiece of the hierarchical establishment versus that of those who would seek retribution for the indigenous and ways of accommodating them in a truly integrative society. Although not specific with regard to presidential sexenio, the basic political scenario suggests the coming to the end of term of a leftist ruler who had worked on agrarian reform and improved conditions for the Indian population. The descriptions suggest a Lázaro-Cárdenas-type figure. The governor considers the lame-duck president a maverick Marxist, unreasonably concerned for the Indians at the expense of the property holders. Pastrana chooses to demonstrate his allegiance to the nameless presidential candidate, a "man of the party"1 who was expected to succeed the leftist, by acting in his image. He therefore takes away lands from the highland Indians of La Cañada, Santa María, and La Loma and "legalizes" them, which is to say, turns the property over to large land owners in the name of "justice" [Los herederos 17].
In rebuttal, Pedraza voices the anti-government case based on years of abuse of the indigenous population and the disregard of their plight. The highland Indians did not choose their circumstances, he argues, but were systematically exploited:
"Estoy convencido de que no ha sido por incapacidad orgánica, ni por ineludible fatalismo por lo que muchos núcleos indígenas se han conservado sustraídos en sus montañas y regiones costeras insalubres. Fueron el régimen de opresión y el desconocimiento de los valores humanos los factores que los han mantenido segregados . . . La colonia encubrió la crueldad de la servidumbre con la fórmula protectora de las encomiendas. La República creyó asegurar la redención del indígena, ortogándole nominales derechos y modelos de libertad. Pero nada se hizo por su liberación económica y educativa. Por ello continuó siendo carne de explotación" [14].
Pedraza's vision calls for the expansion of the leftist politics of the current administration, with the anticipated outcome of an emancipated proletariat that could maintain its regional/ethnic identity: "la emancipación del proletariado, pero sin olvidar las condiciones de su clima, de sus antecedentes y de sus necesidades" [15]. The lawyer's utopian view will be demythologized in subsequent chapters.
At the end of this establishing segment, the Indians from La Cañada, whose land has been confiscated, stream down from the mountains with machetes, attacking the small villages that surround the coffee plantations, towns whose inhabitants work small plots of personally owned land and sell their product to the major coffee landowners. In the description of the attack of Indian against Indian, Cañavera calls his readers' attention to the repressed hatred and desire for revenge on the part of the highland group: "Fueron precisamente los indios de La Cañada los que decidieron tomar venganza casi inmediata. ¡No podían quedarse así las cosas! Durante mucho tiempo el rencor se había fortalecido por las demandas frustradas de justicia, y ya no cabía la tolerancia ante una acción tan violenta como la que acababan de sufrir" [19].
This sequence also introduces, however, a larger issue: the factionalism within the indigenous population that was introduced, even cultivated, by the same series of government policies that in this instance simply took land from the highland group by force. As described by George A. Collier in Basta! Land and the Zapatista Rebellion in Chiapas, to characterize the Zapatista uprising as an Indian attempt at revolution is too superficial and only serves to muddy our understanding of the dynamics involved. At a minimum, one must consider two groups of Indians. The first is constituted by those who are completely divorced from the official establishment, in part by their choice, but in part, also, by the government's habit of ignoring their most elemental needs such as decent water, electricity, and education. The second group has been seduced into allegiance to the government apparatus by the lure of privately owned lands, thus substituting state loyalty for that of class or ethnic group [Collier 31]. For years, the latter group had served as a buffer against potential rebellion from the highlanders.
Cañavera's position would appear to be that both groups have been deceived and abused by the government. The more activist highland group, the prototype of the Zapatista movement, is not the focus of his novel. They appear in the initial segment and then disappear, like the invisible citizens the government considers them, despite their acknowledged potential for violence. The novel concentrates instead on the second group, those who have been lulled into apathy by an apparent patriarchal concern on the part of the government, too focused on their parcel of land to understand the full implications of their indentured existence. Los herederos del hambre will follow their tentative steps toward conversion to a politicized stance, along the way enunciating the roots of their cause as well as the consequences of accepting the role of activists in a dictatorial regime.
In segment three, the work narrows its focus to two men, Simón and Valentín, who will alternate in importance within the overall action until Simón emerges as the pivotal figure with respect to the possibility of a "new image" of chiapanecan politics. Valentín's father has died in the initial massacre. Simón's father's death is more of a mystery, although his mother voices conviction that her husband was murdered by the landowner Próspero Segura's men, in conjunction with government forces, for having owed them so much money and having been unable to pay [38]. Thus, as their father's sons, both men are tied to the land and to economic indentureship. Simón and Valentín, and subsequently their own sons, who are named after their fathers, emerge as the agents with whom readers identify in their struggle to understand the notion of justice in Chiapas and, in a wider context, Mexico as a nation. They are pitted against both the landholders and representatives of the government, all of whom turn out to be duplicitous in their business dealings, rapists, or economic parasites.2 Although technically landholders, each Indian worker is enslaved by the inability to make his plot pay enough to feed his family and pay off his debts to the plantation owners. In a relentless mise en abyme, they continually have to borrow to finance their crops: "acercarse a los ricos acopiadores para pedirles más dinero en una operación que empeñaba la cosecha siguiente. Y vuelta a la misma historia. El retorno a una situación que venía sucediéndose desde hacía muchos decenios, y que sólo exhibía una diferencia notoria: el crecimiento de la deuda por acumulación y multiplicación de réditos" [42].
Significantly, Simón and Valentín begin to grow politically when they cease to function as individuals and begin to merge as a unified citizenry. Their ideological journey commences innocently enough as they simply join each other in the daily walk up the mountain path to work their land parcels. Soon enough, however, their conversation turns to the collective frustration regarding eternal debt and the government's collaboration with the large plantations against the Indians' needs, even while feigning sympathy to the indigenous: "el gobierno federal aparenta apoyarnos. Quizá tenga buenas intenciones, pero está rodeado, como lo estamos nosotros, de tantos parásitos, que le cuesta mucho dar pasos efectivos a nuestro favor. Allí en el aparato burocrático hay individuos sin el menor escrúpulo, que únicamente rezan pa' su santo; que se enriquecen en un sexenio, que les importa madre el sufrimiento ajeno. Ésa, Valentín, es gente nacida en este país, pero que realmente carece de patria" [51].
The men's conversations eventually lead to Simón's conversion from a passive sufferer to a rebel and a leader. Valentín is immediately cognizant of the change and wonders at the transformation of his fellow worker: "pasó por su mente el Simón tibio, indiferente, un tanto abúlico, de algunas temporadas . . . En cambio, el Simón altivo, encrestado, levantaba los ánimos, contagiaba, enardecía" [49]. Under Simón's leadership, the two organize a united effort to refuse to sell the workers' produce to the plantation owners in order to raise the issues of their treatment and price control. He makes his case against the iterations of poverty and exploitation ["la historia de esta comunidad . . . es la historia de la explotación . . . nos curaremos de esta parasitosis crónica" (56)], immediately after the third-person narration has provided descriptions of abundance spilling into excess with regard to the landowners expected crop.3
The Indian workers do unite and withhold their tobacco from the landowners. Retribution, however, is swift and fatal to the leaders. Isidro Cabrera, a lieutenant within Segura's hierarchy, lords it over the group, "agigantándose ante los fracasados" [64], calling them animals and threatening to confiscate their lands when their debts cannot be repaid. The men hold out until their family's hunger, the ultimate weapon of their enemy, forces them into submission. Almost as an apparently trivial aside, the narration reveals the hanging of Simón and Valentín.
The rest of the novel follows the travails of the sons [and namesakes] of these two activists, a new generation of Indians who will have to contend with the very same problems their fathers were unable to resolve. In this manner, Cañavera establishes the cycles within generations that prove to be a constant in the work, for these men have to put up with iterations of brutality and greed from the descendents of Segura, Gauner, and Cabrera. Members of both sides, indigenous workers vs. privileged landowners and their henchmen, slip into their established role in cycles of poverty and hunger on the one side contrasted with materialism and cruelty on the other: "Los hijos de Próspero Segura, de Domínguez y de todos los de su calaña, incluidos los extranjeros y sus descendientes que nos acosan, heredaron la ambición sin límite y el gusto por matar a sangre fría y a mansalva" [72].
It should not take readers long to become aware of the extended parallels in history, with Indian ancestors ceding their lands and their rights to the Spanish colonizers in what amounted to the beginning of hundreds of years of hunger and poverty, as suggested by J. M. G. Le Clézio with specific reference to the Aztecs: "The destruction did not occur in only one generation. It was a catastrophe whose consequences are still felt today, even after four hundred years . . . it was the shock of the Conquest which managed to engender four centuries of poverty and social imbalance on the once thriving lands of the Aztec empire" [45]. These iterations go back much further than a couple of generations, constituting a constructed hierarchical cycle, man-made, that contrasts sharply with the circularity within nature's equilibrium and continuity. Although many authors have aligned the indigenous population with nature, Cañavera does so with a carefully elaborated contrast in cycles: artificially induced vs. a natural process. Thus readers are exposed to nature's harmony and ability to regenerate, as in the instance of fallen leaves converted into compost, which, in turn, seeks plant roots and rises again as new growth: "la naturaleza busca su propio equilibrio y perfección en este interesante proceso circunvolutorio" [115-16].
Simón and Valentín come to epitomize the Indians' struggle against the residue of colonial expansion coupled with the indigenous respect for the land, which stands in contrast to the materialistic crudeness exemplified by the landowners. For these Indians, as for their ancestors, "The world that surrounded them was much more than décor; it was the very expression of the divinity. If ownership of land was such a difficult notion for most Amerindian civilizations to conceive of, it is because the earth was without limits, like the sky, the sea, and the waters of the rivers" [Le Clézio 202].
The force of artificially imposed cycles, however, carries more weight in these Americas, and both Simón and Valentín, sons of defeated rebels, are repeatedly tested and challenged. In defending himself against a direct attack by a drunken Isidro Cabrera, Valentín kills his enemy and must hide in the mountains, in recognition of Cabrera's gargantuan importance in the local hierarchy: "No había duda de que acababa de cometer algo así como un magnicidio. El pellejo de Cabrera valía por todo un pueblo de indios mugrientos" [89]. Valentín becomes a legendary outlaw celebrated in local corridos for his activity against the rich. Simón's greatest pain stems from his pregnant wife's suicide, her chosen path after having been raped by Segura's sons and one of the alcalde's offspring.
In this central section of the book, Cañavera addresses the institutions of government and the church, the pillars of Mexican civilization along with family, which readers have already seen cedes to one's position on the socio/economic ladder. He dramatizes the state in the large-bellied figure of Governor Salomón Ordóñez, a man of feeble mind and loose tongue, who is clearly at a loss when he loses the speech his aids had prepared. He swears into an open microphone, mispronounces words, wanders into rhetorical babble when he belatedly convinces himself that his indigenous audience would clearly be uneducated, and proceeds to utterly mangle Mexican history: "Todos sabemos que Zapata peleó al lado de Juarez pa' que la tierra fuera de los verdaderos campesinos, no obstante que Santa Anna les mandó la tropa a la sierra y los persiguó pa' que no anduvieran inquietando a la gente del campo" [106]. It is a performance worthy of Juan José Arreola's La feria or Jorge Ibargüengoitia's Los relámpagos de agosto.
The Church is critiqued by Cañavera's dramatization of the exception to the rule. Simón seeks consolation from a particular clergyman, padre Pastor, presented as an anomaly in Mexico in that he serves as a spokesperson for the indigenous. Simón questions the padre about his being so different from his peers: "¿por qué no todos los curas dicen las cosas que usted dice…? ¿Por qué no salen de sus iglesias en busca del pobre y del ignorante para comunicarle sus experiencias? ¿Por qué hay una diferencia tan grande entre ellos y usted…? ¿Por qué…?" [117]. Despite representing the essence of Christianity, or, perhaps, because of it, the padre is dismissed as a Marxist and as a man at the margins of Mexico's Constitution. In his simplicity, he stands in stark contrast to Próspero Segura, Jr., a multimillionaire whose elaborate residence [with its Carrara marble and Lladró figurines] and enormous land holdings are clearly a mark of excess [127-28].4 The latter's celebration of nature's harmony is a sham, a sense of symmetry artificially imposed in the form of carefully trimmed trees and bushes that are insulting in their opulence.
Cañavera's penchant for onomastics makes clear the emphasis he is placing on religion, here used in a spiritual sense of a desire to better one's fellow men rather than as an institutionalized presence. Padre Pastor truly becomes one of his flock when he leaves his church, and, as a Christ figure, he voices his concern for the indigenous and his desire for a better future: "estoy contra la explotación y quisiera verlos un día libres de ataduras. Desgraciadamente, no tenemos recursos para luchar contra todos los males que nos aquejan. Pero algo avanzaremos unidos y conscientes de lo que significa justicia y dignidad, derechos y compromisos" [118].
In her article, "Contextualizaciones del hambre en Los herederos del hambre: una imagen viva de Chiapas," Wendy Caldwell draws on the religious presence and likens it to the recognized presence of liberation theology in the Chiapanecan struggle. Citing Paulo Freire and Gustavo Gutiérrez, she argues for the presence of a new politics capable of confronting the old, as seen in the narrative in the words of padre Pastor and those of the politically conscious Filemón from the beginning of the novel. Caldwell concludes that Cañavera's fiction heralds a possible break in the social and economic circularity in the form of another revolution: "la conclusión de la obra deja la sensación de una revolución social inminente y una posible superación de las estructuras existentes" [225]. At the same time, however, she acknowledges the narrative's structural circularity in that it begins and ends with a view of the nation's politics [225].
The beginning of the novel, it should be recalled, offers a dialogic presentation, with voices pro and anti-government; pro and anti-Indian. It is therefore difficult to feel encouraged at the conclusion when confronted in yet another iteration of "demo-babble" [from democratic or democracy, in the sense of meaningful reform that would make possible a path toward Indian equality]. The politician returns to the same empty rhetoric, the same promises with regard to the principles articulated in the Constitution and the so-called progress stimulated by the revolution. There is no counter-discourse. As Simón listens to the speech, "El viento le llevó en oleadas las promesas del candidato: '…Gobernaré inspirado en los principios constitucionales. Mantendré vigentes los postulados revolucionarios, porque los derechos humanos, la democracia, la libertad y la justicia social…'" [140].
These are the final words of the novel, the familiar content and the suspension points suggesting a continuation of the same circularity that has kept the Indians down for centuries. Although it is true that Simón considers another way, that of armed rebellion, his thoughts are permeated with doubt, his resolve tentative or vacillating, just like his father before his conversion to leadership and activism. This is evidenced by Cañavera's choice of words connoting uncertainty and another set of final suspension points: "Pensó en la conveniencia de que mejor parieran rebeldes armados. Tal vez la voz ronca y contundente de los fusiles y su repercusión en las cañadas y en las altas selvas fuera la solución, el remedio para la miseria de siglos, pero…" [140].
Simón's vacillation at the end of the novel pairs well with Cañavera's focus on religion and his unsubtle use of onomastics, for it has the potential to draw readers to a consideration of the Biblical figure, the Apostle Saint Simon Peter. Originally named Simeon, or Simon, Peter was given his name by Jesus: Cephas (i.e. "rock," therefore "Peter," from the Latin pietra) [Britannica.com 1-2]. Peter was characterized as at times unsure and as a man who on occasion was rash and irritable and yet was capable of a firm gentleness, particularly when professing his love for Jesus, his pastor. Although Peter, in fact, denied Jesus, as the latter had predicted he would, this humble fisherman was to become a spokesman for Christianity and a leader among his people.
Cañavera's Simón has the potential to become a Peter, but his actions within the novel's span do not allow him to reach such a point of achievement. Although he travels with some fellow campesinos to Mexico City to appeal for justice, he appears helpless among a large group of others like he, looking for solutions to land disputes, pleading for water, or seeking payment for produce already turned over to the government. It is just as one of Gauner's lieutenants had predicted: "La gran ciudad no es pa' que la recorran indios impreparados" [135].
The author's concern with regard to the indigenous is announced on the back cover of the book, as cited by Caldwell [219]:
Objetivo primordial de estas páginas es hacer conciencia en el lector acerca de un grave conflicto sociopolítico de repercusión nacional, cuyo origen y naturaleza se han desvirtuado ante los intereses bastardos de pésimos mexicanos y apátridas aventureros; de caciques, latifundistas y testaferros; por los abusos de autoridades de todos los niveles, por mercenarios de la pluma, por los pseudointelectuales enlistados en la servidumbre del poder, por los predicadores de la comunicación y, por todos quienes, desde la perspectiva de una existencia menos dramática o relativamente cómoda, soslayamos las angustias insufribles de nuestros hermanos indígenas del pueblo chiapaneco.
Yet, within the text, there is a wide spectrum of reactions to the situation of the indigenous, both for and against change, and the final words connote a return to [Mexican] politics as usual. Filemón Pedraza's strong arguments advocating change to better the conditions of the indigenous are for naught, as the Indians' land is turned over to the Próspero Segura and Klaus Gauner. Despite his failure to persuade, however, his efforts, like his name [Pedraza], locate him next to Peter, "the rock," closer than the second-generation Simón will be. Padre Pastor's idealistic vision of a just society recognizes the need to break with colonialist ways of thinking and acknowledges the pitfalls of apathy, but can offer only encouraging words about choosing good over evil:
Pero en este vaivén, en este flujo y reflujo entre lo bueno y lo malo, lo positivo y lo negativo, debemos optar por lo primero. La humanidad entendrá pronto, tengo este presentimiento, que es insensato seguir transitando el camino de la destrucción y la violencia . . . Es una necesidad imperiosa transformar nuestra mentalidad colonizada; derivarla hacia una ideología progresista. Tal parece que nos hemos acostumbrado a vivir como lacayos. Piensen que es preferible hambre con dignidad que pan con esclavitud, y peor todavía si este pan es tan escaso y duro como el que ustedes consiguen para sus hijos " [116-17].
The voice for a more equitable existence in Mexico that appears toward the end of the novel is that of a journalist. The writer calls for the construction of a different Mexico, a new nation that would emerge only after Mexicans took a good look at their roots, their customs, and their damaging, racist system of injustices: "Tarde o temprano habremos, por fin, de meditar frente al espejo, para analizar el rostro que nos hemos dado a nosotros mismos. Somos responsables de ese rostro demacrado por nuestra injusticia" [130]. The only intra-textual response to the argument, however, is that of one of the Seguras, who laughs at the journalist's naiveté in thinking that a new state might arise on the foundation of "analfabetos y holgazanes" [130].
Cañavera offers no simple solution. The piedras from Los herederos del hambre lack the agency of the well-known stone from Mariano Azuela's Los de abajo ["Mira esta piedra cómo no se para"]. These have no momentum. While many see the piedra thrown by Demetrio Macías towards the end of Azuela's canonical novel of the revolution as a metaphor for the uprising itself, in Los herederos del hambre, the new generation as epitomized by the young Simón and Valentín seem oblivious to the potential of revolt: "ambos se sentaron en bruñidos peñascos y continuaron la discusión, mientras inconscientemente regogían piedrecitas y las arrojaban sobre las ondas fugitivas del río" [77]. Analogously, the wind that brings Simón the words of the final political orator lack the agency of Anita Brenner's metaphor for the revolution, the "wind that swept Mexico." Along with an indecisive Simón, however, readers are left with an editorialist's call to accept responsibility and a clergyman's recognition of the need for unity and call for an end of apathy. Without advocating outright violence, through his narrative Cañavera urges his non-indigenous public to wake up to the need for the addressing of the cyclical abuse of the Indian population involving such continuing basics as the lack of adequate food for the average family. At the same time, he charges the aggrieved natives to shake off their apathy, their internalized sense of futility, and to construct a united front if they expect to advance their cause, thus reacting to the warning proffered by Jung Min Choi et. al. in The Politics of Culture: Race, Violence, and Democracy: "Through the inactivity of the general populace . . . power and privilege are preserved" [ix].
Bibliography
Arreola, Juan José. La feria. Mexico City: Joaquín Mortiz, 1963.
Azuela, Mariano. Los de abajo. [1915]. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1973.
Brenner, Anita. The Wind that Swept Mexico. New York: Harper, 1943.
Britannica.com. "Peter the Apostle, Saint." 2001.
Caldwell, Wendy. "Contextualizaciones del hambre en Los herederos del hambre: una nueva imagen de Chiapas." Cuadernos Americanos 75 [1999]: 215-26.
Cañavera, Jesús Magdaleno. Los herederos del hambre: una nueva imagen de Chiapas. Mexico City: Diana, 1994.
Choi, Jung Min, Karen A. Callaghan, and John W. Murphy. The Politics of Culture: Race, Violence, and Democracy. Westport, CT: Praeger, 1995.
Collier, George A. with Elizabeth Lowery Quaratiello. Basta! Land and the Zapatista Rebellion in Chiapas. Monroe, Oregon: The Institute for Food and Development Policy, 1994.
Freire, Paulo. Pedagogía de la esperanza: un reencuentro con la pedagogía del oprimido. Mexico City: Siglo XXI, 1993.
____. Pedagogía del oprimido. (1970) Mexico City: Siglo XXI, 1993.
Gutiérrez, Gustavo. Teología de la liberación: perspectivas. (1972) Salamanca: Sígueme, 1994.
Ibargüengoitia, Jorge. Los relámpagos de agosto. 1964. Mexico City: Joaquín Mortiz, 1980.
Le Clézio, J. M. G. The Mexican Dream: Or, The Interrupted Thought of Amerindian Civilizations. 1988 in French original. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1993.
Notes
1. This is code for the Partido Revolucionario Institucional or PRI, although Cárdenas was, in fact, a member of the PRI. The phrase also connotes one who goes along, does not buck the establishment. Return to text.
2. In addition to governor Prastrana, the enemy is epitomized by the landowners Próspero [prosperous] Segura and Claus Gauner, the latter reflecting the foreign [primarily German] entrepreneurship in Chiapas, particularly involved with coffee plantations [Collier 25]. Return to text.
3. See page 55, for example, for references to "Las plantas industrializadoras . . . rebosantes de café; los vastísimos asoleaderos; gruesas alfombras de grano; amplias bodegas [55]. This is a two-paragraph fragment; the first is ample, fruitful, with the rich becoming richer with the bounty from the land. The second paragraph provides sharp contrast: "A los cultivadores les esperaba otro largo año de miseria. Lo sabían, pero no había remedio a la vista. Algunos inconformes refunfuñaban, y la gran mayoría empezaba a buscar acomodo bajo su concha de resignación" [55]. See also [67]: "las gruesas carteras de la zona" and [103] where one finds an analogous reference to their corpulent bodies as the governor tries to hide his immense belly. Return to text.
4. Segura's "compatriot" Gauner shares his excess: 1200 head of cattle, 120 hectares of coffee crops, and three European-style palacetes [129]. Return to text.
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