Her name is Lucha, short for Luisa. It means "struggle".
She wears a purple polera, down to her knees,
And carries her shop in the rainbow aguayo on her back
Her husband died 2 years ago,
She has 3 children
She is 26.
Lucha's mass the rusted roads, the birthing soils.
They breastfeed, eat and work, with toes eroded
Old mountains
And they walk with these old mountains
History in their throats
Husbands inside them, children on their shoulders
And all these weights that link as chains
They carry quietly.
They are strong.
They are strong enough to change this country
And so, the women of Bolivia are the engine of its history
The wind, sun and roots of its dusty hills
The regular rhythm of its sacrifice and struggle
They are the vibrating streets, the humid farms, the humble home.
As they work, Bolivia breathes