Originally submitted on Dec. 18 2023 as a part of my take home final exam for ANT320: Ancient Cultures of the Andes at the UofT, for an optional extra marks. Pasted with only minor adjustments in grammar.
The Acllawasi hummed with sounds of a dozen young girls waking with the rise of the morning sun. The older girls, alongside the Mamaconas, guided the younger ones through their morning rites, all conducted with perfection (except for the littlest ones, who frequently shifted in their seats and stumbled over words). Finally, after the air of reverence had subsided in a hush, the real work began. The older girls went off to prepare meals, or to collect the harvest. Others resumed the tedious task of spinning thread. The younger ones who misbehaved were corralled by the Mamaconas and spoke sternly about their behaviour, their unkempt clothing, and whatever else was out of place. The fear of the Inca himself was smacked into them, and they would be sent off to tidy their spaces.
Amongst the oldest girls, grinding away at the maize and washing potatoes, a discussion brewed, surrounding their eldest sister. She was old enough that soon, she would be leaving the cosy acllawasi, although a rumour brewed that the Vilcaomas had paid the Mamaconas a visit to discuss her.
“Do you think you will stay here and be a Mamacona?” One of the girls asked her.
“Oh, please,” another answered before she had the chance to speak. “They have something planned for her. She’s far too gentle to be a Mamacona.”
There was a dramatic gasp, “What if they haven’t spoken to you yet because you’ve been chosen by the Inca Himself?” The room erupted into chaos, and a few of them signed the Mochar, as if he were in the room with them.[1] At times, it felt like he was, with how all-encompassing the Mamaconas made his presence out to be. Perhaps he was watching them right now, through the rays of the sun that draped over their busy workroom. They were his chosen girls, after all, however it was an entirely different matter to be one of his second brides. She wondered if she would wither in his gaze like an unattended plant in the midsummer sun. The chatter was cut short by a sharp ahem at the entrance.
“When were you given permission to talk instead of work?” It was one of the Mamaconas. “Come, girls. The chicha will not make itself. The Suyu wants the batches prepared by tomorrow, so they have the chance to ferment in time for the feast. it is your duty to provide them with their meals. Now.”
With the last crack of her voice, the girls turned back to their work quickly and without a word. After a half second of silence to make sure that the girls were indeed focused on their tasks, she called for the oldest one to follow her. Gracefully, if not cautiously, she set down her grindstone. As she left the room, she felt the weight of her sisters’ gazes.
Once alongside her in the garden, the Mamacona sighed as if dropping a weight from her shoulders. She was a lot younger than she seemed, yet the responsibility of her station had aged her. It had certainly not made her any more patient, and certainly it was not helped by the foolish conversations even her oldest girls entertained.
“I am going to be straightforward with you, sister. When you entered the Aclla, you showed great skill, and you have only been able to grow stronger in it, alongside your beauty. I have spoken with the others, and with the Vilcaomas, and recently they have sent word from the Lord Inka–” she gave her a sharp look “--granting his permission to allow you to serve Him and our God Inti as a Mamacona.”
Once mature, the Acllas would be given away for marriage, and although she had never spent much time with men outside of her father and his male children when she was growing up, she worked to become a woman that the inca would be proud to give away. Never would she have imagined that such an honour of becoming a Mamacona would be bestowed upon her.[2] Containing her excitement, she bowed politely and smiled in acceptance. The Mamacona smiled in return, knowing that this was the right decision. Walking back inside the house, she discussed with her the preparations necessary for the next step of her journey.
Later that evening, when she sat by herself to work on finishing a cumbi, her mind wandered not to the holy new life that lay ahead of her, but to her past. She remembered little of her mother and even less of her father, except that they spoke Quechua differently, as if it were a new sound to them. She remembered the look on her mother’s face, when her father had taken her away from the house to bring her to the Acllawasi. She did not understand then what hate looked like, and perhaps never would. Soft crying, that could have been her own or another sisters’ snapped her out of her reverie.
Many of the girls remembered their lives before being chosen for the Aclla, although few talked about it past a certain age. It was not encouraged by the Mamaconas either. Their purpose now was to serve the God of the Sun, and the Inca. They would tell the girls; you are the greatest treasures of the empire; you represent the generosity of the Inca for you allow us to feed and clothe His subjects.[3] It was not beautiful to cry, and they were the Empire’s beautiful, chosen girls.
[1] Gose, “The state as Chosen Woman: Brideservice and the feeding of Tributaries in the Inka Empire.” 87.
[2]Gose, “The state as Chosen Woman: Brideservice and the feeding of Tributaries in the Inka Empire.” 88-89, Quilter, “The Late Horizon.” 271: Their wording is unclear on who actually decides what happens to the Aclass (Quilter makes it seem as if they have a choice in the matter), however based on Gose’s analysis it would be decided by male figures of authority, who commanded the Mamaconas and Acllas in other contexts.
[3]Gose, “The state as Chosen Woman: Brideservice and the feeding of Tributaries in the Inka Empire.” 86.
References
Gose, Peter. 2000. “The state as Chosen Woman: Brideservice and the feeding of Tributaries in the Inka Empire” American Anthropologist 102 (1): 84-97.
Sun, 14 Dec 2025 22:11:26 +0500