On an iconically grey Lima sky kind of day, I head to Gahela’s home in the Breña district of Lima. Earlier she asked me to go pick up some forms from a lesbian couple in Miraflores, so I’ve been all over the city by 1pm. She’s gathering forms from everyone to support her candidacy as a congresswoman. She needs 100 folks to join her political party, Nuevo Peru by next week and we’re already at 60. If we gather 100 by this week and 500 by the end of the month, she can run for office, and if she wins, she’ll be the first indigenous trans woman in congress. I call and wait outside her home while I catch my breath.

Her home is also a refuge for queer and trans migrant folks moving thru Peru. As I get upstairs, I am met by three beautiful angels who are staying on the couch, also helping Gahela pick up forms all over the city, while making deliveries for their new men’s lingerie line. 

It’s almost 2pm and none of us have eaten. We each give some money and decide to make “arroz a la cubana.” There’s already rice ready. Gahela cuts and fries plantains while Heysser goes to make copies of the forms and buy some eggs.

ARROZ A LA CUBANA

As she often does, Gahela just starts talking, dreaming about what our future could be, recalling the stories and experiences of Indigenous women who set the path. “You know, we always talk about how Túpac Amaru was murdered by the Spanish, torn to bits by 4 horses tied to his limbs, but Micaela…” 

We sigh. 

Micaela Bastidas Puyucahua — Afro-Andean Quechua and wife of Túpac Amaru Condorcanqui — was the speaker, mind, and leader of the largest anti-colonial, anti-slavery rebellion in the Americas in the 1700s. “They tried to cut her tongue,” we both say. Gahela starts, “I think it’s even more horrific what was done to her, it’s symbolic of what they want from us.” Micaela put so much resistance at the time of her public execution that her executioners gave up and used the garrote instead. “Her entire family was watching, she was murdered before Tupac.”

Luis walks into the kitchen, “Esté...chicas, disculpen…saben como puedo llegar a Ventanilla de aca, como puedo agarrar carro?” 

“No se maricón, pero esperate para que comas,” growls Gahela. We burst out laughing.

“Ay que bagreeeeee, que bagre, que malaaaaa”

“Bebita pero tienes que irte tragando pues...una de ustedes haga refresco pues,” asks Gahela.

Heysser chimes in, “Por si acaso te he sacado 30 copias, por si las moscas se equivocan en algooo.” She’s made ten more copies of the forms than what Gahela had asked for, in case the girls end up writing their names and not their government names on the forms by accident, she says. 

Gahela continues, “For example, I believe in the need to abolish gender, but I don't think it has to be here and now. First we have to ensure that we all have a DNI (National Document of Identity)with our names, that we can all access the same opportunities and conditions; and then we argue, right? We can argue what is the precedent for abolishing gender.”

“But you cannot tell a person who has been kicked out of her house, who has nothing to eat, who has nowhere to sleep, that just dreams of having her boobs, that you want to abolish gender. She just wants to fill her gut, she just wants to have a little money to be able to have her surgeries done. And so, the academy ends up being very violent, with its back turned to the real and concrete identities of the people. And we also end up analyzing things from our logic, from our needs, or from what we think are the needs of the people. But we forget that those who are living that in reality and in the concrete are people who do not necessarily want what you want.”

COLORES

Gahela gets ready to take some pictures outside while we wait for more “bebes,” as we say when referring to folks in our queer and trans community, to stop by and sign their forms. 

She comes out with a hot pink shirt and her favorite chumpi. 

“We have been taught that highlighted colors do not go with our skin...and when I tried this on, I was like ‘wowww.’ I loved it and I regretted not having bought another. I bought it to play the virgin; I put on a little white dress first and I don't know what happened or how the white dress fell off.”

The girls and I burst out laughing.

“Ay queeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee?!”

“Como se habrá caídoooo?!”

“Ay queeeeeeeeeeeeeeee”

Gahela, “No lo seeee!!!!

No se cosas extrañas pasan en esta casa, siii porque estaba bailando con una bebita y de la nada terminamos agarrando.”

*gasps from the living room* “ay buses[1]!”

“‘de la nada’” I say, laughing.

“Well, she was looking for a macho guy. She was checking out, I don't know what boy...and I was just trying to have fun. I was tranqui, and I was like: well, it's my friend's birthday. I want to spend it with the babies. And I was with you for a while, until the end...I really don't know when I ended up like this.”

“suele suceder,” we say giggling.

*BANG BANG plays in the background*
Queen Nicki dominant, prominent. 
It's me, Jessie, and Ari, 
If they test me, they sorry 
Ride his uh like a Harley then pull off in his Ferrari 
If he hangin' we bangin' phone rangin', he slangin' 
It ain't karaoke night but get the mic ‘cause I'm singin' Uh 
B to the A to the N to the G to the, uh (Baby, baby, baby, bae, ba—baby) 
B to the A to the N to the G to the, hey...

Heysser stops rapping to Nicki Minaj to let out a “Gahela, tenemos que ir ahorita?” 

See, anybody could be good to you
You need a bad girl to blow your mind, your mind (Okay) 
Hey...

She reminds us that we’re waiting for Polilla to arrive before we can get to our next destination.

PUENTES

“I was raised to hate women,” says Gahela. “Because I'm never going to be a ‘woman’ or because I'm never going to have a vagina, because I'm never going to be a ‘real woman.’ And I mean, they end up putting it in your head over and over and over and over again. So when I saw two lesbians, at the beginning I was very angry, very angry, and I hated — I rejected them — to say in a few words.”

“And little by little I was deconstructing that, but it takes a while; and luckily, I have been at the side of many valuable people who have shown me that people can love no matter what they have between their legs.”

Heysser hands me a chocolate. She just came to Lima a month ago from Pucallpa, coincidentally the town where my family is from. We sit in the living room while she answers her clients from the men’s lingerie line in her best secretary voice. We listen to Gahela. 

“But the real thing is that not all people have that possibility, they continue in their spaces, in their bubbles with their friends, and they continue with that individualistic way of seeing life, right? It seems to me that that is key, right? To start building bridges between all identities between all orientations.”

RUE

It’s been a couple of weeks and I wake up early one morning to catch a slice of Gahela’s time before she heads to collect more signatures to support her candidacy. This time I tell her to throw the keys out the window so she doesn’t have to run down four flights of stairs. It’s one week before the primaries and the house is reverberating with papers and excitement.

I notice there are some new plants, one of them a rue, a plant known for its abortive properties. “Is that a rue?” Gahela nods. She just came back from traveling to Ica this week and mentions that the babes have been decorating the house. Alex says he found the rue on the street. We laugh.

“You didn't find it, the rue found you,” says Gahela.

“We found each other,” says Alex.

Gahela fries some potatoes and eggs for breakfast. I brought some tamales, so I set them down in the kitchen while Heysser goes to the store to get some milk for the strawberry milkshake.

PROPOSAL

Gahela started her transition when she was 19 while still living in Ica, about seven years ago, and then she came to Lima. Her parents haven’t seen her since Christmas of last year. Recently when Gahela went to Ica, she ran out of time and couldn’t visit them. They live in a small town called Bernales which is in the province of Ica.

“Suddenly they saw me on TV in January during the campaign,” she says. “Actually I wanted to ask you if you wanted to come with me to see my family, maybe take some pictures on the farm.”

A few days later we are on our way south of Lima, with Esteban who will help us record some video as well.

BERNALES, ICA

It’s a small town in the middle of many farms, with a very old church in the center of it. Gahela’s family has a home in front of the town’s plaza and we stop by to drop off our things. 

Gahela says that this is a space that contains many emotions for her. Beautiful and very difficult moments, especially complicated ones. We walk past the school she attended.

FAMILIA

In the morning we are dying to pee and Gahela tells us we have dozens of kilometers of farm to go pee in. We walk around the perimeter and then tend to the chickens, rabbits, hens, and roosters. Esteban is freaked out by the chickens so he goes to hang out with Pancha the pig, and brings her some corn to eat. 

“On this farm we used to plant cotton, corn, sometimes sweet potatoes. Right now my parents can’t cover the costs. That is why they have left it there until they get a loan. Because the life of rural people is very difficult, every year they ask for a larger loan than the previous one to pay their debt, and they end up entering into an unpayable debt.”

We check in with Gahela’s family who are starting to make Pachamanca in the plaza as a welcome to Gahela. Pacha means earth, and manca means pot in quechua; it’s usually a meal prepared in the earth, hence the name –– the earth itself becoming a pot. But this time they are improvising and making it in an actual pot in the street. 

While the goat, potatoes, fava beans and more stew, we head out to La Laguna de Moron, a natural oasis only a few kilometers away. There are many versions of the myth about Moron, but the general consensus is that he was a child of colonization, son of an hacendado (plantation owner) and an enslaved woman.

Legend has it that he would steal from the hacendados in the neighboring towns and spread the wealth to all the people who needed it, then run and hide in the lagoon so no one could find him. In some versions of the story, Moron is also the lagoon; he becomes the water and the weeds that surround it. 

“My family is from Ayacucho. They migrated here after the internal conflict, running away from the violence,” Gahela says. “There is no conversation about it ever. It is very difficult and painful for the family, so much so that it is not something that is discussed. But that is the situation for most of the people here.”

“They hide them,” says Gahela. “Pretend they don't exist. Like when they discover that a son or daughter is gay or lesbian.”

At the oasis my camera stops working, and some light is leaked into the film before I can take a picture of Gahela inside the water like I imagined. We are cracking up because it’s mercury retrograde, and after many attempts to fix it, we just accept Mercury has won this time.

The feelings that colonialism leaves behind is ingrained in so many families here and across the Americas. “My family prefers to leave it there, not talk about it, like what they do with…” 

“...all the uncomfortable topics,” says Esteban. 

We laugh loudly as we walk together.