Goats, Uncategorized

Chapter 4: so how did the goat fair go?


The goat fair was great! There was lots of Inca Kola, but even more home-made passion fruit juice, which is way better in my opinion.

The fair was supposed to start at nine am but we didn’t arrive until nearly 11. Norca and I took a taxi to the fair, and she was nervous about arriving so late. But as we pulled on to the field we passed a group of men hanging the “Chillon River Valley International Goat Fair” sign so I think we arrived precisely when we meant to.

The field was divided in to four sections: on one end was a covered area where the prizes were kept, and on the other end, a large stage; one side of the field was lined with vendors selling various goat products including cooked meals, cheese, milk, yogurt, candy and beauty products; and the other side of the field was lined with goat pens containing goats of every size, shape and colour. The pens looked rickety to me, but the goats were mostly happy to stay inside their pens with the giant heads of cabbage  thrown in for them.

After some milling about, the fair began with a traditional Inkan ceremony. A man wearing a straw hat and a cream poncho/vest with “Inka Naani” sewn on the front stood in the centre of the field surrounded by a circle of fair officials, while everyone watched from the shade near the vendors’ stalls. He explained everything in Spanish before he began. I surmise the wine, grain, grapes and fruit on the blanket spread out in front of him were offerings to various gods, and to Pachamma, Mother Earth. The ceremony itself was done in Quechuan, the ancient language of the Inkans, which is still used today by the aboriginals in Peru. The ceremony included looking through a stone Inkan Cross, picking up and putting down the fruit and grain on the blanket, scattering flower petals on the people in the circle, and finally sharing a small drink of wine from miniature plastic wine cups with everyone in the circle.

After the wine, speeches were made by various important people, including, notably, the honoured  guest judges from Mexico and Columbia. Finally a champagne bottle was broken, and the fair began.

Milking was the first contest. The farmers tugged their goats from the pens to the covered area containing the prizes. A scale and a pile of brand new milk buckets had been set up, and a crowd formed a tight ring around the milkers. They took pictures, cheered and clapped as though they were watching a WWE match. Sometimes with goats, it is.

Edgar Rangel, my host whose farm I am working at, had the honour of weighing the milk and announcing the weights. This is because he also owns and operates a goat dairy processing business, and is a key figure in the local goat industry.

I noticed the goats with the most milk were usually a Nubian breed with long floppy ears. A few of them waddled in to the ring with udders so full, I just couldn’t believe my eyes.

The milking took about an hour and a half, and then everyone dispersed among the different goat vendors for lunch.

The rest of the afternoon was taken up with showing competitions. Each set of farmers with their goats paraded in a circle in the centre of the field, and formed lines. The judges walked up and down the lines viewing and patting the goats, and rearranging the farmers as they went. Little by little, the group would get smaller as the farmers and their goats were sent out of the ring, until only three finalists were left.

This was done for category after category of goat, while behind us the sun sunk into the mountains. Finally, after six p.m., the day’s winners were gathered and handed their prizes which included new milking containers and gas stoves. Everyone applauded, photos were taken, people shook hands, and then it was time to go home.

As people were finishing their drinks, saying their goodbyes, packing up their vendors’ tables, throwing out garbage and dragging goats onto trucks, a local teenage dance group ran into the middle of the field. They were wearing spandex and cheetah print, had painted legs and faces, were wearing blue feather head dresses, and carried spears and large wooden bowls as props. A band set the beat on stage, and we watched them perform a jungle-themed dance. This jungle dance had nothing to do with goats whatsoever, but everyone casually accepted it.

This was the tenth annual Chillon River Valley Goat Fair, and I am pleased to report that it is going strong, and gaining media attention. A reporter and photographer from “Agronoticias” a prominent national agricultural magazine documented the whole day, along with reporters from different newspapers. The local government was also present and photographing the whole event as well. The presence of judges from Mexico and Columbia meant the fair was big enough to attract international attention. It also justified putting “international” in the title of the fair.

Finally, in the middle of the jungle dance, the very last juice in my final battery was spent, and I packed my camera away.  My first goat fair was over.


Goats, Uncategorized

Chapter 3: Cute Goats, Miracles and Goat Fairs


When I greet the baby goats, they skip across their pen and push their fury heads through the fence to nuzzle me with affection. After a moment, I realise their affection is for eating. They are trying to eat me. Not in a malicious or evil way. It’s more like they’re saying “hey, you’re a thing, would you mind terribly if I nibbled you?” I like to think of it as the goat equivalent of Namaste: My tongue and teeth greet your skin and bones.

I stare at their faces bobbing in and out of the fence as they push each other to get a better chance at biting me. Am I horrified? Or do I want to cuddle them all at once? Yes.

With a little sadness, I realise they are noticeably larger than when I arrived a week ago. Soon they won’t be babies and their eager curiosity will dissipate. The good news is they’ll be making milk.

You may have heard my thoughts on the miracle of chickens. Seriously, chickens are miracle workers. They turn bugs, grass and some feed into the perfect protein and supply us with more eggs than we can eat. The pile of eggs in our kitchen won’t stop growing.

I feel the same way about goats. These gals turn water and animal feed (and table scraps, wood, plastic broom bristles, my clothes…) into creamy, nutritious milk.

And the miracle continues. Many argue goat milk is more nutritious than cow milk and easier to digest. They are relatively inexpensive to keep, adaptable to almost any environment and altogether a good option for income generation.

Tomorrow we’ll be travelling an hour to Trapiche district for the tenth annual Chillon River Valley Goat Show. It’s a day to celebrate these fantastic creatures and the farmers who tend them. There will be competitions, prizes, food and lots of Inca Cola, the drink of choice for Peruvians (it’s electric yellow, carbonated and tastes like bubble gum).

Even with just one week behind me, I can tell goat farming can be a lonely profession. Farmers are tied to their goats, they must feed and water them three times a day and they never leave the farm for long. A social life is last on the priority list.

The fair will be a chance for the farmers share goat knowledge, brag and exaggerate about their goats, tell goat jokes, make goat business deals, eat food prepared by someone else (possibly goat?) and have some fun.

I’ll let you know how it goes! I’m planning on interviewing a few people and documenting the event so make sure you ch-ch-check it out.

Now, I must get back to loving/fearing cute baby goats. Please enjoy these videos and photos of cuteness I have put together for you!!

In the baby goat pen:


This baby goat is following me!





Goats, Uncategorized

Chapter Two: a day in the life of a Peruvian goat farmer


These days my hands are almost always dirty. Between doing dishes, milking goats, and petting farmyard  animals, clean hands are no longer the norm since I arrived at Centro Ganadero Aldea Ecologica, the goat farm. It’s a plot of dust in Carabayllo, one of the northernmost districts on the edge of Lima. Like tugging on a pair of overalls, I have stepped into the life of a Peruvian goat farmer. So far, it seems to fit.

We live in the highlands, surrounded by giant hills- almost mountains. They hug the farm, and all day long we can hear industrial trucks weaving through them as they make their way up and down, to or from Lima. Behind our plot of land, down the hill, we can see lime green farmers’ fields leading to a river spliced for irrigation, and beyond that, more highlands. I’ll be spending the rest of the month here with Roiser and Norca, two workers who take care of the farm, and Kenji, a veterinary student who works here four days a week as part of his schooling. The four of us live in a two room cement house where we cook, sleep and watch movies when we aren’t working. When I first saw the house, I wondered how long before we drive each other crazy in these two rooms. But we don’t spend a lot of time in there, and I’m already forgetting why I ever needed more space.

Our schedule revolves around the goats. We wake up at 6 and start milking. We milk thirty goats by hand every morning; a task that uses muscles my hands forgot they contained. The last time I used these muscles was seven years ago during my previous goat experience. Every morning is a test of patience for me, and also for the poor goat with the bad luck to have me milk her. She’ll start to fidget, pull away and kick my bucket if I take too long. This happens every time I milk a goat because my hands are still getting re-acquainted with these long lost milking muscles, and my back isn’t used to so much squatting. It’s really fun.

In the time it takes me to milk one goat, Norca has already finished almost all the rest in the pen. And by the time Norca and I have finished one row of pens, Roiser has already finished the other row and has come to help us finish. Norca has been doing this for a year, and Roiser  for seven. I’m learning from the pros.

After we’ve squeezed all the milk out of the goats, Roiser takes the stainless steel milk container to the milk plant by taxi (note: it is extremely heavy); except on Sundays. On Sundays he and Norca grab a plastic tub, pour all the milk in and combine it with hot water, salt and rennet. In half an hour the milk has become a slimy, chunky froth: delicious cheese. We scoop the chunks into plastic-lined molds, let them sit and put them in the fridge.

After the cheese is away, and the goats and chickens are fed, we eat breakfast. Breakfast in Peru is simple: buns with cheese, jam or eggs and tea. Peruvians raise their eyebrows when I talk about Canadian breakfasts. How can we eat so much, so early?

After breakfast we give the goats fresh water, and find other work to do like cleaning, maintenance, building stuff or general farming duties. By one in the afternoon, only the flies are active. The cats and dogs have all found places to lay down, and the air is so humid inside the cement hut, I feel as though I’m breathing through a hot, damp wash cloth. Eating could not be further from my mind, but for Peruvians it’s the perfect time to have their main meal which always includes heaps of rice, potatoes, sweet potatoes or yuka (a denser, starchier version of a potato) and usually some chicken, ham or beef. The four of us will work together to cook the giant meal, eat, clean up and rest until the heat subsides. Then we continue working, cleaning, tinkering, puttering, gardening and of course feeding the goats again at 6, if they feel like eating. (hahaha)

So far, that seems to be our schedule. Stay tuned for the next blog post! This one’s going to have cute baby goats in it!