Iquique, December 23, 1907.
My beloved Grandma, Do remember I told you that my father was worried about the problems in the office, he had repeated strikes in Iquique and in the pampas and therefore could not get out? As a distant hum, the men came down from the pampa. There were many men, women and children, grandmothers and grandfathers. They also brought their dogs that ran in between their legs, as if knowing that were involved in a major event. The women came with baskets, pots and spoons, baby against her chest, and men with their younger children hombros.Hacía hot on those days. The camanchaca did not bring his usual relief. The heat lay over the city like a heavy blanket. The days passed and Despite the crowds, there was an air of hope. According to John, the pampinos said they would wait until their demands were accepted. They wanted to change many things, Grandma, for example, remove chips, have evening schools and better health care. But I was wrong. Troops arrived, the authorities were frightened, fighting was followed by shouts and disparos.Abuela, no pampinos finally returned to the pampas. They killed them with their guns and crushed the city screams were replaced by a deep and desperate cry like a caged dog. So many deaths, just for wanting to live mejor.Todavía the air smells of gunpowder and fear. Do not worry about us, we're fine. My father wants us to go to Tiviliche few days to rest and there we Nuevo.Adiós Year, dear grandmother. Write to me then. His granddaughter Isabelle.Georgina
Gubbins: Letters from the Desert
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