My Experience with Limpieza de cuyada in the Andes

Embodied Diagnostics and the Limits of Participant Observation

By sharing this story, I want to consider the boundaries that anthropologists set, or have set, for themselves when conducting fieldwork. I'm talking about operations that move us beyond the limits of our discomfort: the ethically ambiguous, illegal & illicit, dangerous, or simply intersecting with an experience-area you don't want to go into. How do we say "this is okay for you, but not for me" without having informants lose faith in us?

It's a part of fieldwork to be uncomfortable, and overcoming that discomfort is a sign that you're becoming more aware of yourself in relation to the community about whom you are writing. I remember discussing this in my Anthropological Fieldwork Methods and Research Design course, and arguing an "ends justifies the means" approach to participant observation that would have anyone explore anything they wanted to. 

This is largely, still my perspective, when it comes to examples like, Sudhir Venkatesh's "Gang Leader for a Day," where she writes about being embedded with Chicago's most powerful crime organization; or Michael Agar's Ripping and Running, where he reports trying heroin with interlocutors in order to understand the embodied experience. There's plenty of examples, from anthropologists working alongside revolutionaries in South America, to those participating in the environmental justice movement in Europe and Africa. There's unique risks in each of these areas, but they all have a common denominator: a curiosity for understanding "The Edge." 

The Edge... There is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over. The others-the living-are those who pushed their control as far as they felt they could handle it, and then pulled back, or slowed down, or did whatever they had to when it came time to choose between Now and Later. But the edge is still Out there. - Hunter S. Thompson

How far are we willing to go in pursuit of Truth?

Dangerous, illicit, or illegal activity do not bother me whatsoever. I'd surely go along with the projects above (and, have done so in the spirit of Clifford Geertz, blending the boundaries between subjects (them) and observer (me). I've demonstrated my desire to push boundaries and find the limits, exemplified in my first fieldwork experience with sex workers in Bali. I engaged in activities with a sex work who was also a subject of analysis. My point it that none of these examples, nor my own experience at warung ("whore house"), made me question the ethics of my presence in the moment of my participation like the shamanic cleansing at the traditional medicine clinic in the Andes. 

Watch: 📽

(I'm searching for the full video that exposes the bloodied reality of this ritual)

Below is a video clip of me participating in a shamanic ritual using a guinea pig as a medium between myself and spirituophysical malady. 

Jambi Huasi is a clinic that uses traditional, pre-Columbian healthways, in addition to Occidental medicine, to diagnose and treat illnesses primarily among the Quechua-speaking indigenous population of the Andes. It is located in Otavalo, Ecuador- which is about 1.5-2 hours from the capitol, Quito. My graduate school presentation speaks more about the Indigenous Andean people. For more information about this group, see my past post entitled "Presentation on Andean Culture and the Political Economy of Health, Medicine, and Social Inequality in Quechua-speaking Communities of the Ecuador."

The Ritual 

I arrived at the end of a long day collecting data on the incidences and prevalences of illnesses and treatments for maladies that don't readily fit into Western etiologies. Here's some of the most frequency conditions patients report when they arrive at the clinic:

• Susto (fright/trauma) – illness from a sudden scare or emotional shock.

• Mal de ojo (evil eye) – harm caused by envy, jealousy, or bad intentions.

• Daño / brujería (witchcraft or sorcery) – spiritual harm caused deliberately.

• “bad air” (mal aire) is one of the classic conditions that a limpieza de cuy is thought to treat.

I list these not to say that they are any less real or more real than our ideals of illness and the body. It all relates to cultural differences and contextuality. The Quechua-speaking people embody a cosmovision that frames their experiences in terms of balance between inner, upper, and lower, worlds. So when these forces are disrupted or moved, they are embodied as real as Occidental morbidity. And they require a real solution to heal. Illness, misfortune, and healing are understood and experienced through the body itself, both of the patient and of the guinea pig used in the ritual. 

Embodiment is a very cool topic in anthropology, and the Quechua cosmography is a wonderful example of the Human Capacity for Belief. The myriad of ways in which our beliefs shape our experiences and perceptions, as well as a our capabilities, is quite profound- when examined. But that is another topic, and I want to speak only about the Limpieza de Cuy. 

The Separation

Separation in anthropology of ritual is described as the moment the participant (me) is removed from their ordinary state, e.g., entering ritual space, preparing for cleansing.

All the patients had left, and the staff was moving about to complete their closing work; and I was meandering about taking pictures of interesting things. I changed direct and noticed an old woman. She gestured for me to come closer. She was wearing all white and black, her head covered, resembling a nun. At first, I didn't go over to her and instead looked for the director who had been with us for the tour and fieldwork for most of the day; but he wasn't there. So, I checked for my professor who locked eyes with me and shrugged with equal uncertainty; and then I just walk over to meet her. My concern was that she was a patient and interacting with patients was not within the scope of my research and we were asked not to by the director who allowed us to be in the clinic snooping around all day in the first place. Nevertheless, I approached the crone and began speaking Spanish.

Before I could finish introducing myself, she was talking over me in a language which I could only deduce as Quechua, and with kind yet animated gesturing hands, she seemed to be signaling me again, to follow her. Into what misadventure are you taking me? I thought to myself, but being truly an anthropologist- my core is curiosity. 

Once again, I trailed behind, foot to heal, my head peering over her short hunched back to see where I was being guided; and then I heard an eerily family sound. Normally it is the unfamiliar that excites me, but in this context, the relational surprise was not a welcomed respite. I was staring at a pin full of guinea pigs.

Quwi, or cuy, refers to both the rodent itself and the meat that is included in a traditional Quechua diet. I know this animal from my childhood as the pet everyone got after they kept their goldfirst alive for a year. Guinea pigs at pets stores and animal farms were always seen as friends you play with and would never harm or consume. That is not what bothered me though, I didn't care that they ate them...it was their sacrifice that crippled my objectivity. I am skilled enough in fieldwork operations to bracket my subjective experiences and a priori thinking about what a thing is or isn't, understanding fully that my interpretations of the world are contextually defined and culturally manufactured. This was different though, and I went along without knowing what was to come of it. It wasn't until I was too far down the the rabbitt to turn back that I realized I was too far down the rabbit whole to turn back, and curiosity turned to concern and critical reflexive angst, with an existential twist.

Chosen 

Looking down and over more than 100 cuy, it was "eeek" and squeaks, and a little rumbling sound they make as well; I don't know the ontomantopia but I heard three different tones coming from them. Meanwhile, the unknown woman points to one and heads down towards the pin. She picked up a white cuy and brought it up to the deck from where I was standing. At this point, the director had noticed our encounter and came over. His presence was a comfort- primarily because of the language barrier- as he too was Quechua-speaking and could explain what this was all about. I turned around to ostensibly located myself between between the two of them, but she was gone.

The director looked at me with a curiously reassuring gaze, almost to say "everything is fine but I wonder why..., " but I couldn't finish the thought experiment because I had no context for what was happening yet. What was she about to do with this beatty-eyed rodent. He began telling me about the old lady. She was a shaman, a healer, and a spiritual leader in the community. I probably missed the next few things the director said because I was so excited to have met a shaman, especially one that mysteriously beaconed me to join her mystical path. Her role was is central to the cosmovision of her people.

The cosmovision Andina - the system of beliefs and practices that coalesce around indigenous quechua-speaking people to form a unique worldview that explains their place in the universe, encompassing ethical frameworks, social norms, and rituals, and organizational structures designed around this perceived cosmic order. 

Affective anticipation 

I was uninhibited again, my long fascination with religion, magic, and witchcraft from childhood library books about palmistry, voodoo, and paganism to my scholarly research in academia was an awaited wish granted; because the shaman has chosen me. I tuned back into the director, right as he explained the differences between selecting a white cuy and a black cuy, and how the other cuys were used for lesser ailments or as food.

Cuy blanco, which was selected for me, represents purity and clarity. It is used to reveal hidden truths. The diagnostic role, and preference for divining, of the white cuy is that it's easier to see illness that has been transferred onto the body cuyada. Blemishes and discolorations in the appearance of the cuy are linked with the workings of the upper world, hanan pacha, and are useful in cleaning away misfortune.

Black Cuy, cuy negro, absorb negativity. They handle heavy energy like sorcery and malevolence during a cleaning; and are associated with the inner world. The purpose of cleansing is to identify the cause of your malady using the cuy as the instrument and the shaman as the expert observer. A few more minutes passes and the shaman came back to meet me with a hand full of dried plants, a mortar and pestle, and knife? and I think that was it.

I was stuck in awe because I was about to experience a shamanic ritual, an ancient oral tradition passed down the matriline for over 7000 years (source: archaeological + ethnographic evidence ). Nothing anyone said to me in that moment would have mattered much, or swayed my enthusiastic consent to participate in this traditional healing ritual practice. Timely and characteristically me, I was wearing all black with a matching Andean hat I recently purchased, so I was true to theme. I was guided to the center of a concrete bay, and "told" to stand up and still- or, at least that's what I interpreted from her positioning me with her hands and my read of her body language. She was stroking the back of the cuy, along the spine, while setting the ritual ingredients in what seemed to be their appropriate places. Then the incantations began.

Becoming 

It was almost rhythmic, the way the sacred speech flowed from her so seamlessly rote and with meticulous intention. She held the cuy over me and then began to rub it on the back of my neck, down my spine, up again and across my shoulders, alternating sides and going over every inch of my body, thoroughly and with measure. My first thoughts were "wow this is really cool," and "there's so much guinea pig hair on my black shirt." Then the intensity of the cleaning increased to the extent that I could feel the cuy struggling against the pressure of being pressed against me and shifted around in a now quickened and more ecstatic pace.

Betwixt and Between 

I started to slip out of "the moment" because the eeeks and squeaks didn't sound like they did earlier and it was bothering me. I wanted it to stop, but I was fighting myself with theoretical demands of maintaining continuetiy in fieldwork and not relapsing into my own folkways. I could handle it, and gain some anthropology " street cred." too. The ritual continued to increase intensity and my face broke practical stoicism and it was clear that I was uncomfrotable.

Disengaging

The cuy was being violently shook around with an intensity that could only be interpreted as cause of death. Pressing against my body with such force, I was imprisoned by the Sensorium of the Sacrifice, the audial experience weakened my stomach and I began to disassociate so as not to disrupt the ritual. And then, with a sudden quickness, the shaman broke his neck.

Opening the body

The shaman then rips open the guinea pig's abdomen and chest, but not like you might imagine. If you've ever prepared an animal with fur to eat, then you'll know it is quite difficult to remove skin and access the viscera without a sharp knife for dissection. As I had suspected earlier, the knife she brought with her was an athema, for ritual purposes only; it was not there to be used on the cuy. She had to do that by hand. It's all an very intimate process. She began pulling back the skin and then I heard squeeks of distress that still echo in my recollection. She noticed us noticing the sounds, as our faces were furlorned with concern, so she broke its neck again and began opening the abdomen and chest. One final squeak was let out and then I heard from the cuy no more.

It was difficult to pay attention after that, I was disturbed. But I continued to watch as she exposed the viscera as if it were a text to read.

Reading the viscera

The shaman examined the cuy's internal organs- showing us the heart, liver, lungs, stomach, intestines, each as they were removed from the body. With seven centuries of knowledge flowing through her, she considered the results from diagnostics, observing any abnormalities that provisioned their etiology. For example, fluid in the lungs of the cuy would correspond to respiratory illness. Growths, blockages, or discolorations are interpreted as direct transference of the patient's illness. The idea is that whatever appears in the cuy’s body is believed to be what was inside the patient, me.

Through ritual, the cuy becomes a mirror or double. By cutting it open, the healer externalizes the invisible illness. Afterward, the cuy is discarded (never eaten), since it now embodies sickness and must not be reintegrated into ordinary life.

My results

With all the organs laid before me and the shaman reading them with focused inquiry, she began speaking and I awaited translation from the director. He looked at me said, "she's found something in your blood, an illness you hide from others."

I was dumbfounded. Noone there knew I had HIV, and my medication was 100 miles away in the Capital. There was no link between her and I that could exist before our meeting and yet she identified- of all the common maladies we had learned about earlier in the day- something outside the normal range; something in my blood.

I didn't expand on her reading because it would have brought attention to the flabbergast I was experiencing. Luckily, I had regained my stoicism and was able to just remain present and unassuming. And, after taking a picture with the shaman and thanking everyone for allowing us access to the clinic, I returned to the city, several hours down the mountainside.

Decompression

No one said much about the clinic after that, as our team was primarily focused on epidemiologic calculations and framework building around the data we collected. 

Having never been trained in ethnographic fieldwork methods, they had not read anything about the cosmovision of the indigenous Ecuadorians, so developing a theory that would be sufficient to consider the illnesses (listed earlier) that do not have Western cognates, was quite difficult for them...

Meanwhile, I was deep in thought. Another perspective I considered was the ethics of participating in a ritual that causes harm to a living being in a such away that it would have been described as torture. But I also considered an ideational model used to contextualize the data was that it was true on its merits, and we could combined the logic of Boas's acceptance and open-mindedness to the ritual and the physic unity of morgan and tylor to form a theory that explained how our western minds have been bracketed into biomedical frameworks which prevent us from extraordinary thinking, and experiences outside the box. 

The other researchers were simple using cultural relativism, that everyone is just different because they are different and that's that. ...that's not a sufficient explanation to me. 

A brief history of theory

Franz Boas, the founder of American anthropology instituted cultural relativism to describe the principle that an individual's beliefs, values, and behaviors should be understood in the context of their own culture. The Boasian paradigm shift, (see: Structures of Scientific Revolution- Kuhn) was based on historical particularism and rejection of universals. Culture must be documented and approached on its own terms. Boas is understood that contextuality and cultural difference are essential to understanding the subjectivities in and between groups; but he was wrong to reject outright the interconnectedness of all humans as part of a universal consciousness. This theory was part of the Tylor and Morgan from the 19th century and rested on the assumption that all human minds were fundamentally similar, explaining why different societies would arrive at the same stage of development independently. Psychic unity of mankind: The theory rested on the assumption that all human minds were fundamentally similar... so the Quechua's experience can be embodied by me as much as something of my own culture. If we apply cultural relativism to the guinea pig cleansing ritual, then we accept the differences created by particular historical experiences and consider any thoughts or feelings (judgements) we have about the event to be biased. For me this is an insufficient framework for it ignores interspecies interactions, distinguishes humans as distinct from other aspects of the ecological system, and prevents any applied theory for the treatment and coordination of life on earth. Taken to conclusion, this theory opposes universal rights, in favor the idea that there are many ways to be human as there are experiences of humanity. Morgan and Tyler recognize that there is something connecting us all, despite our differences; and this aspect of us is significant enough to explain large scale transformations in culture and human development that are otherwise left to conjecture..

^the box we need to think outside of....

 

Cuy is Diagnostic Instrumentation 

I'll take a post-postmodern perspective to understand the ritual cleanse as a diagnostic test that was interpreted by an trained expert (the Shaman) who achieved the highest level of knowledge accumencial status in  society. This perspective moves past simple deconstructions, and ableist views on "reading the world as text", to understand indigenous epistemologies as valid systems of knowledge rather than simply objects of anthropological study.

The ritual is a living negotiation between ancestral cosmologies, biomedicine, and global modernity; a cosmographical dance to call down resilience, identity, and relational ethics within indigenous community under structural violence. The guinea pig’s body is a medium, the human body is site of affliction, and the Shaman, as leader in the community is the collective witness). Court adjourned. It was as real as a mammogram, HIV test, or whatever the fuck doctor's do when they look in your ears. 

The cuy is the embodied diagnostic instrument, using sensory and physical components to interact with the real world (me/patient), enable the cuy - as interpreted by the Shaman, to make real-time, context-aware, decisions accurate and efficient identification and removal of illness. The medicine woman was the medium between the instrument and its connection to me. She read the results and reported them to me, but the cuy's connection was with me; his sacrifice was made for my cause.

Note: unique andThe ritual is meant to remove mal aire (bad air), susto (fright), envy, sorcery, or other spiritual or energetic imbalances believed to cause illness.. 

Conclusion

When I first witnessed a limpieza de cuy, my discomfort was visceral. The guinea pig squealed, its body handled with a kind of ritual urgency, and afterward its torn flesh was read as a diagnostic text of the patient’s afflictions. In the moment, I wanted to retreat into the categories I knew: superstition, symbolism, placebo. But those explanations felt inadequate, even evasive.

Over time, I came to see the ritual less as a relic of “tradition” and more as a practice that held together multiple truths at once. It was both sincerely believed in and quietly doubted, both a spiritual act and a pragmatic form of care in places where biomedical clinics were scarce or distrusted. The guinea pig was not just an object of sacrifice but a mediator—its body made visible the otherwise invisible, its death enabling the community to reframe illness and misfortune in terms they could act upon.

The limpieza unsettled me because it exceeded the categories I had been trained to use. It was neither irrational nor purely symbolic. It was a lived negotiation: between the weight of ancestral knowledge and the encroachment of biomedical modernity, between collective resilience and individual suffering. Even my discomfort became part of the ritual encounter, a reminder that anthropology is never neutral, that being present means being implicated.

What I finally understood was that the limpieza de cuy is not just about cleansing illness from a single body. It is about reaffirming a community’s capacity to create meaning, even amid structural inequities that undermine health. In that sense, the ritual worked—if not by curing disease, then by sustaining a fragile but vital sense of coherence and care.