The rise and fall of Nuevo Berazategui

Published monthly on unlimitedrag.com, Terrestrial Tales seeks the stories of not only the hunters, emperors and battles, but the gatherers, the seeds, the birds, the ways of water…. In the series’ second piece, Valentina Bacci traces the fragile balance between humans and nature across lands woven with capybaras, rumors, and the shadow of El Pombero

Text: Valentina Bacci

Valentina Bacci, from back home, Abril Club de Campo, 2024

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Terrestrial Tales is a series of traveling workshops that bring together different groups of individuals to collect narratives from the evolving conditions of a terrain. The approach aims to respond to the urgency of telling stories today, amidst political and environmental turmoil caused by past and present structures of power. Each chapter of the series is set in a different location, either urban or rural, and at the end of every gathering, the collected geographic stories—expressed through maps, drawings, writings, and other works—are compiled into a publication that is gradually building towards a broader anthology. Following paths of geographical movement the workshops began in Şirince, Turkey now moving towards Athens, Greece. As a new monthly publication on the online platform of Art Unlimited, Terrestrial Tales every month will invite a creative to contribute to the growing collection of stories.

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“It was ridiculous, amazing…brilliant. You should have seen us,” I said to my mother, who was cleaning the dishes. 

“Ha, yes, your father told me something, security called.” 

“Let me tell you what happened,” I replied impatiently. 

“I’m listening.” 

“Juan, our neighbour, built a raft using the polystyrene packaging of a gigantic TV his family bought and some slabs of wood. To test it, we decided to take it to the pond in the golf course, near the perimeter. Maria, Fran, Juan and I got on the raft. We were using a stick to push it… It creaked and cracked, but it floated.” 

“I imagine, four people on that raft, that’s a bit crazy.” 

“What is crazy is that before we reached the island on the pond, we heard security speaking on a megaphone. We turned around and there were ten security guards surrounding us.” 

“Mmm.” 

“On our way back, the raft broke and we couldn’t stop laughing. We had to swim and push the raft back up.” 

“Security is getting a bit tough these days, especially since they declared it a Micro-Nation.” 

“Since when?” 

“Last week. You don’t read the WhatsApp group chat?” my mum said, as if talking about the news.

Valentina Bacci, from back home, Abril Club de Campo, 2024

I walked to Francisco’s house to tell him the rumours. I went straight to the backyard, from where you could see an immense golf course. There was a big capybara near a hole. Men and women wearing tight trousers were waving their gold clubs, trying to shoo him away. The capybara didn’t move. “Ok, let’s skip this hole,” one of the golfers said. 

Francisco was talking to Natalia when I went in. 

“El Pombero, a guardian of forests in Guarani folklore, has been sent to protect nature. Humans will be punished and pushed from a territory which will never be entirely theirs,” said Natalia, who was very superstitious and knew some Guarani. 

“What’s that about?” I asked. 

“I don’t think this idea of a Micro-Nation will work,” said Natalia. “If you excuse me, I need to clean the second floor now that you’re all up.” 

“I believe her, something’s not right,” I said. “Let’s check the group chat…” Francisco pulled out his phone and opened the WhatsApp group chat where lost dogs, found cats and police reports were shared. “No mention of us, that’s unfortunate”, he said without lifting his eyes from the screen. 

Valentina Bacci, from back home, Abril Club de Campo, 2024

He read out loud: “The first action to take place will be to fortify the perimeter with a double fence and barbed wire, which will be watched twenty-four hours a day by armed forces. We will allow access only to those with a passport or a working visa. Only those over eighteen years old will be allowed to leave, as the surrounding country is dangerous for young minds. The nation of five thousand inhabitants will use eucalyptus cellulose to produce banknotes.” 

Buzz: “Caro Calvagni denunció a los vecinos de su country porque encontró un carpincho muerto.” 

Buzz: “They bit my dog.” 

Buzz: “They ruined my lawn.” 

Because every new born country needs a war, I could imagine one happening against capybaras right now, where the army would use kayaks and inflatable boats, guns and camouflage clothing.

Valentina Bacci, from back home, Abril Club de Campo, 2024

“Natalia, can I bother you again? That thing about us paying the consequences… what do you think will happen?” I shouted from the stairs. 

She liked talking about these things, so she came down the stairs at her usual slow pace. “El Pombero, among many things, is a shadow, and fences don’t stop him from trespassing. Sometimes in the shape of a fox, eucalyptus or moth, it protects the land in mischievous ways against those who think they own it,” Natalia explained. 

“What will he do?” Francisco asked. 

“Well, I don’t know exactly. But he will make sure to stay invisible in the dark. I strongly suspect that there will be a shortage of eucalypts, which will expose an old reality, back when the land was flat and grass covered the terrain.” 

She looked at the furniture which had just arrived at Francisco’s house from the restorer. It was made of wood. On its legs, carvings of Indigenous people. On its door, the carved image of a ship arriving ashore. 

She continued, “Vulnerability will create distrust in the community, which will make property more important. The army will lack wages, as people will start paying for their own private guards to patrol lobbies and living rooms, just like they do in the city today.” 
 

“Darkness will find us again, and only foxes and moths will call our names,” Natalia finished.