FIRST PART

Where do I come from?
Who were Jorge's Ancestors?

Results of my DNA analysis

Who were Jorge's Ancestors?

Introduction

My full name is Jorge Pablo Osterling Álvarez-Calderón. I was born in San Isidro, Lima, Perú (South America), on Friday, June 29, 1945, the second child of a middle-class "White," Spanish-speaking, Roman-Catholic family, a few days after World War II had ended and the same day that U.S. President Harry S. Truman approved a plan recommended by the U.S. Joint Chiefs of Staff to invade Japan. I, therefore, was born on the cusp of the "baby boom" generation.

To non-Latinos, my name may sound too long. However, in Spanish-speaking, Latin American countries, names consist of a first (i.e., Jorge) and often middle (i.e., Pablo) name, followed by the father's surname (i.e., Osterling)—the main surname--and then the mother's surname (i.e., Álvarez-Calderón)—in that order. The last name is not the principal surname. In addition, for various reasons, some families merge their family surnames, creating compound names such as Álvarez-Calderón, which merged in 1726. For example, my father, Emilio Estanislao Osterling Tamburini, was an Osterling and my mother, Carmen Álvarez-Calderón Granados de Osterling, is an Álvarez-Calderón. Latin Americans usually address me either as Señor Osterling, or as Señor Osterling Álvarez-Calderón, but never as Señor Álvarez-Calderón. The latter name is incorrect. Furthermore, while living in Latin America, and for practical purposes, I often shortened my name by reducing both my middle name and the maternal surname to an initial, such as Jorge P. Osterling A.C. or by totally dropping my maternal surname. However, my mother's surname has always remained part of my legal name.

Over the years, many people, puzzled by my Spanish language accent and my Swedish last name (Osterling), have asked me about my ancestry, heritage, or background. While some have inquired in a carefully worded, diplomatic way, others have asked me in a more blunt and tackless way. The usual questions often included “Where are you from?" "What’s your ethnicity?" “Who were your ancestors?” "What's your background?"

In today's 21st century, we still live in a society that loves to classify, label, pigeonhole or tag people, although we are all aware that it is ludicrous to suggest that any one label—ethnic, racial or religious— can adequately define any individual human being. We all hold multiple identities and deploy different identities depending on where we are and with whom and where we are interacting at a particular time. In addition, society tends to categorize people (i.e., each of us) based on multiple criteria (i.e., socioeconomic, cultural, linguistic, religious and political background, body size, skin color, sex, sexual orientation, favorite food, home town, parents, or any other factor which should not matter). If we were asked to list all the labels that might apply to me, I am sure that I could easily come up with a dozen or more, none of which “defines”me completely. In this age of labeling people, the idea that one label can effectively describe tens of millions of individuals is comical and absurd.

I often began answering the previously mentioned questions by stating that I was born and raised in Perú (South America), as where my parents and three grandparents (my maternal grandfather was born in London, to Peruvian parents). To this, I add that I am fully bilingual (English and Spanish) and that have lived overseas over half of my life and have visited over sixty different countries. Some of the people who ask me such personal questions are perplexed that, when I answer their questions, I do not refer to Peru's pre-Columbian Inca Empire or to the Quechua language. This alone leads me to believe that several of my inquirers erroneously assumed that Latin America, in general, and Perú in particular, are economically, ethnically, geographically, and linguistically homogeneous. The people who ask these questions are usually not aware that Perú is, as practically all countries in the worlds, a culturally, linguistically and socioeconmically diverse nation, with a striking geographical diversity (e.g., coastal, Andean and Amazonian regions) and where more than sixty different languages are spoken.

Since I am a naturalized U.S. citizen, born and raised in Perú, I often ask myself whether I am a Peruvian, an American or a hybrid of both. Furthermore, while the United States, I am often seen and treated as a Hispanic, Latino or South American immigrant, and, while visiting Perú, as an American, often being called by the affectionate term “gringo.” It is worth clarifying, however, that according to the Real Academia Espanola, which is the official regulator of the Spanish language, the term gringo usually identifies an Engish-speaking foreigner and does not carry any negative connotation.

Today I know that several of my ancestors emigrated to Perú from Western Europe, particularly from Sweden, Spain, Italy, and Great Britain, and married locally. In addition, a couple of years ago, after participating in a National Geographic Society-sponsored, ancestry genographic project that tested a DNA sample, I learned that some 50,000 years ago, my ancestors originated in East Africa (see my Genographic Results in this same website). My DNA sample also determined the migratory routes that my early ancestors followed through the Middle East and Central Asia on their trip to Europe, arriving there some 30,000 years ago. Therefore, although far removed, I must acknowledge that I have African, Asian and Middle-Eastern ancestors, as well as Europeans.

Closer to the 21st century, while my family, on my father’s side (the Osterlings) immigrated to Perú from Sweden and Italy sometime in the early 19th century, on my mother's side (the Álvarez Calderón), my family came from Spain to Perú during mid-18th century. Nonetheless, today, I have few or no cultural ties to my Swedish, Italian or Spanish ancestors. Although my family name is Swedish, when I visited Sweden, where part of my father's family came from, it was clear to me that the only Swedish possession I had was my name. I have had similar experiences during my several trips to Spain, where my mother’s family comes from.

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My Childhood

I was born and raised in San Isidro, a suburb of Lima, Perú, located just north of Miraflores and bordered by the Pacific Ocean. Until the turn of the 20th century, what today is San Isidro was a privately-owned working farm, the Conde de San Isidro farm owned by the Moreyra family, located halfway between downtown Lima and Miraflores.  In the 1920s, considering Lima’s rapid growth and the demand for an upper-scale suburban neighborhood, its owners decided to subdivide the farm.

The rented house where my family spent the first twenty years of my life was located in San Isidro’s oldest neighborhood.  It was a two-floor, brick stand-alone investment property, built in the 1920s with a steeply pitched roof, in the center of a fenced, corner lot. There I spent my formative years, together with my parents, and my four siblings and two live-in help maids. Although the house had two good-sized bedrooms and one bathroom, since nine people lived in the house, my parents had to convert the attic’s three additional rooms into bedrooms.

My San Isidro house was was located on the corner between Av. Los Libertadores and Calle Luna Pizarro (today, Juan Cavero), sandwiched between two beautiful, well-kept large green areas, the Parque El Olivar (i.e., Lima’s old olive grove park) and Lima Golf Club -- one block away from a private  golf club and two blocks from the Parque El Olivar park. These two large green areas not only provided my family, neighbors and friends, with many recreational opportunities and but its green areas also served as a ‘lung’ for Lima.

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El Olivar Park in San Isidro, located some 300 yards from my childhood house, is a 400-year old olive grove with some 1,600 olive trees, in the middle of San Isidro district that serves as an oasis of calm and nature in the midst of Lima’s busy metropolitan area. One of its most attractive features is that its 23-hectare (57 acres) extension offers a haven for many species of birds. This park is a playground usually bustling with people of all ages and backgrounds. Over the years, particularly during my childhood, together with my family and friends, I spent a lot of time in El Olivar Park, either riding my bicycle, paddling a boat in its small artificial lake, or simply meeting people.

The Lima Golf Club, located down the street from my house and stretching over 111 acres of naturally wooded land, is one of the oldest and most prestigious private golf courses in Latin America. Not being club members—the club’s perimeter was surrounded by a barbed wire, hedgerow fence—we could not enter, much less play, on the club's grounds. However, during my childhood, my friends and I enjoyed riding our bicycles around the club’s perimeter. Occasionally, we challenged each other to see who could collect the most stray golf balls found outside the club’s hedgerow fence.

My childhood was normal, fun and exciting. We lived in a nice and relatively safe neighborhood, with good people and good friends, where everybody practically knew everybody else and where nearly all families had full-time, live-in help (e.g., housekeeper, cook, nannies) to do the daily household chores and hired handymen (e.g., carpenter, gardner, electrician, plumber) and gardners to assist them with house maintenance and repairs. Important social class differences existed between live-in help and handymen and the families who employed them. The former included poor immigrants from the rural areas in the Andean region, some of them bilingual speakers of Quechua or Aymara languages and Spanish, who came to Lima in search of a better life. During the 1950s and 1960s, these were low-paying jobs, without benefits, where the live-in help could be hired or fired at a moment’s notice. I understand that now, however, working conditions for some Peruvians have somehow improved.

Looking back on my childhood, my neighborhood’s charm, color and diversity always impressed me. For example, various kinds of peddlers and street vendors visited my neighborhood daily person and offered goods for sale by shouting his or her wares, upon whom our families relied for basic supplies. These peddlers usually spent some time every day standing on my street corner. They sold many types of food and wares, some on tricycles while others carried their products. They sold their products on their specific schedules from early in the morning (e.g., fresh bread, milk, fruits, vegetables, and fish) to late afternoon (e.g., ice cream, pastries, and tamales). Each peddler usually had a unique way of attracting her/ his customers. For example, the peddler selling fresh bread (pandero) announced himself by blowing a bugle air horn, while the ice cream seller (heladero) blew a smaller horn, the fish peddler “cried out” his supply of fish, and so on. The Peruvian musician and singer, Alicia Maguiña, who also grew up in my neighborhood, composed her classic Peruvian waltz Viva el Perú y Sereno ("Long live the serene Perú"). In this waltz, some of the lyrics refer to the sounds and arrival of the street hawkers and peddlers announcing their products:

“A las seis es la lechera y a las siete la tisanera, catay,
A las ocho el biscocho, chumay,
A las nueve el sanguito, compay.
A las diez los jazmines, si, ¿Muchachita, no hueles ya?
A las once la chicha, catay.
A las doce el sereno, chumay.
¡Ave María Purísima! ¡Viva el Perú y sereno!”

[ "At six o'clock is the milkman and at seven o'clock the tisane/ herbal tea peddler, catay, at eight o'clock the sweet bread [biscocho], chumay, at nine o'clock the sanguito [a traditional dessert made with corn flour, lard, raisins and chancaca honey] peddler, compay. At ten o'clock the jasmine flowers, yes, ¿Muchachita, don't you smell them already? At eleven o'clock the chicha (fermented beverage) catay. At twelve o'clock the sereno (watchman), chumay. Hail Mary the purist! Long live tranquil Perú!"].
I leave the translations of the italicized words to my folklorist and linguist friends.

In my San Isidro, childhood neighborhood, there was a significant Chinese expatriate presence, mostly first or second generation Chinese immigrants whose ancestors, beginning in the late 1840s, were brought to Perú from the islands of Macao and the southern Chinese provinces of Guangdong, Hainan, Guangxi and Fujian to work contract coolies to work as agricultural laborers in cotton and sugar cane plantations. Over the past century, many Chinese immigrants and their descendants of them moved to cities such as Lima, where they opened restaurants (Chifa's) and mom-and-pop neighborhood stores which employed their entire families. Usually located on a street corner, these mom-and-pop grocery stores became affectionately known as el Chino de la Esquina (the Chinese corner store). These were frequented by everyone in the neighborhood, whether they bought groceries for the day, drank a soft drink, or had an ice cream popsicle. Overall, these Chinese merchants became known for their friendliness, honesty and strong work ethic.

The Roman Catholic Church, by way of its two parishes and parochial schools, also played an important role in my neighborhood. My house was equidistant from two of Lima’s most prestigious parishes, La Vírgen del Pilar and Santa María Reyna. Both of these parishes were run by religious orders —the Passionist and the Society of Mary, respectively—and were mostly staffed by expatriate priests and brothers from Spain at La Vírgen del Pilar, and from the United States, in the case of María Reyna. In addition, my neighborhood’s two religious schools, Maristas San Isidro and Santa María, were also run by Roman Catholic religious orders, the Marist Brothers and the Maríanist Brothers, both largely staffed by expatriate members. I spent my high school years at the Colegio Maristas San Isidro and graduated in 1961.

Mine is a Roman Catholic family, and several of my ancestors became members of religious orders. These included the Servant of God Teresa de la Cruz Candamo Álvarez Calderón (1875-1953), Peruvian foundress of the Congregation of Canonesses of the Cross; my great aunt Consuelo Álvarez-Calderón, better known as Tía Connie, who spent all her adult life in a convent of cloistered contemplative nuns in Lima (i.e., Monasterio de la Visitación de María); and my great-aunt Zoila Osterling Moyano, who also spent part of her life as a nun. I have fond memories of my family visits to Tia Connie at her cloistered monastery and talking with her in a parlor, separated by a thick grill and a curtain behind it. Whenever I visited her monastery, I was awestruck and mesmerized by its solitude and austerity.

Today, half a century later, what impresses me the most about my childhood is that my siblings and I were not limited just to our San Isidro neighborhood. In addition to our frequent visits, often unannounced, to my grandparents' homes, as well as my uncles' and aunts', during the summer, we went nearly every day to the Club de Regatas, Lima, located on a beach some five miles south of my house. During the 1950s and 1960s, Club de Regatas had a much smaller membership in which everyone knew everyone else and their families. One of the main club managers, Juan Munoz Acevedo ( "El Colorao"), was one of my father's childhood friends, dating back to when Dad lived in Chorrillos. Colorao, in many ways, treated us as an uncle and surrogate parent while we spent time at the club. During the past twenty years, however, the Club has substantially increased its membership and opened several new facilities. I will discuss this in further detail later.and mesmerized by its solitude and austerity.

My family's life would not have been the same if it weren't for our small summer/winter plot of land at Santa Inés. Santa Inés is located some 20 miles west of Lima, along the Trans-Andean Central Peruvian highway, running parallel to the Rimac River. Due to its geographical location on the lower slopes of the Western Andes Mountains, at around 700 meters / 2,300 feet above sea level--high enough to rise above Lima's dense sea mist (garúa)--Santa Inés and its neighboring areas (e.g., Chaclacayo, Chosica) are known for its dramatically different weather from that of Lima. For example, when it is cold and very humid in Lima, the weather in Santa Inés is warm, sunny and dry. For this reason, many people from Lima own or have built small houses in this area.

In 1948, my father accepted an unexpected offer from one of his good friends to purchase a small, semi-developed, 250 square meter plot, which, at the time, lacked water, plumbling and electicity, and was tranversed by a very small irrigation canal. Never in my parents' wildest dreams would they have forseen that my family would spend nearly every winter weekend or holiday in this place. Today, sixty years later, my family still owns this plot and has built a beautiful, one-story house, equipped with all the necessary facilities, bordered by a very pretty garden. This lovely flower garden is my 92-year old mother's passion, and she still visits it nearly every week.

During the late 1940 and throughout the 1950s, many Andean peasants (campesinos) began to immigrate en masse from Huancayo to Lima and many settled in the Santa Inés area, as housekeepers, caretakers or handymen for the families from Lima who had built houses or owned plots of land. These Andean families made up the permanent population of Santa Inés, since the Limeños only came there during winter weekends and vacations. In many ways, these families, their children and my family developed close relationships. I have fond memories, for example, of the Orihuela family, who took care of a nearby plot of land and where they offered sparsely furnished rooms to rent to Andean immigrants moving into Lima. Doña Eugenia, though having limited means, was a great housekeeper and manager, and allowed us to visit her adobe shack, play with her children, as well as with her ducks, chickens, and guinea pigs (cuyes). Another family with whom I developed and still maintain a strong friendship is the Aliagas. We used to build paper and bamboo kites and fly them. We also used to hike in the nearby hills, where we often found what appeared to be pre-Hispanic cementaries and brought home human skulls. I still remember that on one occasion, with Delfin Aliaga (now deceased), my parents, my siblings and I built a gigantic kite in the shape of a star, which, after releasing a dozen or so yards of string, we had to let it go into space.

During the 1950s, we became very close to my mother's brother,Uncle Miquicho (Miguel), who was not only a small farmer, but also a successful politician in the Department of Junin,particulary in the Concepcion and Tarma provinces. He often invited us to spend a few weeks visting him at his small Andean farm in Concepcion, alternating between his farm, his house in Huancayo, and his then-developing coffee farm on the fringes of the jungle (Selva Central) in Chanchamayo. These trips required us to drive up and down the Carretera Central (i.e, Trans-Andean highway), a rapidly ascending, relatively narrow, two-lane, winding mountain road, which took us over 4,800 metres above sea level in less than 3 hours. Perú's principal trans-Andean highway, Carretera Central, which runs parallel to the Rimac River valley and to the Ferrocarril Central, crosses the Continental Divide at the Anticona/ Ticlio pass (15,806 feet elevation).

For small children, like my brothers and me, these 7-hour journeys by car were always a breathtaking, awesome experience. These trips were breathtaking because the highway's innumerable hairpin curves, tunnels, and more often than not, the mountains were on one side of the road (i.e., Western Andes), while a very steep and dangerous cliff was on the other side. There were no guardrails or shoulders. Our journeys provided us with unique opportunities to discover facets of Peruvian society and culture that could only be learned from firsthand observation.

By doing so, we could see and discover Perú, particularly the rural Andean Perú, from a more critical perspective. Along the way, we used to see several hydroelectric plants, thousands of very small, developed plots of land on steep mountain slopes and dozens of mining towns near the highway. We also drove through the metallurgical complex of La Oroya, a city of some 35,000 people, at 3,700 meters above sea level, dominated by a huge chimney, at 167m (547ft) believed to be one of the world's tallest, considered to be one of the world's ten most polluted places; several generations have suffered the effects of lead dust and toxic fumes which spewed out from its giant smelting plants. .

Our stays at my Uncle Miquicho's small farm (chacra) was memorial for me in many ways. It was not the site where my mother and many of relatives were born and raised, but it was also a working dairy farm and upon arrival, each one of us was provided a horse to ride. So, early in the morning, we saw the laborers milking the cows, and sometimes we attempted to milk the cows, too. Later in the morning, my brothers, my cousins and I went horseback riding to the neighboring towns of Concepcion, Matahuasi and Santa Rosa de Ocopa. These excursions on horseback not only taught me how to ride horses, but also helped me discover areas on the perimeter of the chacra.

We also visited my uncle's developing coffee farm in Chanchamayo, in what is known in Perú as the Selva Central (central jungle). Chanchamayo, on the slopes of the Eastern Andes, a hilly, mountanous rain forest area at the entrance to the Amazon jungle. As such, it was very different from any other place I had ever been in Perú. The climate was warm, rainy and tropical, with a wide variety of vegetation. In order to reach the farm, my uncle left his vehicle on a side road, and after hiking for two or three hours, we eventually arrived at a small thatched hut, made of sticks and bamboo, where the "Pichon" Rojas, the manager of the farm lived. In addition to coffee shrubs, there were also pineapple plants and orange trees. I remember that one day when I tried to pick up a pineapple from a pile, a black tarantula jumped on my knee, and before I realized it, Pichon had knocked it off with a stick. It was on one of these trips, when I was about 7 years old, that I met the first Ashaninka natives who lived and worked in the vicinity of my uncle's coffee farm. What impressed me the most about these tribesmen was their friendliness, jungle knowledge and their unique brown tunics.

My uncle Miguel usually announced at the last minute where we would go for the day, either on private or official trips. We never knew in advance where we would end up. These side trips often took us almost to every nook and cranny of the Concepcion Province, where Uncle Miquicho served both as mayor and Subprefecto (province manager). These experiences constitute many fond memories of my late uncle for me.

Both of my parents grew up, with limited means, in the 1920s and 1930s. They met on a blind date at a 1936 New Year's Eve party. My father was twenty-five, and my mother nineteen. My father had recently begun working at Lima's City Hall and lived at his father's house with his father and three single sisters (his mother had passed away). My mother studied education a boarding school in Lima called Normal de San Pedro, and spent her weekends with her parents and five sisters. My parents got married seven years later, on July 18, 1943.

Both of my parents came from Spanish-speaking, middle-class families and lived in Miraflores, already one of Lima’s upper-middle class suburbs. Located south of Lima’s old downtown historic district, Miraflores was already known for its handsome residences, beautiful gardens, fashionable shops, cafes, parks, and fine restaurants. Less crowded and safer than downtown Lima, its central park (Parque Central), with its benches and sidewalk cafes, was a popular place for relaxing and people-watching.

During their seven-year courtship, my mother finished two additional years of coursework at Normal de San Pedro in order to obtain her Peruvian teaching license. After earning her teaching license, she taught for two years (1938-1939) in the Andean city of Tarma, studied a year abroad at Smith College, in Northampton Massachusetts, and, after returning to Perú, spent two additional years (1941-1942) helping her brother Miguel (i.e., Miquicho) manage her father’s farm near Huancayo, in the central Andean region.

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During their seven year courtship, my mother finished two additional years of course work at Normal de San Pedro to obtain her Peruvian teaching license, taught for two years (1938-1939) in the Andean city of Tarma, studied a year abroad at Smith College, in Northampton Massachusetts, and, after returning to Perú, spent two additional years (1941-1942) helping her brother Miguel (i.e., Miquicho) manage her father’s farm near Huancayo, Perú’s largest commercial city in the central Andean region. Her father’s farm had been rented since the late 1920s until the early 1940s.

During the late 1930s, both of my parents lived in Miraflores, already one of Lima’s upper-middle class suburbs. Located south of Lima’s old downtown historic district, Miraflores was already known for its handsome residences, beautiful gardens, fashionable shops, cafes, parks, and fine restaurants. Less crowded and safer than downtown Lima, its central park (Parque Central), with its benches and sidewalk cafes, was a popular place for relaxing and people-watching.

While many may believe that Latin American societies have a better track record in racial relationships than the United States, I regret having to say that this impression is wrong. While Peruvian society may look color blind on the surface, race and ethnicity actually dominate every aspect of its daily social and political life. Racism in Perú is still all-pervasive. My family dynamics have not been an exception. As a child, I was often reminded by my old spinster aunts and by society in general, that I came from a lily white, upper class family, and that I had to live up to its standards. What else could you expect from an Osterling Álvarez-Calderón? However, during family arguments, occasionally I heard someone fire a derogatory racial comment challenging in no uncertain terms the “purity” of the lily-white background of one of my parents. While I always found these insults absurd and irrelevant, among some members of my extended families, racial epithets such as Cholo, Negro, provinciano, Serrano, zambo were more important than I cared to recognize.

Looking back at my four great-great grandparents—Osterling, Tamburini, Álvarez-Calderón, Granados—I often ask myself what is my ethnic background and to which socioeconomic stratum do I belong?

Although I assume and was often reminded by my aunts that the four families were lily white, today I am fully aware that they came from very different racial and socioeconomic backgrounds and that the view of who they were was based on their micro socioeconomic environment.

On my father's side, for example, my Swedish great-great grandfather, Olof Osterling, immigrated to Perú in the early part of the nineteenth century, during the 1820s. On my father’s maternal side, the Tamburinis, I do know that my great-grandmother, Josefina Balestrini, emigrated to Perú with her parents in the mid-1800s from Lago di Como, Italy. In Lima, she met my great-grandfather, Enrique Tamburini, whom my family believes was a first generation Peruvian. I theorize that the Tamburinis immigrated to Perú also in the early 1800s from Italy.

On my mother's side, I know that my Peruvian great-great-grandfather, Andrés Álvarez-Calderón Olaechea, was a highly successful Peruvian entrepreneur, member of Congress, and diplomat who held several high-level political positions with the government of Perú. Andrés amassed a fortune harvesting guano and in the shipping industry. Later, in 1869, he was appointed Peruvian Ambassador to Italy. He moved with his wife and twelve children to Rome, where he became a close friend of Italy's King Vittorio Emanuele II (1820 – 1878) who granted him the title of Count on February 29, 1872. I do not know when the first members of the Granados or Valle (my mother’s maternal side) families immigrated to Perú.

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