The following is an excerpt from the book "Understanding The Connections between Black and Aboriginal Peoples"

Bolivia
....The landscape of the Yungas is immense and spectacular. A typical scene is one in which a waterfall gushes from steep mountains shrouded in mist. The power of the landscape is felt immediately. The further one descends into the valleys of the Yungas the more tropical the vegetation becomes, one can see the mangoes and the green terraced fields on which coca is grown.

....When I first visited Bolivia in 1992, I was shown a postcard with a picture of the people of the Yungas. Superficially, the photo looked like that of a black woman dressed in the clothing typically worn by many Quechua Indian woman today. Many present day Quechua women wear clothing that were imposed on them by the Spanish conquistadors. This typically consists of voluminous skirts with bowler-type hats worn with their hair in two large plaits tied together at the back.
....Looking at that photograph, I realized the possibility of there being a Blakk Indian community in Bolivia. After further inquiry I was told that these women were the descendants of African slaves that the Spanish had brought to work the silver mines and plantations in Bolivia. When the slaves had obtained their freedom, many chose to live in the subtropical region of the Yungas where they intermarried with the indigenous people of the area.
....As I journeyed into this region I kept looking for signs of Blakk Indians. Occasionally as the bus drove along I would sight a few black faces far off in the distance, but no sign of a Black Indian community. After five hours of traveling, the bus stopped in a small village. A friend had told me about a town in the Yungas that they thought would be important in terms of my finding a Blakk Indian community. As it got darker, I walked to one of the
food stands and inquired if there were buses heading to this town. The person at the stand immediately pointed to a huge open truck, filled with people carrying their various goods. It was in the process of pulling out so I made a quick decision to jump on board. I had to scramble down a hill and grab onto the truck's railing until I was safe on a sideboard. From there I had a clear view of the truck's interior. It was crammed with people, crates of produce, animals and furniture. I spied a small, empty space on the floorboard where I thought I would be able to stand. I took aim and jumped from the top of the truck, managing to land perfectly between the two crates. My efforts were awarded with applause from the passengers.

....Soon the truck was hurtling along. Occasionally we had to duck to avoid being hurt by the tall trees that lined the road. Suddenly there was a flurry of rain and hail. All the passengers had to work together to cover the back of the truck with tarpaulin. This proved to be a source of excitement and laughter as the people skidded around the wet bus trying to fix the tarpaulin on to keep their goods and produce dry. While the majority of passengers on the truck were Quechua Indian people there were a group of five Blakk Indian women. Their features astounded me because they reminded me so much of people I had seen on previous trips to Africa.
.... After an hour and a half of traveling, we arrived in a small town. I was greeted by a number of young Blakk Indian children peering at me from a hillside and pointing at my dreadlocks. As I walked along the town's dirt road I could also see Quechua Indian women some of whom had babies slung over their shoulders in blankets.
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... I had originally planned to return to La Paz later that night, but my plans changed when I found out that there were no other buses leaving until six AM the next morning. There were also no hotels in the town since this was not an area open to tourists. The bus driver suggested that I sleep in the back of the bus until he was ready to leave the next morning but I decided to keep walking to check out the rest of the town. It was situated on the edge of a mountaintop with breathtaking views of coca fields and the surrounding mountains.
.... The main road was lined with small houses and an occasional shop. Very soon I was surrounded by two Blakk Indian women and at least a dozen children all of whom were curious about my dreadlocks. This group of people struck me. They had an incredible variety of facial features and were all different shades of brown and black. I had never seen a people who looked quite like this. The two women confirmed that indeed many of the families were Blakk Indian. They also pointed out a house further down the road where I might sleep.
....A Blakk Indian couple owned the house. It was a very simple dwelling with an extra cot on the upper level and a front section out of which produce was sold. I noticed there was a calendar in the house, which had "COCA IS NOT COCAINE", printed in big bold letters. One of the owners informed me that he was a coca farmer and wanted to know what information I had about coca. I explained that I understood coca to have many medicinal properties, that it was good for asthma, arthritis, and stomach problems but most people believed in the myth that it was the same as cocaine. Reassured by my attitude, the man invited me to sit down at their table for tea and some conversation. Beside our table there was a gigantic crocus bag filled with at least forty pounds of coca leaf. The couple took a handful of leaves from the bag and placed them in a pot of hot water. They let the leaves seep for a while to make a refreshing pot of coca tea. We sat a while drinking coca tea and chatting.
....Certainly it was clear to me that one of the most important things that forcibly transplanted Africans learned, from the aboriginal people in Bolivia was how to cultivate and utilize coca.
....While we were talking I was asked if I had ever heard saya music. He told me that he had a live recording by a friend of his, a well know saya musician. He got the cassette from his bedroom and played it for me. He explained that saya music was a form of Blakk Indian music that had originated in the Yungas. It utilizes a combination of Andean instrumentation with African percussion. The percussive elements reminded me of music that I had heard in Cuba and Haiti, but there were also musical elements present which are unique to the aboriginal people of Bolivia. He explained that the performer Daniel Barra was presently performing in another region of Bolivia but he thought it would be good for me to speak with him. As I left the village at six AM that morning, I decided I would return in the future to meet with Daniel Barra.

....It took me a year and a half, but I did make it back to the Yungas. On my return journey I had a direct brush with the legendary avalanches that have acted as a deterrent to many travelers. The dangerously narrow and precipitous roads of the Yungas are often marked with crosses decorated with flowers that commemorate motorists who have careened off the narrow roads into the treacherous ravines of the Yungas.
....Halfway through the journey, the bus I was traveling on stopped. Ahead of us I could see that two other buses had stopped with the majority of their passengers standing on the roadside staring and pointing to the mountains above. The reason for their attention soon became obvious. Giant boulders were plunging off the mountain and bouncing off the road ahead. It was explained to me that because of melting snow on top of the mountain, avalanches were occurring.
....For about an hour and a half everybody stood around watching as giant boulders intermittently crashed down from the side of the mountain. All of a sudden without any warning the drivers of all the buses including the one I was traveling on gunned their engines and raced through the dangerous section of the road. Apparently they were accustomed to this and didn't want to be thrown too much off their schedule. There were about thirty passengers who, like myself, were still standing on the roadside when the buses took off. We now had to run for about two hundred yards through this dangerous section of the road to rejoin our buses. We ran as quickly as possible, trying to keep as close to the mountain side as we could. Luckily for us only a couple of smaller boulders bounced harmlessly over our heads and we were able to safely make it to where our buses were waiting for us. Afterwards the very relieved passengers worked off the nervous tension with numerous jokes and anecdotes about our run through the avalanche. Thankfully, our journey continued without any incident.
....I arrived at my destination in the late afternoon and was immediately greeted by several residents of the town who walked with me until I got to the small house on the hillside where Daniel Barra lived. In his early forties, Daniel was very happy to show me the instruments that he and his family used to perform saya. He brought out a range of percussive instruments: gourds, drums, shakers and rattles that were attached to the performer's ankles when they danced. The primary instrument were drums made from designs passed on from their African slave ancestors. There were also various instruments that were used by Quechua Indian people. Daniel explained to me that at saya's base were the rhythms that their African ancestors played when they were slaves in Bolivia. They then incorporated instrumentation that they learnt from Quechua Indian people living in Bolivia.
....Now in the Yungas they were making an effort to maintain their African culture by having African cultural classes for the young people. He introduced to me one of his young relatives who was one of the lead vocalists in his group. Although only six years old, she already knew many of the traditional saya songs and dance movements, all of which had their origins in the dances African slaves used to perform. Relaxed and with great self-confidence, she started singing and dancing, accompanied on percussion by her uncle. A crowd of people from the community gathered around to listen to her. Afterwards, it was touching to see that the young children who were present were so appreciative and protective of their young, talented friend. Her performance made the long journey all that more worthwhile and I left the town realizing that I had been graced with a rare insight into saya, a very unique form of Blakk Indian music.