“It’s you who are crazy”: Martha la Altena jeers at the audience for coming to watch the spectacle. Photo by Joanna Kozlowska.

“Bizarre”, “ridiculous”, even “shameful”: these are words that Bolivians repeatedly associate with these women. “Female wrestlers? Please. Anything but that.” Yet the lucha libre – wrestling shows starring women from traditional Indian communities in Bolivia – remain one of the country’s most famed tourist attractions. With her folk costume, sacks of brightly-coloured cloth and a bowler hat, the cholita is an iconic sight. Add a rush of adrenaline, a shabby sports hall and a furiously enthusiastic crowd, and this certainly beats examining the curiosities in the local market place for entertainment value.

Fernando, a journalist in La Paz, Bolivia’s capital, hands me a leaflet advertising the fights. A robust, grotesquely drawn cholita strangles her fellow tribeswoman, pulling her thick black braids with a spare hand. The other’s eyes bulge out in terror. The caption enthuses over “the unique secret of the Andes”. “It’s a traditional thing”, says Juan Fabbri, a young La Paz anthropologist. “Wrestling has been here for decades. People from all over Bolivia enjoyed it, just like in countries nearby. Matches against Peru and Argentina were huge occasions.”

Women, however, don’t strictly belong to this tradition. The lucha de cholitas was introduced in the 1950s, on the initiative of El Alto coach Juan Mamani. “It was his idea for attracting tourists”, Fabbri continues. “It’s grown popular with the locals too. What was good for gringos had to be good for us Bolivians.” Although it may be a relatively new phenomenon, the lucha libre has its roots in the Andean past: “In the Andes, a woman had to be strong to survive.” Fabbri explains. “Women performed heavy physical tasks, carried weights and couldn’t hesitate to defend themselves. The delicate woman is a European invention.”

Inside the Ring

The wrestling hall is packed with tourists and locals alike, the former occupying a row of VIP chairs in front of the ring. The loudspeakers boom out “Eye of the Tiger” by Survivor as the first cholita appears. Graceful in her newly designed outfit, Martha “La Altena” (a name alluding to the high altitude at which the fight is taking place) emerges from backstage with her skirts twirling and a swing in her step. The public applauds as she dances around the ring, bowler hat in place, eventually stopping to take off her jewellery. She is to fight with a man.

“I’ve had a whole family of wrestlers”, Martha says. “I wanted to be a strong person, just like my father. That’s why I chose the ring. I’m grateful to Mamani for the opportunity. I also like sewing my costumes, designing my blouses myself. It’s both a sport and an art”, she explains. “Because of this, tourists won’t think we’re just a macho country”, she tells me, showing me the hall and the wrestling ring. “I think it’s good for Bolivian women.”

Soon after beginning, the fight goes terribly wrong for Martha la Altena. Her adversary, a chubby but tough-looking man in a zebra costume, throws her onto the ground. Blood flows. The referee approaches, and his impartiality suddenly disappears. They throw Martha around the ring, kicking her, pulling her legs apart. The audience boos and hisses. Eggs and tomatoes fly onto the ring. “Martha! Martha!” the back rows chant. In this fight, the line between good and evil is clearly defined. Martha stands up. The audience applauds. Eggs and tomatoes keep flying. Cheers and shouts increase in volume as a chair lands on the referee’s head. The fight is evidently staged, the inevitable outcome clear to all from the start.

Behind the Scenes

“Sometimes it’s hard”, Martha says after her fight. “Sometimes I’m ashamed to go to the market. I don’t know if I’d encourage my daughters to become luchadoras. But most people support me eventually. I like winning over those who are initially against me. And my family stands by me all the time.”

Not all wrestlers are so lucky. Martha’s friend Carmen Rosa first became a luchadora to defend herself from an abusive husband. “In the end, he was too scared to hit me”, she says. “We separated. He left me with two sons. My family doesn’t like what I’m doing, but I can always rely on my sons.” Carmen firmly agrees with Martha that what they are doing is important. “It helps to end the discrimination against cholitas.” The lucha libre simultaneously represents a return to traditional values and an important step in the advancement of women’s rights.

A third fight begins: two women competing against one another. Both are household names here, and the audience’s applause is deafening. “What do we call Jennifer?” the announcer shouts. “Loca!” the back rows scream in excitement, cheering and jeering at the same time. “Crazy!” Jennifer enters the ring, wielding a pair of scissors like a medieval sword. “It’s you who are crazy!” she yells at the public. “Coming here! Watching all this! Actually enjoying it. It’s you who are insane!” The back rows smile – they expected this from Jennifer. Each wrestler has his or her established role to play. “We’re all art professionals,” explains Mr Atlas, an older wrestler who has coached the two women. “It’s all a spectacle.” This becomes increasingly apparent as, with the onset of the third fight, things begin to drift towards the surreal.