For more than a century, a single mummified skull sat quietly in the collections of the Museum of Cantonal Archaeology and History of Lausanne in Switzerland. Labeled as the remains of an “Inca chief,” the cranium was donated in 1876 by Louis Kuffré, a Swiss emigrant who had lived in Peru and Chile. To the casual observer, the skull was just another artifact in a collection of archaeological curiosities. But to Dr. Claudine Abegg and her colleagues, it was a silent witness to history—one that still carried the scars, traditions, and mysteries of a long-lost life.
In a recent study published in the International Journal of Osteoarchaeology, researchers finally brought this individual—known only by the label I Y-001—back into focus. Through careful analysis, they traced his cultural origins, examined his unusual cranial features, and considered the ethical implications of his presence in a European museum. What emerged was a story not only of an ancient man but also of colonial history, medical practices, and the modern responsibilities of museums to humanize the dead who reside within their collections.
The Journey from the Andes to Switzerland
The journey of I Y-001’s remains began high in the Andes, in the region surrounding Mount Illimani in present-day Bolivia. According to the original 19th-century label, the skull had been found in a ruin near the small canton of Ayjach in the province of Amasujos. Such “ruins” were most likely chullpas—stone burial towers built by the Aymara people around Lake Titicaca.
These towers were not ordinary graves. They were reserved for individuals of higher social status, such as leaders, respected elders, or those with strong communal ties. Burial within a chullpa was a mark of distinction, suggesting that I Y-001 had been someone of importance in his community. Whether he was truly a “chief,” as the old museum label claimed, will never be certain. But what is clear is that his resting place was disturbed, and his remains were uprooted and transported across the world to a Swiss museum, a fate shared by countless others during an era when collecting human remains was seen as a legitimate form of scientific curiosity.
A Skull that Tells Its Own Story
The most powerful revelations came not from the label but from the skull itself. Through taphonomic and anthropological analysis, researchers discovered three striking features that shed light on I Y-001’s life.
The Mark of Cranial Modification
The skull had been intentionally elongated through a cultural practice known as cranial binding. From infancy, boards or cloths were used to shape the skull into a distinct form, which later served as a visible marker of identity. For the Aymara and other Andean peoples, this practice was not a sign of deformity but of belonging, tradition, and sometimes social status.
Interestingly, this practice was not associated with the Inca, which casts doubt on the 19th-century label identifying the skull as “Inca.” Instead, the modification points directly to Aymara cultural traditions. Historical records indicate that cranial binding was banned under Spanish colonial rule by Viceroy Francisco de Toledo in the 1570s, and the last documented case occurred in the mid-17th century. This allows researchers to estimate that I Y-001 lived at least 350 years ago, during a time when Andean traditions clashed with colonial restrictions.
The Attempt at Trepanation
Another remarkable feature was evidence of trepanation—an ancient surgical procedure in which a hole was cut into the skull. In I Y-001’s case, the trepanation was attempted but never completed. Signs of healing suggest he survived the ordeal, at least for some time afterward.
Trepanation was practiced in many ancient cultures, often for medical or ritual reasons. In the Andes, it was sometimes performed to relieve cranial trauma from battle or accidents, or as a spiritual attempt to release harmful forces. Why the operation was abandoned midway is a mystery. Perhaps the surgeon lacked the necessary skill, perhaps the patient’s suffering became too great, or perhaps the reason for beginning the procedure disappeared before it was finished. Whatever the case, the mark of trepanation connects I Y-001 to a long history of Andean medical and spiritual practice.
The Pain of a Tooth Abscess
The third feature was less dramatic but equally telling: evidence of a painful tooth abscess. Abscesses often arose from poor dental hygiene or excessive chewing of coca leaves, a widespread Andean practice used for energy, focus, and ritual. Coca leaves could ease hunger and fatigue but, when chewed constantly, could also damage the teeth. Whether I Y-001’s abscess was from coca use or simple infection, it adds another layer of humanity to his story. He lived with pain, as countless others have, enduring the everyday struggles of his time.
The Colonial Trade in Skulls
How did I Y-001’s skull end up in Lausanne? The answer lies in the colonial practices of the 19th century. During this period, human remains were frequently collected—sometimes scientifically, sometimes casually, and often without respect for local traditions.
Letters from the 1890s reveal that skulls from the Lake Titicaca region were acquired in large numbers, sometimes looted from burials, sometimes sold by locals under pressure or poverty, and often sent abroad for anthropological research. The American anthropologist Adolph Bandelier wrote of sending around 150 skulls, including several with trepanations, for study by Franz Boas, one of the founding figures of modern anthropology.
In this context, I Y-001 was not unique. He was part of a widespread trade in human remains that stripped indigenous communities of their ancestors and transformed them into objects of study for European and American institutions.
The Ethical Questions of Today
The rediscovery of I Y-001’s story is not just a matter of science—it is also a matter of ethics. Modern museums face difficult questions about how to handle human remains collected under colonial circumstances. Should they remain in museums as educational and research objects? Should they be repatriated to descendant communities? How should they be displayed, if at all?
Dr. Abegg emphasizes that these questions are complex, shaped by laws, cultural differences, and changing ideas about respect for the dead. What seems “respectful” in one cultural context may be offensive in another. For Western researchers, the goal is to balance their own perspectives with those of the communities from which these remains originated.
The case of I Y-001 highlights this delicate balance. On one hand, his skull offers scientific insights into Andean practices, health, and history. On the other hand, it is a reminder of colonial exploitation and the removal of ancestors from their rightful resting places.
The Human Face Behind the Skull
Perhaps the most important lesson from I Y-001’s story is that human remains are not just specimens—they are people. He was a man of the Andes, shaped by his culture, subjected to medical practices, and living through the challenges of his era. His elongated skull marked him as a member of a distinct group. His attempted trepanation suggests care, ritual, or desperation. His abscess reflects the everyday pain of life centuries ago.
By studying him, we not only learn about ancient Andean traditions but also confront the legacies of colonialism and the responsibilities of modern science. He reminds us that every artifact in a museum collection once belonged to a living, breathing person with a story.
Conclusion: Giving Voice to the Silent Dead
The skull of I Y-001, once mislabeled and forgotten in a Swiss museum, now speaks again. Through careful study, researchers have reconnected him to his cultural heritage, revealed the marks of his lived experience, and opened a conversation about the ethics of museum collections.
His story illustrates the power of modern science to restore dignity to those who can no longer speak for themselves. But it also underscores the need for humility, respect, and ethical reflection when dealing with the human past.
I Y-001 is not simply an object of curiosity. He is a reminder that history is written not only in books but also in bones—and that our responsibility is to listen with care, respect, and an openness to perspectives beyond our own.
More information: Abegg Claudine et al, Anthropological, Pathological, and Historical Analyses of a Mummified Cranium From Bolivia Hosted in the Museum of Cantonal Archaeology and History of Lausanne, Switzerland, International Journal of Osteoarchaeology (2025). DOI: 10.1002/oa.70022
