The after-school program in the tiny village of Cai Cay, about an hour outside of Cusco.
After about three weeks of bastardizing the Spanish language by hanging about in Cusco I decided to head for the voluntary work project (for the comparatively bargain price of US$15 per day – yes you actually have to pay to volunteer in most circumstances…) in the tiny pueblo of Cai Cay, about an hour outside Cusco on the advice of some Belgian friends who were working there also. I’d like to think my reasons for heading there were along the lines of a genuine desire to make an impact on the lives of the children attending the project in question but in all honesty it was more just a lack of something to do, a chance to practise my Spanish (or so I thought) and the fact it provided alternative accommodation in light of Jodie’s return and hence my prompt eviction. I guess I wanted also to actually see if I had a paternal side, or at least a penchant for education and role-modelling for young people. At the risk of ruining the suspense of this entry, I can tell you now. I don’t.
Emilie, in the orange, at work with the kids. The girls were much better at than I was...
Well, I can’t say that for absolute certain because despite the purpose of work being to provide an after-school program for the entire village, there were hardly extensive opportunities for deaf mutes, which for all intents and purposes, I was, to test out their softer sides. The main responsibility of the volunteers (which during my time were two Dutch guys and two Belgians, from the bloody Dutch speaking part, so essentially all bloody dutch…) were to run various educational classes and activities every day after school for all ages ranging from as young as 3 years to the oldest of around 16. These ranged from english classes to sex-ed, to standing around watching the kids paint rocks (my specialty) or colour in pictures (I can't remember how many times I said "Ah, muy bien, me gusta!!").
The other "project", completing another wing for the school to house future volunteers.
Fortunately for me considering my aforesaid effectiveness in communication, or distinct lack thereof, there was also another task requiring only a small amount of elbow grease and no Spanish whatsoever. Even more fortunately, this task consisting of carting clay bricks over a ridiculously impractical distance of some 300m, which was impossible after rain (which occurred most nights) and had largely been completed by luckless Simon who had been at the project some two weeks already.
Even when I was there, it appears that Simon still did most of the work. My encouragement and moral support should not be underestimated however.
So what does one do when unable to shift bricks and has only two hours in the late afternoon which could even remotely be called work? Well, pretty much bugger all and therein you have a succinct synopsis of my time in Cai Cay. Yep, pretty much we had all day to ourselves up until 3:00pm every day to whatever we wanted, which, considering the town consisted of 1 semi-paved street still in construction, didn’t amount to too much at all. The fact that we had over 70 kids turning up from such a small village paid testament to the fact that even the populace had come to the conclusion that there was nothing better to do in this village with little to no communication with the outside world.
The main drag of Cai Cay. There was one other mud street but it was more a garden path than a trafficable highway.
With not even the baby-making pastime available to us, we basically passed the long hours either playing guitar in my case (thank god for the guitar…), discussing the internal family politics and drama of the director which put Dynasty to considerable shame, or hanging around waiting for the always late meals which in nearly every case proved hardly worth waiting for. The exception being for those among us who enjoyed a watery broth before every meal or plain syrup for desert….mmmm. Syrup.
Good times...An attempt to pass some of the overlong periods of boredom. Note the incredible lack of interest shown by everybody in my musical endeavours. Dina (far left) at least tried to humour me and requested Hotel California some 57 times. On Wednesday alone...
Before I set everyone, (which at this late stage of my blog updates, basically refers solely to my parents) to sleep with this seemingly non-eventful entry, I will say that Cai Cay was a beautiful place. What it lacked in traffic lights, telephones and contraceptives, it more than made up for with its spectacular surroundings, incredibly friendly inhabitants and particularly impressive Catholic church which indicated, depending on your point of view, that they either had their priorities spot on or completely whacked. Being that the village was situated in the Sacred Valley of the Inca, the same geographical feature containing Cusco and nearly all significant Incan sites, it was surrounded by beautiful peaks, raging rivers and very few indicators of western civilization making it perfect for long walks in the countryside, often needed in times of immense frustration.
There was some beautiful scenery around the village through which one could wander and get horrifically sunburnt.
Cai Cay was indeed an immensely frustrating experience on the whole for me. Apart from the fact we were essentially doing nothing for much of the time, frustrating in itself, I had little idea of how bad I would be with trying to cope not speaking my “Aussie” English for even 5 days consecutively. The Dutchies could obviously speak fluent English as well but it was exceptionally annoying feeling when surrounded by other languages I didn’t understand in the majority and I felt like a retarded three-year-old most of the time particularly when doing the classes.
Scenery continued.
Furthermore, my interaction with the kids, especially the very young ones, was doing nothing for my Spanish as even when I was saying the right thing I’d be hard-pressed for more than inquisitive stares as a response which in turn led me to doubt what I had just said and basically led to me being more confused than when I started. My yeti-like appearance may have had something to do with their often paralyzed reactions but I can only imagine what they must have thought when I first arrived and had to give a speech to introduce myself. Quite the rambling monologue to a tough crowd, in a 1 minute speech I somehow managed to traverse such disparate topics as Kilimanjaro, the Beatles, kangaroos and AFL, basically anything I could relay a skerrick of information about in Spanish. At least I think that's what I was talking about, no-one really knows. No doubt it came across as the incoherent ranting of a jibbering madman.
An afternoon spent drawing the scenery of Cai Cay and further practise for me to say "Ah, muy bien, me gusta".
I was once at least able to teach them how to play touch football (i.e. touch rugby) totally in spanish of which I was quite proud although they never did fully grasp the concept of passing the ball backwards nor of stopping when they tagged. Needless to say they were quite pleased when I let them continue they game of normal football (i.e. soccer).
Fun little game of twister. I include this picture primarily to show that I did occasionally take off my beanie.
Other instances of frustration were entirely more self induced. As mentioned in my previous entry and which is painfully clear to those who know me well, I have an in-built lack of charm, faux paus being my specialty, but I can’t escape my genetics. Story goes my dad actually proposed while covered in oil under the hood of his monaro and suggested the marriage because he didn’t really have much to do in the month of December. With heritage like that its understandable that I make such mistakes as inadvertently suggesting (jokingly of course) that girls wouldn’t want to/couldn't climb one of the surrounding peaks overlooking Cai Cay. Ordinarily not a problem but sarcasm supposedly doesn’t always transcend language barriers nor goes down well with a girl I suspect to be Germaine Greer’s lovechild.
An artist's reproduction of cave drawings found near the Jackson ancestral homeland of Mt. Whitestone near Gatton, Queensland, giving evidence that the (in)famous Jackson charm dates back tens of years.
Furthermore, my prickly relationship with the Belgians (entirely one-way, mind you, I love these girls, both great fun, they just happen to despise me) was subjected to further tension on my birthday, which happened to fall on one of these non-eventful days in Cai Cay, when I was extremely blessed by the generous efforts of Dina, the most lovely wife of the director (most lovely as in very lovely, Ernesto has only one wife…I think), who made a special trip all the way from Cusco with a beautiful cake just for me. Now having been gone for some 7 months, I could have explained my slightly depressed mood in any number of ways in English, i.e. I was a little more homesick than usual, I wanted to speak to family, catch up with mates etc. but I made a poor choice in Spanish, I believe I said I was bored. And with that, the mood of my party of well-wishers deflated like a pricked balloon and my fate as an object of contempt and scorn in the eyes of my Belgian co-inhabitants was sealed.
A Peruvian tradition on one's birthday is to dunk the celebrant's face in the cake. You better hope that you sucessfully blow out ALL the candles.
I'd like to hope that I'm slightly over-dramatising the whole situation but the point is, its hard learning a new language, particularly your first other than your native tongue at the age of 24 as I recently became. I didn't realise how difficult it can be when you just can't get your point across or express yourself as you would like, or when people don't get your jokes although many would suggest I should be entirely used to that. But for example, one of the girls spilt her drink all over the table one day and Dani, a Dutchie, was trying to block the path of the liquid with his hands, much like his famous imaginary countryman who prevented the flood by blocking the dykes with his fingers. When I observantly pointed this out by commenting "Wow, you're like the little Dutch boy", the irony being of course that Dani is in fact a little Dutch boy, hence the mildly amusing aspect (for me at least), nobody laughed nor had any clue what I was talking about. And they were from Holland!! (Ishint dat vierd!) Frustrating...
Ernesto, the director, and his wife Dinah, who in particular was very kind to me during my entire stay in Cusco. She is very much a mother figure to many from my school and a wonderful woman.
Suffice to say, I was glad for the weekend breaks where I would catch up with my all English-speaking friends, particularly Devin who took the bulk of my whinging for which I thank her now, and enjoy sumptuous, soupless meals with actual fruit included in the syrup. But still, before I give the impression that the whole experience was a write-off, I have to say, Cai Cay was fun for a whole number of reasons.
The team, from left, Veerle, Emilie, moi, Dani, Simon, Ernesto and somehow the evil wench who was our cook snuck into the photo as well. I can't even remember her name but she got sacked the week after I left...
Apart from the great company of the Simon, Dani, Veerle and Emilie, the kids were great. They were always laughing and despite my inability to communicate to any great depth with them, they did seem to tolerate my presence due to my supposed resemblance to a jungle gym and purported usefulness as a provider of gyroscopic force (a.k.a. helicopter rides...). The fact that Cai Cay was so small and that every kid in the village turned up to our program meant that you basically attained rock star status and could hardly walk 5m without giving your best pied piper impersonation.
Action shot...
They loved bashing my guitar whilst I made the chords with my left hand (I think "happy birthday" was about our only common musical ground, they didn't even know Enrique, the hero himself!!), they were fascinated with stroking the hairs on my legs (sounds dodgy I know) and they sure loved a big all-in tickling session (sounds worse...). And despite my real lack of impact, it was nice to know that for a short time at least I was aiding the genuinely important work of Ernesto and Dina which I think is having a real effect on those kids. As our T-shirt says, "Cai Cay es la Putre Madre", or in english, Cai Cay is the mother whore. Loses a bit in translation methinks but I have been assured that it is a good thing.
Simon (above) and Dani keeping the kids utterly amused with bits of furry wire. As I said, they were much better at it than me.
As for my legacy, when looking back on my highly non-eventful time in Cai Cay, I'd like to think that one day in the future when the kids of the village are discussing economic or health policies at the highest level of government, playing soccer in the world cup or just spinning the next generation of kids helicopter style, they'll think back to their formative days in the after-school program and say "Remember that long-haired tit who stood around looking lost whilst we painted rocks?" and in the highly unlikely event that one of them says "yes", I hope they'll reflect with a touch of longing "Man, that guy couldn't speak spanish for shit..."
Simon and I with Ernesto on our last day. I think my impact was such that my name was added to the farewell posters often as a squished afterthought...
Who could want for more?
Til next time from the famous Inca Trail.
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