Chocolatadas and tears

When I was in high school I took a subject called Critical Thinking as a AS in year 11. The definition of the critical thinking is “reasonable reflective thinking focused on deciding what to believe or do.”

I got an A. However, this subject, or any subject for that matter, could not have prepared me for the flurry that was my final two weeks in Arequipa.

The penultimate week was the last 'normal' week of school. I remember taking an extra art lesson, where we made "Christmas cubes."

For the school curriculum I made for the inicial kids I included making dice as an art lesson to complement learning numbers in week 2. I thought I'd pilot the cube idea but instead of numbers we glued snowmen, presents, stars and other christmas things.

To my delight the kids LOVED the lesson. The dexterous ones put the cubes together without guidance. One second I was helping Yina, a little 3 year old colour in her christmas tree, the next I'm helping Rober cut his stencils out, the next Marcelo presents a completed, coloured in, perfect little Christmas cube. Esteban made two and coloured in two Christmas cards (my back up for the fast kids).

The rest of the week was dominated by play time and decorating the class Christmas tree. I invented a game. It consisted of me sitting on the bank outside the classroom, and tickling any little rascal who got within arms reach. For half an hour I tickled, laughed, and hugged. Until, all at once, without words, the kids figured out: I could be tickled too. This changed the dynamic of the game.

All I have to do now is close my eyes and I can see their smiling faces against the sunlight. I can hear their little squeaky laughs. I can see the sparkle in their eyes as they wiggle in to get closer for a tickle.

Invariably someone would get kicked, in which case I'd collect them in my arms, squeeze tight and immediately tend to the injury with a tickle. Best. Cure. Ever. At one point I had 15 kids piled on top of me, all giggling. Inevitably, my head got stepped on. I quickly squealed in pain and asked everyone to get off for a second- "nada mas, un momento, por favor."

Berly, the light of my life, is a little 4 year old. He stood up and one by one pulled the kids off me. When he reached the bottom of the pile he stood over me and asked me if I was ok. I was, so I grabbed him in an embrace and tickled him starting the game anew. You'd like they would tire, but nope. But eventually we had to go in for class, and as they make their way in Berly, who had wiggled into my lap, turned to me with his big brown eyes and said: "te quiero" (I love you) and wrapped his little arms around me and squeezed as tight as he could. My heart nearly exploded. "Te quiero tambien" (I love you too) I replied. And I meant it with all every fibre of my being.

For my final weekend I did a 3 day trek through Colca Canyon. At 3am Saturday morning I piled onto a bus full of other tourists- Colin and Clay the lovely American hippies, Daniel and Makaela- the young Aussie couple, Alix and Caroline- my french room mates, Martin- a young german traveller and Juanito- our Peruvian guide with a super contagious laugh.

The canyon itself is deeper than the Grand Canyon and located at about 4000 above sea level. By morning we had arrived to see the resident condors, who ironically weren't there. And by noon we were making out way down into the heart of the canyon. It was beautiful, it was so soothing to be near water again.

By lunch we had made it to a little village on the other side of the canyon. After a feed and a siesta, and another feed we played cards till the bugs drove us to bed. The following morning we walked 4 hours through little villages, visiting a little local museum which captured the local culture beautifully. By lunch we made out way to the 'oasis,' a beautiful spot on the other side of the canyon with pools (and aggressive sand flies). Again, lunch was followed by a siesta (I could really get used to this whole siesta thing) and cards and dinner.

On the final morning we woke at 5 and started to climb the 1000m up to the top of the canyon. We left behind the oasis and in the morning light we made out way to the top. It was a great climb. It was that perfect gradient that you are sweating and out of breath but not so you hurt. After 2 hours we celebrated by eating avocado and sharing high fives, gulping in the beautiful view as the sunlight flowed into the canyon.

By that evening I was back in Arequipa, sitting in the convent at the solo violin concert of my host mum's 10 year old granddaughter, Geraldine. It was a lovely concert.

Tuesday was Promocion- Graduation day. And what a wonderful day it was. For their promocion all the parents brought in nibbles and chipped in for... wait for it... a clown!

The kids were dressed to the nines, little suits and gowns, hair slicked back, and the energy and excitement was palpable. When the clown came bounding into the room I thought some of kids were actually going to explode with excitement.

And I'm not a massive clown fan, but this guy was great. He had all the kids (and the parents, and Laura and I) engaged. There were songs to learn, dances to practice and games to play. For hours he entertained us all, and the kids were just so happy, so so happy. In the meantime I discovered a new talent. I can made things out of those long clown balloons! I can make swords and flowers. If all else fails, I'm going to be become a clown!

After cake, popcorn, coke and plenty of dancing we handed out presents and certificates. I was so proud of my kids, so proud.

And on Thursday we had a Chocolatada, a Christmas celebration with paneton (traditional fruit cake which I describe as pimped up brioche) and traditional Peruvian hot chocolate that tastes like, well... christmas. I handed out presents and hugs to the kids.

As I squeezed them each tight and kissed them and wished them feliz navidad I had to fight back the tears. I honestly did not think I could love them as much as I do. I didn't think I could love anything as much as I love these kids. They have taught me so much. They have taught me patience, love and compassion. How to adapt. And reminded me what unconditional love feels like.

And so, as I sat on my 15 hour bus ride to Lima I cried. I cried for Berly. I cried for his classmates. I cried for the friends I've left behind in Arequipa. So as I sit here in the airport (I missed my flight, and got put on the next one to Santiago. Totally my own fault, I went to breakfast with Mauricio, a Peruvian friend from Melbourne, and his family- which was very interesting given my bad spanish and his elderly aunties bad hearing, but so lovely, oh well, these things happen) I can't help but sit here and smile. I must look like a goof ball.

Thank you to everyone who made my time in Peru what it was. I'll be honest. I got here and didn't think I'd grow to love it like I have. I wasn't sure if this was the place for me. But building the water reservoir and teaching those beautiful children has made me grateful for every second I've had here.

So thank you tankers, thank you teachers, thank you children. Thank you Peru.

Chocolatadas and tears