Must admit to grappling with connecting to my creative side, lately. Of course I could blame it on a myriad of things but the fact remains that it is my responsibility to keep the fire burning. Sort of a sacred agreement with my creative self.
So...to feed the furnace I've been writing a few photo essays. Very easy; you might even recall doing this yourself back in school. I've picked a few photos that appealed to my senses and sat down to scribble. This is from a photo from a recent trip to Peru.
~ Peru ~
The mighty Andes demand your attention. I find myself craning my neck time and time again to drink in yet another spectacular vista of rugged cliffs against the backdrop of clear blue skies.
We are squashed into a little van, the effect of adjusting to the high altitude still evident in our bloodshot blinkers. The dirt road snakes up the side of the mountain taking us further from the lush gardens at Wilka Tikka in the Sacred Valley, Peru towards a village school. Landslides like fresh abrasions are evident as we rattle along – an unmistakable sign of heavy rains not too long ago.
As our lifeless pose rolls into the village and finally come to a standstill in a sizeable cloud of dust, we are swarmed by a pool of red and fuchsia. Grinning kids in traditional Quechua ponchos and woolen hats surround us.
The kids lead us to an open square between the classrooms and like honorary guests we are sat down on stools in the sun. Scenario of who’s-watching-who sets in but then the show begins and all else is forgotten.
The celebration we are witnessing is a song and energetic dance about the harvesting of grains and the various phases grain goes through. The grain is treated as a gift from the gods and every stage of its growth up to being eaten or fermented and drank is enacted. A generous swig is taken from a flask at intervals. Can only be chicha – a potent local tipple that kicks like a mule. You may take my word for it.
Somewhere in the centre of the action an alpaca graces the “stage” as well - gorgeous little thing who doesn't seem to mind the handling, dancing and thrashing of corn around it. She takes in the action like a real veteran actress – haughty like a grand dame.
Kids are dancing and swirling - a sea of red. Even, the head boy has the opportunity to show of his conch blowing skills. Talk about upbeat. After the performance an honorary hat is being passed to who ever is going to be the next speaker – judging by the state of the hat there must be a lot of ceremonial talking going on in the village.
We applaud like crazy and next moment - not too sure how it occurred – we find ourselves (four of us) primped and ready to make our contribution to the feast.
None of us speak Spanish, and our South African English is hard enough to follow as it is.
We sing/scream/yelp our rendition of a ballade by Koos Kombuis while clowning out the meaning of the song.
ek bring vir jou blomme ek gee jou genot;
ek leen jou my bicycle sonder 'n slot;
ek weet dit is laat en jou ma-hulle slaap;
ek moes net vir jou se:
ek het jou lief, ek het jou lief soos die Kaap.
Of course the words are kind of meaningless in that context but I guess it's the idea that counts. And who knows maybe it was the first time for these kids to see four grown woman ride imaginary bicycles.... (most definitely a first for me).
Carol Cumes, owner of Wilka Tikka and sponsor of the village school, wants a translation pronto and our ballad flows into English and tumbles into Spanish.
Who said we need to speak the same language in order to communicate effectively.
The crowd quickly disperses after our performance – nothing personal we’ve been guaranteed in Spanish!
I ramble through the classrooms stuffed with shabby desks and chairs, the doorways evidently take a hammering – as if large objects are hauled through the narrow opening every day. In fact the entire school building looks as if it's about to collapse but upon closer inspection you see that it's still going to be around for another decade at least, who knows, maybe even for the next generation.
While leaning against a doorway chatting away to three boys in my best fragmented Spanish I feel a tap on my leg. Turning and half-expecting to see someone from our group I see this little gazelle of a girl with pigtails wearing a red poncho and green woolen tights. She's got mischief written all over her and instinctively I playfully lunge in her direction as if to catch her. Next moment I'm chasing kids and having a roaring time. We are playing catch with a Peruvian flair – a tap on the calf has to be thrown in.
Some of the parents are looking a tad concerned. Understandably so since all they see are screaming kids being chased by this wide-eyed, bushy haired woman with lily-white calves. Or maybe they are cleverly formulating the perfect "boogie woman" story to keep the kids in check at a later stage. In my imagination it goes along the line of: "One day the thin air was just too pure for this gringa and she flipped out and started chasing kids to take away with her to big, bad city. So if you don't finish all the corn on that plate I’ll get the gringa to pay us a visit.”
I'm rewarded for my efforts by the kids with a hot potato and not a minute too soon as my legs buckle and I collapse inelegantly. Of course little gazelle girl still running and twirling - all at once it seems. Clearly she’s not feeling the effects of the high altitude the way I am.
Much later when we head back we are followed by our entourage and a few seconds of panic sets in as we get into the van and the kids follow suit. The school principal spares us a riot and saves the van’s suspension with a few strict words in Spanish. I don’t have a clue what he’s saying but his face and words are enough to make me tuck my shirt into my pants – I NEVER tuck my shirt in…
As we leave the village all of us have a hand stuck out at the nearest window and we are waving, smiling and gesturing wildly until we are unable to see the kids anymore. Not at all as if we’ve only met today – we are waving as if we are saying we’ll be back.
A few miles away the now highly energetic pose sits down next to the stream to ravenously tuck into a lunch of home-made pita bread generously spread with buttery avocado. Senses sharp and hearts happy we are all smiling, scrap that, we are grinning and loving life all at once.
