"This is my Peru."

     Well, I had every intention of writing this blog about the teaching project as that is what I am here to do. However, as this year is so graciously teaching me, things rarely go as planned. Alas, there is something else that has come up that I would like to share with you.

     I had a conversation with my host mom today over lunch that I honestly don´t know how to characterize. It was touching, intense, and heart breaking all in one. Now, my host mom only speaks Spaish and I often can´t keep up with everything when she gets going to I have had to paraphrase some of what follows.

     This conversation started talking about a young girl, Rebecca, who lives with us. Rebecca is 15 (and maybe 4´8") but looks about 11 (similar to Gowin in Ghana). Rebecca has been living with the family since she was 11 and is essentially part of the family. I learned more about her past today.

     She comes from a small pueblo (village/town) outside of Cusco. When she arrived here she only spoke Quechua - the native language of the Incans, but no Spanish. (Fast Fact - a few of my students first language was Quechua.) She has had to learn Spanish over the past four years. She still does not know how to write in Spanish (I asked her), but she goes to school and is learning more and more. All that I already knew.

    Today, I learned that when Rebecca came to live with the family, she had only the clothes on her back and no shoes on her feet. She was/is cognitively and physically stunted because her family is very poor so all they ate was corn meal.
 
     Now, I have to tell you that Rebecca is the most positive, upbeat little girl! She is constantly smiling! The trade was that the family would take Rebeca in - feed her, clothe her, pay for her schooling, etc.- in turn for her help with things around the house. This is something that Kayla and I have struggled with a little because we (very) frequently hear, "Rebeccita, una favorita por favor!" and off Rebecca goes to tidy the kitchen, buy bread, or on some other errand. However, the education and life skills Rebecca is getting in return in invaluable.

     Another thing I learned today that infuriates me, as well as Nimia, is that Rebecca´s father receives 100 soles per month  (the equivalent of $40) for her. Throughout the four years she has been here, her father has not put one penny away from her for when she turns 18 and is on her own. While bits and pieces of Rebecca´s story came out during the conversation, it ruly started when I started talking about Yolanda.

     Last night, Kayla and I came home from Pizza Tuesday (a tradition started with the group in Cape Town that we have carried on here) around ten. We walked back into the laundry room to pull our clothes off the line and we found this girl just standing there. A little taken aback I ask, "¿Quien eres (Who are you)?"

     No response.

     I begin to gather my bearings:
     "¿Como te llamas?"
     -mumbles
   
     Thankfully at this time Rebecca came downstairs because she heard us come in. She informed us (in Spanish) that this new girl will be living with us for a while.

     Okay - I think - let´s try this again more calmly and not as shocked:

      "Lo siento. Me llamo Tyler. ¿Como te llamas?"
      "royand"
     ¿Que?
     (very quietly) Yolanda"
     "Yolanda! ¿De donde eres (Where are you from)?"
      Crickets.
      "¿Cuanto tiempo esta aca?"
       Silence.

     Rebecca (who is generally doesn´t speak much) finally steps in. "She can´t really speak but she´s going to live here for a year."

     Kayla and I exchange glances unsure of what to think.
 
     Fast forward to this afternoon, when we return home for lunch. I did not see Yolanda so I asked Nimia where she was and Nimia told me that she was with her mother. I then asked Nimia is Yolanda was going to return and got a meager "Ojala (I hope)" in response.

    It turns out that Yolanda, like Rebecca, comes from a pueblo on the outskirts of Cusco. When Kayla and I first saw her I would have put her around 15 (she´s about 4´10" and was disshelved). LIttle did I know that she is 20 and has never lived on her own. I couldn´t ascertain why she can´t speak, but the reason she is here is for speech therapy lessons. Her parents had to decide between rebuilding the dilapidated house or getting her help.

     They chose the house so now she´s here. Again, similar to Rebecca, Yolanda will work for Nimia in exchange for food, shelter, clothes, and speech therapy lessons.

     Apparently today, Yolanda started crying (Understandably - I can´t imagine how difficult it is to be uprooted from your home and dropped into a bustling city and not even be able to really communicate) so her mother came and got her. Her mother and siblings are supportive of her living here in Cusco because they know that without this help she has no opportunities and they don´t know what will happen to her. Her father shares their fears, but is unsure about her being here because he fears she will be taken advantage of or worse because she can´t defend herself - not even with words or cries for help.

    Sorry for the long discourse but I hope you´re still with me because this is where the conversation really starts.

     Nimia begins to tell me how she truly admires girls like Rebecca and Yolanda who are willing to work because so many girls who come to Cusco for this kind of trade never actually want to do anything or revert to stealing. She told me the story of one girl she had hired who treid to steal all her jewelry. The girl was supposed to be watching then baby Derek. Instead, she snuck into Nimia´s bathroom and began taking her jewelry. Derek somehow pulled something down that struck him on his head and he began to cry. When Nimia went upstairs to see what hapened she found the girl in her bathroom taking her valuables.

     Apparently this sort of thing is not uncommon in Cusco when girls from outside pueblos come to work for families and end up stealing their valuables.

    From this girl, Nimia moved on to tell me about another girl who had worked for her for a few years. She adored this girl, but quickly realized that whenever Ayul (Nimia´s husband) or one of Nimia´s male cousins walked into the same room as the girl, her whole face and character would change. When Nimia inquired why , she learned that the girl had been molested.

    The girl became pregnant from the man who molested her and decided to abort her pregnancy. Due to all this trauma, the girl went to seek help and therapy and spent some time at a residence where whe could receive the help she needed. Nimia regularly called and visited to check in on her. After a while, no one took her calls. She went to the residence a month later and learned that the girl´s family had taken her home.

     Nimia worried for the girl´s safety as the girl had repeated confided in Nimia that if she went home she felt that she would be assualted again.

     Six months later, Nimia heard that the girl had been shot three times by the man who molested her. She survived but was not in good condition.

    At this point, NImia is getting more and more invested in the conversation and shows real concern for her fellow Peruvians.

     She tells me about life in the poor countryside and that girls as young as 13 or 14 are getting pregnant because the government will give them 100 soles per month per child. I was shocked to hear that by the time girls are twenty they will have 3 or 4 children just so they can get money from the government. Nimia strongly disagrees with this practice and expressed that she wishes the government would invest the funds in job training or education instead of just handing out the money. (I strongly concur as this is often how I feel about our welfare system.)

     From this, she began speaking about the insidious violence that has permeated Peru since 1998.

     "It got worse after Toledo was elected and before we knew it there was violence and strikes everywhere - in Lima, Arequipa, and even Cusco. I have seen it with my own eyes here in Cusco. One day, I heard gunshots and walked out to find someone shot in the street."

    At this point, Nimia started crying and my heart went out to my surrogate mom who was talking about the broken country she loves.

    "How many have to die before the government does anything? How many mothers have to lose their children and how many children have to be disfigured before the government does anything? We have no human rights here. Horrible things happen but there are no consequences. First there were just a few instances of terror but now there are more frequent threats and acts. Just a little while ago they found a bomb at the Cusco airport. The Cusco airport brings tourists into our country. Why would someone want to hurt those who are helping to support us?

    The people in Peru are so beautiful and we have so much potential to grow our own economy but now we are dependent on tourism and no one is working to build a better Peru.  I just keep asking myself when is our government going to do something.

This is my Peru."

     Just like at Bonnytoun, I had no idea how to respond. The Peru I´ve seen has been indescribably beautiful. Everyone has been extraordinarily welcoming and I´ve felt safe here (especially in comparison to Cape Town). I am aware that Peru has it´s hardships and that poverty is a rampant reality especially in rural areas, but I had no idea the depth of the issues or the pain it instills within Peruvians.

     While I knew all alon Nimia has the best and most genuine intentions, I had struggled with the "trade" Rebecca and Yolanda are making. However, by the end of our conversation, I realized that this is Nimia´s way of trying to do something to help change her Peru. Little does she know that she is changing me too. 

Vamos a poner el colchón por la ventana...dos veces.

We are going to put the mattress through the window....twice.

All I could think was...really? We are really going to do this? And we did.

Let me start by saying I absolutely adore my host family here in Cuzco! They have been so incredibly welcoming and are so patient with mine and Kayla's lack of Spanish speaking abilities. Our host mom, Nimia, is an absolute doll and does everything in her power to make us feel at home! I'm improving my Spanish by reading children's books to our host-siblings (Luciana [8] and Derek [6]) before bed). They sure do get a kick out of my frequent mispronunciations! Thus far, we have played pictureka and uno with them as well as the Peruvian version of just dance which involves putting in a dvd of Latin dancers dancing rather provocatively and tryng to copy their moves. Needless to say that made for an interesting night full of laughter!

Anyway, back to today. Our host family got two mattress that we had to get up to their room. The only problem is that we live on the fourth floor of an apartment building. But why let that stop us! So our host father tied a rope around the first mattress and Kayla, Luciana, Derek and I began to hoist it up. Our host father would run up each staircase to push it up while we pulled and then we would hold it until he got to the next floor and pushed it up again. Finally, we hauled el colchon up onto the balcony. The next step - getting it through the window. We pushed the mattress up onto the railing of the balcony. It was teetering on the edge and I was terrified that it was going to go crashing down to the bottom and that we would have to undertake this whole endeavor all over again (little did I know that we were going to do that anyway!). By some miracle, we got the mattress through the window without it falling off the edge. I was relieved. "Our work here is done," I thought to myself.

And then little Luci goes, "Un colchon mas!"

Who needs movers when you have two teenage girls, an eight year old and a six year old?!

Ubuntu

     As my time in Cape Town is coming to a close I can’t help but reflect back on all the incredible experiences I’ve had here. Some of these I’ve already written about and some are new, but when I think back to Cape Town these will be the experiences I remember. 

Big Ticket Items:

Bungee Jumping! 

Definitely one of the most thrilling, memorable experiences of my life! 

                                   Riding an Elephant!

Definitely something on my bucket list that I can now cross off!

Shark Cage Diving! 

Petting a baby cheetah!

Classic Cape Town Activities:

 Robben Island Tour

This was at the end of the tour when we all congregated in what was the dining hall and our guide, an ex-political prisoner at Robben Island, gave the most inspiring speech about how South Africa has overcome incredible adversity and now truly is a rainbow nation. The way in which they were able to not forget but still forgive and move forward is remarkable and a lesson that would do us all some good to take to heart. 

 Braai at Mzoli's!

To all my vegetarian friends - I'm sorry if this disturbs you but you're going to have to compromise your principles for a day and experience this extravaganza. You are supposed to bring your own plates but we didn't know that so we ate all the meat straight out of a bucket. And truth be told it was some of the most delicious meat I have ever had!

Hiking Table Mountain!

It took us four hours and climbing up a flowing waterfall but we made it to the top! Thank goodness the cable car was running on the way down so it was a much quicker ride down! It was mind boggling that what took us four hours to hike up took less than four minutes to go down in the cable car.

District Six Museum

If you ever come to Cape Town you must go to District Six Museum (even you non-museum lovers will be able to handle this museum.) District Six was a multi-racial community that the apartheid government bulldozed down upsetting the masses in the process. District Six was a representation of how South Africa could exist with all races living together in harmony. 

"Through you I am."

Unfortunately, I do not have any pictures of go-karting but I decided it definitely is worthy of mentioning. To all of you who say I am a terrible driver (okay - I admit I can be just a wee bit reckless sometimes), but I was the only girl in the finals. I was pretty proud of that. =P

I also don't have a picture of the men who would play music on the trains but I have to throw a bone their way too because they are just great! Whenever I got on the train and they were there it automatically made my day! They were always so upbeat and fun and it was always a party on the train when they were there!

The Experiences I will hold Closest to my Heart:

 Playing with Aiden.

I swear to you this little booger was intent on breaking my neck but we had so much fun! He is such a character and I will miss his smile so much!

                                            One of the Social Justice Projects at the Human Rights Office is doing a legal clinic in Lavender Hill. (You may remember me writing about Lavender Hill earlier as it was the focus of the article we brought to Bonnytoun.) We partner with an incredible organization called Philisa Abafazi Bethu, which means Heal Our Women in Xhosa. This organization shelters, provides counseling, and does a plethora of projects for women who suffer from domestic violence. We would go to Lavender Hill every other Tuesday to talk to women who need legal assistance but who have no means of getting to our office or paying for counsel. One of my favorite clients was one I picked up from Lavender Hill. She is without a doubt the sweetest person I have ever met. She is raising all four of her grandchildren as the mother of her two grandsons passed away and the mother of her two granddaughters is heavily involved in drugs. She also takes care of her disabled husband and blind son. To say this woman has it rough would be the understatement of the century. Despite all her hardships, every time I called her she was so grateful always profusely thanking me, saying God Bless You, and just being very cheery and an absolute delight. It is people with such gracious hearts like hers who make up the fabric of South Africa and that is part of the reason I have fallen so head over heals in love with this place.    

 Becoming a Professional Cement Mixer

But seriously, if you ever need a sand bag wall built - I'm your girl.

 Bonnytoun

I don't even know where to begin with Bonnytoun. The stories I heard here and the talks I had with the boys will forever stay with me. What was truly rewarding was having real discussions with a few of the boys who really want to change their ways and go to school and make something of themselves once they get out. 

   

 

Getting lots of mail from my mama! Thank you thank you!

Riding the Mini Bus

Riding the mini buses in South Africa is one of the most ridiculous experiences. Most of these mini buses are certified to hold sixteen people (although they really shouldn't hold more than 12 or 13), but on occasion they will squeeze eighteen people into these crowded vans. One thing I will not miss about South Africa is being stuck in the last row of the mini bus, squished next to three other people, and going over humped zebra crossings (speed bumps). On the other hand I will really miss the attendant at the mini bus station who always saves the front seats of the mini bus for Kayla and I.

Working at the Projects Abroad Human Rights Office

There are no words to describe my six weeks at this office. I've done research reports, written legal opinions, had initial consultations and meetings with clients, endlessly phoned the DHA (Department of Home Affairs), complete applications for certification and endless other legal tasks. But every time a client comes in it is a reminder that these files are more than the pieces of paper in them. These files are real people with real and unbelievable issues. I have been so blessed to work with these people as they have touched my life in a truly indescribable way. Some of the clients I have come across are so dejected and hopeless and other are remarkably resilient and optimistic. I will forever hold close to my heart many of these people who have played such a huge role in shaping me in such a short period of time.

This pretty much describes me and Kayla. She's my roommate. I don't even know what to say about her. She is the peanut butter to my jelly, the cheese to my macaroni, and the pop to my tart. She gets my quirks and I get hers. We both love yoga and read Buddhist Wisdom every day. Basically, I cannot imagine going through this without her. So kudos to Kayla for being able to put up with me literally 24/7. Love you, girl!

Gaining a New Family

These six people (plus Paolo - long story) have been with me the last two and a half months. I don't know how to put into words how close we have become so quickly. I depend on them to hold me up when I'm down and I do the same for same. We've gone through extreme highs and extreme lows together. We bungee jumped together, built together, celebrated Thanksgiving together, and grew together. I am so blessed to have these guys in my life and to have gained a whole new family. 

Ubuntu – “I Am because We Are.”

 What will stay with me most from Cape Town are the people I met here. From the boys at Bonnytoun to the women at Philisa Abafazi Bethu to the Projects Abroad Office Staff (who were so incredibly kind and helpful!) to our quirky lawyers at the Human Rights Office to the random people on the mini buses and trains who would either tell Kayla and I peculiar stories or asking us a string of unending questions to my loud and proud host family to the other volunteers who run the whole gamut of personalities to my new family of seven questioning and crazy gap-yearers - the people here are what have made Cape Town my home. Through my time in Cape Town I have come to see how true the Zulu phrase “Ubuntu” is. I am because we are.

Kayla put it best when she said “leaving feels like we are going on vacation and then coming back here (to Cape Town)”. This has become our home. And while I am so sad to be leaving my new home, I leave with the knowledge that I will be back here one day and with the knowledge that I get to see all of you when I get back to San Clemente! So thank you for following me on my adventure thus far and I promise to be back and writing in the new year (crazy that it’s almost 2012, right?!) and from Peru!

Merry Christmas!

Welcome to My Home

This is my house:

12 Lake Road

Grassy Park

Cape Town, South Africa

 
    It’s a cozy little home that houses twenty people. That’s right…there are twenty people living in my house right now including three little ones all under three. It is quite chaotic at times, but always very entertaining! I live in a bit of a sketchy neighborhood so my home has a gate in front (although most houses in South Africa have gates), a wall all around, barbed wire atop the wall, and bars on the windows.

I live in Grassy Park, but my house is literally four houses down from the border between Grassy Park and Parkwood. Both of these towns are in the Cape Flatts, which is home to the majority of the coloured population in Cape Town. Parkwood was first built to be a coloured township whereas Grassy Park is more of a middle class community. The “apartments” in Parkwood were built so that there were four apartment buildings in a square and then roads around this square so that if there was every an uprising the police would easily be able to surround the buildings and quell the violence. Parkwood is technically no longer a township, although many people I talk to still refer to it as one. As there is not enough space for everyone, many little shacks made up of tin sheets and pieces of limber sprang up in between the apartment buildings.

      Parkwood is to the left of my house. Grassy Park is to the right. One  of the first things my roommate told me when I arrived was that I was not allowed to go left. When I told Nazeema, my host mom, that I wanted to go take pictures in Parkwood her exact words were “You want to do what? Are you crazy? I would never walk in Parkwood.” But I drive through Parkwood everyday on the mini bus and there aspects of it that I want to remember. All of the pictures below are taken within a five minute walk of my house.

Without further ado: Welcome to My Home.

To the left:

     People used to dump old tires along the side of the road. One man, Zeb, decided he was going to do something positive with them. The result is this tire “garden.”

     As Christmas is just around the corner Christmas decorations are up all over town! A local tent church put up this Christmas tree to ring in the season.

       I love how the people of Parkwood have taken to "cleaning it up" by adding a tire garden, putting up a Christmas tree, and other little things which make it a brighter place. They make the most of what they have and I know this is a constant reminder to mind to seek out the bright spots in a seemingly dark place.

The most beautiful mountain range surrounds Cape Town. This is the view I wake up to every morning:

A glimpse of the shacks that have been built up against the “apartments”:

And then there are just these homes that miraculously stand up on their own:

To the Right:

     Grassy  Park is your average neighborhood. There’s the local butcher, the local bakery, the BP Garage (my source of milky bar smarties bars [basically the greatest invention ever – white chocolate chocolate bars with smarties {essentially M&Ms} in them]), a few small supermarkets and a handful of other shops. Most of the homes have high gates/walls around them but as you go farther to the right some of the shrink down to about waist height. The neighbors are all super sweet. When I was talking pictures one older man stopped me to warn me that I need to be cautious and aware. His friend then started talking to me about the days when he used to drive foreign exchange students around. Everyone is chatty and friendly and wants to know what we are doing here.

     This is my street. Lake Road. I can’t get enough of the mountains that surround us. Some days I’ll walk down the street and you always have a view of this magnificent range. This picture doesn’t do it justice but shows the normal parts of life. There are cars on the road, people walking down the streets, street lights, and telephone poles.

     A neighbor’s garden. There are a few houses down the street that have beautiful gardens and whenever I pass them I can’t help but smile.

The local elementary school:

And the playground at the school:

     It boggles my mind that these kids grow up with barbed wire constantly around them. Fences topped with barbed wire surround their school. Fences topped with barbed wire surround their homes. Fences topped with barbed wire surround the shops they go to. In a way it seems as if they are always caged in.

The local bakery that my roommate and fellow gap year-er, Kayla, and I visit on an almost daily basis! Everything there is delicious!

    Every morning the streets are plastered with signs from The Voice, the local newspaper. Occasionally the signs are in Afrikaans and they are always kind of ridiculous. They provide a constant source of entertainment as they rarely say anything of substance and often make absolutely outrageous claims.

The local church:

The local playground:

This isn’t the best picture of the playground, but all of the rides are painted bright red, blue, green, and yellow!

Even Grassy Park has a few shacks:

     Most notable about this picture is the dog hanging out in front of the house. There are animals that roam the streets everywhere from townships to your average neighborhood. We even have horses that come by pulling carts on occasion!

     My favorite picture from the entire trip is one that I took in Parkwood. It brings a smile to my face every day when I pass by this sight on the mini bus. To me, this picture sums up the attitude of Cape Town and my experience here in South Africa. The shacks and the barbed wire and the high walls and the constant reminders to be cautious and the funny looks from locals when two white girls get on the mini bus do not define South Africa for me. This photo is South Africa. 

This is my home. Where you always know that You Are Special and that God Loves You.

Shark Cage Diving

Nuff Said.

(Photo Credit: Alixe Varnel)

Back Up to Building

While not as extreme as bungee jumping or Bonnytoun, the building project deserves a shout out as well. To be honest, I’m not quite sure whether I spent more time building or playing with the two adorable boys, Alex and Aiden, who were always hanging out around our project! What’s even worse is that I’m not sure whether I was sorer from building or from Aiden literally jumping on me every two minutes! Those two boys sure kept us on our toes!

But to building – our two weeks there flew by! We were working in a township, Vrygrond, to help build a community center. Bernie, an incredible woman trying to transform her community, is the life force behind this community center. Thanks to her efforts, there in now a children’s library in Vrygrond and soon there will be a community center equip with a kitchen, IT training equipment, and a functioning toilet. Our efforts were centered around the toilet, lovingly called “the shithole”, by our project supervisor, Deen.

This community center is being built in a new method using sand bags as the main stronghold for the structure. Volunteers before us dug a huge hole in the sand, make over 3,000 sand bags, put them in the hole and cemented the edges in the first step of building the toilet. The physical toilet will drain to this underground structure and filter through. Our job was to cover this hole. Let me say that I can now mix cement like a pro. It is a very exact science, mixing cement. To get the best result, you want to mix one bucket full of sand with two half spades of cement and about a jug full of water (like I said, an exact science.) Anyway, we mixed cement, and then mixed more cement, and then waited for that to dry, and them mixed more cement. And the process continued until we had three slabs big enough to cover the “shit hole” with. Finally, the day came when we were going to move these slabs. The only problem…they were WAY to heavy. Solution: hire a few (roughly ten or eleven) guys from the community to move them for us. Moving these slabs was a struggle even for these men! Once the slabs were in place we mixed more cement (shocker, right?) and put a final layer over the slabs and then put our hand prints in it so it will eternally be known that “the global gap group finally closed the shit hole” – Deen’s words (not mine).

However, this thing continued to plague us. We spent the next two days shoveling sand over the concrete to make it look level with the rest of ground and appear as if there is nothing underneath. Other volunteers before us have laid down concrete slabs, but vandals had smashed them to get the steel beams out of them so this time we knew we had to cover them up. I know for a fact that on the days we shoveled sand I was sore from shoveling– not from Aiden (although I’m sure he didn’t help!)

We spent our last few days there learning how to build a wall using the sand bag method. First you have to fill the sandbags. Then you lay a few in a row, take a piece of wood and a mallet and hammer them down until they are flat (it’s a great way to release pent up aggression!). Mix some cement (yes-more cement), lay a little on top, put another layer of sand bags down and repeat the process until the wall is the height you want it. After you get it as tall as you want it to be, you get to (get to sounds much more pleasant than have to) mix more cement! Then you plaster the sand bags so as to make a smooth wall. This is where the fun begins. The cement does not want to stay in between the cracks in the sand bags, so it falls out. As a result, I thought it might be a good idea to use my hands to try and cram it in. Not my smartest decision. Turns out cement really dries out anything and everything it comes in contact with. While it put up a good fight, we finally beat the cement into the sand bags (literally) and shaped a solid, flat wall.

                One of the things I think will stick with me the most from building was one seemingly random incident. One afternoon, this group of five or six twenty-something year old guys walked by the building project carrying this great big stainless steel sink. They looked at us and nodded and we nodded back and that was that. After they passed, Uncle Deen (that’s what we call him) goes “you know they just stole that sink and are gonna go sell it somewhere else now.”

It was such a nonchalant statement. They stole the sink. They are going to go sell it now. That is just how it is.

 It was odd to me that this is such a normal and acceptable occurrence. But really, what is anyone supposed to do? There is no police force in the township, no security, no nothing. People steal things to make a living and that’s just how it is.  

                I was reminded of Ghana and how quickly it became normal to see women walking with goods on their heads, to drink out of plastic bags and to have people trying to sell you things in the middle of road while you’re driving by.  Just like those things are customary in Ghana, theft is a common occurrence in townships in South Africa. Theft is a way of life for many in townships just as selling water off the top of your head is a way of life in Ghana.

                I think I remember these little things the most because it’s crazy to me what is “normal” for others around the world.

                Anyway, our time at building was a blast and I am proud to say that I did do manual labor! I’ve added a few pictures of Vrygrond below so you can get a sense of what where we worked was like and I will add more pictures of us doing work when I get them! Cheers!

Alex (:

Aiden (not-so-secretly my favorite kid at the building project)

A few of the sand bags we had to fill and Whiskey - resident guardian of the building project.

The Building Gang
Top Row: Laurence, Mary, Alixe, Billy, Macrina, Me, Ester, Eddy
Bottom Row: Jack, Kayla, Bowl-of-tricks (or at least that's what we think this dog's name is!)