Through the Wardrobe

Every day at eleven o’clock, I follow my class of kindergartners out of Huancayo and into the world of their imaginations. Although we never visit the same place twice, the lands we visit are equally as complex and fascinating as Narnia. And we certainly never fail to have an adventure.

My first trip through the wardrobe was exhausting. Reeking of death, bodies of small children littered the chalky pavement, and every now and again a cry would ring through the still air. Despite the fact that the kids were clearly dead, I approached the nearest one and listened for a heartbeat, a breath of life, anything. Disappointed, I scooped up the child and lifted her into the ambulance that had suddenly appeared, sirens blaring. As we sped to the hospital, I thought I heard a giggle from the body--must’ve been my imagination. The second we arrived, I laid the child in front of a surprisingly young doctor. Expecting him to shake his head and tell me it was too late, I was shocked when he knelt beside the dead girl and started tickling her. I was even more stunned when the child’s eyes fluttered open and her hands reached to block her ticklish belly. Realizing that in this strange place, death was only temporary, I hopped in my ambulance and set out to raise the dead.

The next time I stepped into the land of imagination was a very different experience. I found myself in a world bursting with life, every shade of green clearly represented. As I studied my surroundings, I suddenly heard the whiz of an arrow shooting past my ears. Before I had time to duck, two tiny warriors charged through the tall grass, launching several grenades straight at my face. I tottered for a moment, and then collapsed, sputtering dramatically before I died. However, once again, I found that death was not permanent. When I woke, three small girls stood before me, armed with impressive swords and looking fierce. I lifted my own sword just in time to block a blow to my face, and the clang of metal on metal rang through the trees. We fought for hours, always regaining what was lost, be it limbs or life breath. Their band of warriors slowly grew, and eventually, thoroughly exhausted, I convinced them join me on a quest instead of repeatedly stabbing me to death.

So…we set off through the jungle. Creeping quietly to avoid the attention of lions and tigers, we hacked down any plants that stood in our way. We leapt across paths of stones to avoid fire spewing from the ground . The kids shot down enemies and rescued friends (even when we had to make a chain of people through the sinking sand). Everything was fine until I lagged behind with the two youngest warriors. Their little legs simply couldn’t keep up with the others. Suddenly, a huge dragon appeared before us, its emerald green scales sparkling in the sun with smoke rising from its nostrils. Sayuli clung to me as Duvan charged the mighty beast. He jabbed and swung his sword at the dragon‘s chest, ignoring the mighty flames that threatened to engulf him. His bravery came as no surprise after seeing him punch and spit at Matt, a volunteer whose knees are at the same level as Duvan‘s head. The dragon was slayed in no time, and we proceeded on our journey through the “selva“ without incident.

The last time I slipped out of reality with the class, I found myself in a nearby store. It sold everything you’d expect to find in a kid’s school lunch: yogurt, fruit, crackers, cookies, juice boxes, and even a container of rice. Nearby was the home of the family that owned the store: a young mother with several children. When I stepped into the itty bitty house, I saw several small beds filled with children: three sleeping girls and two boys who were giggling in a tone far above a whisper. With unexpected energy, the three girls leapt out of bed. Upon seeing the two boys, they screamed bloody murder and proceeded to drag them out of the house….by their hair. The boys, now laughing hysterically, resisted exit until the mother/storeowner burst into the house. With one bloodcurdling shout of “Afuera!” the troublemakers scattered. However, just after the mother left and the girls went back to “sleep“, the ornery boys snuck back in and repeated the whole scenario. Not finding my niche in this particular place, I remained a bystander, smiling and silently longing for a bit of popcorn.

There’s really no way of telling where I’ll find myself during recess with the kindergartners. Once Matt leaves, I’ll probably end up out west, the faithful steed of several crazy little cowboys. Or maybe my next stop really is Narnia. Who knows?