Things had gone smoothly so far on our 15-day Ecuador adventure trip (granted, it was only the fourth day, and so far none of the back stabbing and cattiness of the women had surfaced, which would later make the journey...shall we say, more interesting). The 2-night homestay in the remote parts of the jungle did not prove as disagreeable as had been feared, notwithstanding the lack of electricity, abundance of mosquitoes, and bathing in an outhouse. Whatever was lacking in entertainment was made up for in animated conversations helped along by countless bottles of the local cerveza.
The following morning, a visit was suggested to the nearby elementary school, and thus we stopped by in town and merrily shopped for pens, notebooks and other whatnot which were intended as gifts to the schoolchildren. Upon reaching the school, the children
promptly gave a rousing rendition of their school hymn (or the Ecuadorian national anthem, my faculties were clouded by the previous night's festivities). In turn, we presented the gifts, including the frisbees and footballs Krista and Linda brought over from Canada, much to their delight - the excitement was such that class almost degenerated into a frisbee throwing contest if their teacher Esther had not brought things under control.Veronica suggested we teach them some English words, like counting from one to ten. Piece of cake. The children eagerly listened to our instruction and shouted out the numbers the best they could. At this point, seeing how our group was composed of a virtual United Nations (or Iraqi war coalition
) of members, a light bulb went off in someone's head and it was suggested that we teach them the same numbers in our respective native tongues. Tabea (Swiss) started things off in German, breezing through the numbers while everyone else grappled with the tongue-twisting gnashing syllables - such a harsh language! Linda (Canadian) followed suit, demonstrating her prowess of that most flowery of languages - French. Sadly, our attempts at nasal intonations failed to impress. Then, it was Luc's (Belgian) turn - he made gurgly sounds that resembled mutterings by drunken Dutch sailors.After his presentation, as all eyes focused on myself (our two Aussie friends were left wilting on
the sidelines
), with great fanfare I announced that I would be teaching in not one, but two - yes, two - languages, Mandarin and Tagalog. I then proceeded to do just that - though my memory was fuzzy at times (payback for 10 years of faking my way through classes) - which pretty much trumped everyone else's efforts. Soon everyone was in awe of my linguistic talents, compliments were showered and my ego swelled twenty-fold with pride at my newly found celebrity. The glory proved to be short-lived though. Upon my return to work, as I patiently waited while H.C. Yang thumbed through the pics with feigned interest, she suddenly bolted upright and exclaimed, "Hey, moron! Look at your Chinese numbers! Number 4 is wrong, wrong, wrong!!!". Though I vehemently protested to the contrary, H.C. was equally certain of being in the right, and in the back of my mind doubts were beginning to form. After much dispute, W.R.C. weighed in and corroborated her findings - much to H.C.'s glee, as she continuously reminded me of this shameful debacle (by muttering "what a fraud..." whenever we bumped into each other at the cafeteria) for weeks to come. I take consolation that the schoolchildren of Cando are none the wiser - until the next Mandarin-speaking tourist comes to town.
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