First published in 'The Oldie', March 2008

Carrasco, a suburb twelve miles east of Montevideo, is sandwiched between the Rio de la Plata to the south and Avenida d’Italia to the north. Leafy avenues lead down to the river, where the broad sidewalk of La Rambla welcomes joggers and walkers. Couples in elegant tracksuits drive their BMWs to the Carrasco Lawn Tennis Club, and in the Pilates class at the Cottage Hotel, ladies discuss the latest Botox clinics.

But there are signs that this opulence is not all that there is to life in Montevideo.

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Guards sit in tiny booths outside huge mansions, doing twelve-hour shifts, young men struggle, walking twelve dogs at a time, and the ‘urgadores’ - the rag and bone men - often accompanied by their children, clop along with their horses and carts, stopping to fish in the elegant green plastic bins at the street corners. If you look closely at the ladies walking along the main street, the straps of their soft designer leather bags are often slung around their necks: there are rumours of bag-snatching, and of break-ins.

Just north of Avenida d’Italia is the suburb of Carrasco Norte. Here, dirt roads lead to tumbledown shacks, water from this year’s record rain stagnates with rubbish in ditches, and children steal whatever they can find, in order to be able to get hold of pasta base, the local equivalent to crack cocaine.

In an area of Carrasco Norte called La Cruz, only a few blocks from the Carrasco Lawn tennis, but firmly separated by Avenida d’Italia, is a group of rundown buildings around a courtyard. This is La Pascua, a project which welcomes children of all ages for after-school support, and offers secondary education to those who may have missed out on the mainstream system.

In a multipurpose room, a teacher is telling a group of children about Artigas, Uruguay’s 18th century hero. In the canteen, a group of mothers are learning to knit. A tango class is being held in a classroom. Outside in the courtyard, some children are playing football. Four others are playing pingpong at a table shaped like a V, which has a piece of cardboard slotted into the crack in the middle, as a net.

As I walk in, they call ‘Hola, Profe!’ and run up to me. Kisses all round.

‘It’s Paola, not Profe, remember?’

‘Okay, Teacher.’

I find an empty classroom, and a few teenagers follow me in.

‘Profe, I have an English exam tomorrow, and I need to know the Present Continuous and Past Continuous and Present Perfect and Present Perfect Continuous, and Comparative and Superlative, and Phrasal Verbs…’

This is Natalia, overweight, brown teeth, orange hair, who doesn’t know how to say ‘My name’s Natalia’ in English.

‘Okay, hang on a sec, let’s see if we can start with something feasible…’

Karen pushes a stroller into the classroom. She’s sixteen, and beautiful, until she opens her mouth and reveals crooked teeth. She always has a sad smile. She opens her book on the table, pulls down her jumper and bra, and hoists three-month-old Michaela to her breast. Junior, a punk-haired adolescent with so many piercings you can hardly see his face, picks Michaela’s dummy off the floor and tosses it into the pushchair.

‘Profe,’ Karen says, ‘I have an oral exam tomorrow and I haven’t done any work. My boyfriend’s mother died last week. AIDS. She got it on the street, when she was expecting her second-last.’

‘You’re okay, Karen? You’ve been tested?’ I ask, feeling rather naïve.

‘Yes, I’m okay, and my boyfriend too. We had the test. But Profe, I have to make up a phone conversation for my exam tomorrow. About buying something. Business English. I have to pass. I owe it to Michaela.’

The Spanish is clipped, and filled with slang words, but I’m getting used to it.

‘Right, everyone, let’s help Karen. Karen, imagine what you might need to buy. In bulk.’

‘Pañales. Nappies.’

‘Right. How about we start like this:

- Happy Nappies, Natalia speaking, can I help you?’

We work for an hour, with everyone joining in. Natalia makes no progress with her complicated tenses, but she makes an excellent Happy Nappies receptionist.

For that hour at least, no-one is smoking, drinking, or taking pasta base.

And miraculously, Karen passes her exam.

It’s the little things that give you joy. I feel privileged. Not many expats get to see the real Uruguay. I am the winner here.