Robert aged 63 Ghana

In June 2007 I had two weeks of spare time and, having reached the grand old age of 60+, decided for a change to do something a little different and perhaps exciting. With the help of Google I found myself looking at an interesting website offering mountain climbing, camel trekking etc. The name "Madventurer" struck me as evocative of a challenge so I clicked on their website. Many organisations offer openings for students on gap years but this company seemed unusual in having an offering for "Grumpies" such as me.î Gaps for Grumpiesî gave people of my age the chance to try our hands at teaching, building, nursing or journalism, all on a volunteer charitable basis.

In no time at all I found myself on a flight from London to Accra to be met by a charming girl called Hannah in a very rugged looking Land Rover. The Accra traffic was at that time (as often) at a standstill so Hannah had plenty of time to brief me on the way things worked (or did not) in Ghana. Some time later we arrived at "the Mad House" headquarters of the Madventurer operations in Ghana and home to Hannah, Rupert Pate (the boss) and an itinerant stream of students on the way to or from assignments together with the newly arrived Grumpy.

Soon Hannah and I were crammed into a native bus with wall to wall Ghanaians on the way to a vast noisy pub. From the very beginning of my short stay in Accra, everyone in the Madventurer/Gaps for Grumpies organisation and their friends were very warm to me and always made me welcome so bedtime did not happen for quite some time!

The next morning Rupert drove me to the the Prince of Peace Academy in Medina, a suburb in Legon-Accra and introduced me to Mr Morgan Tekpor, the head master. As I was the first volunteer teacher at this school I was an object of considerable interest! I was soon taken to Class 4, the domain of Eric Disu, a talented and dedicated Ghanaian teacher who explained to me where the class was in the syllabus. Class 4 was composed of 16 boys and girls aged between 10 and 12 and it was my good fortune that I was to remain with them throughout my stay and not be moved around.

In theory I was supposed to teach English and Maths, but it rapidly became apparent that, even though I had not done much prior teaching, as a Chartered Accountant I was quite good at explaining maths. I have to say that the pupils were keen, interested in learning and a joy to teach. They were often unruly but always fun. Soon Eric left me alone to teach as I wished. I discovered that the students knew most of their Times Tables but only by rote. I therefore introduced to them the concept of "Very Fast Tables" which meant that they had to learn to answer any random question quickly. Teams were introduced and prizes awarded !!

The whole experience of teaching Class 4 at the Prince of Peace Academy was enormously interesting, hugely rewarding and very humbling. I would not have missed it for the world. On the day I left, the whole school stopped work and put on a show of singing and dancing especially for me. Very touchingly I was presented with Ghanaian gifts and asked to come back any time I wished.

Robert, aged 63, who went on an Urban Project in Accra, Ghana with Gaps for Grumpies

Paddy, aged 60, Peru

OK , so I'm 60, semi-retired and ready for the easy life - so what was my problem? I'll tell you what - I still hadn't done my Gap Year, or even a bit of it. I have waved my three children and husband off to far-flung places, green with envy, welcomed them home, listened to their stories, looked at their photos - and now there was a sense of time running out with the predictability and inevitability of the second hand counter on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire. If there is any justice in this world (and I'm not saying there is), it was indisputably my turn.

It was all supposed to happen by the time I was sixty - that infamous watershed between sort-of-still-young and undeniably OLD - but rather inconsiderately and extremely inconveniently, Alice, my beautiful granddaughter, made her appearance just six weeks after my youngest graduated (free at last!) and the whole vision was postponed for another year. How easily it threatened to slip through my fingers...

But learning Spanish, living and working in Peru (not just being a tourist but being part of a community), walking the Inca Trail (and surviving Dead Woman's Pass!) were top of my list of ThingsToDoBeforeIDie - you get my problem.

Somewhere in the murky recesses of my memory the name Gaps For Grumpies lurked - and surfaced one day in April. Not that I am a grumpie, (I'm still in denial) but the name stuck. A few minutes on the net and a phone call, miraculously answered by a real human being, had me hooked. Mike , who runs G4G, listened, understood where I was coming from, gave information, details patiently and enthusiastically without the hardsell. Peru? Yes! Voluntary work? Yes! Walking the Inca Trail? Yes! All there for the taking, post-project tour and work all organised by the same people (MADVenturer, a charitable organisation which creates its own projects, hence avoiding the middle man factor and guaranteeing hands-on involvement) and nicely dovetailed together AND the added bonus of keeping to my self-imposed deadline of doing it all while I was still 60.

Now, fresh off the plane from Latin America and a young thing of 61, now going on 21, I do feel pretty darned pleased with myself - and no sign of telltale grumpiness, honest!

After learning Spanish for three weeks in Ecuador, I flew into Cusco one breathtakingly beautiful afternoon in July. I shall never ever forget coming into land, seeing for the first time the dusky brown mountains, the city cradled in amongst them; such a sight that it brought tears to my eyes (and I'm not the weepy sort, believe me). Eduardo, a charming Peruvian, met me at the airport and whisked me off to the MAD HQ, where Hannah the manager in Peru, Nikki my crew for the project and some other volunteers made me feel instantly at home; mind you, the chocolate brownies we munched less than an hour later at The Muse cafÈ might have helped too...

A few days later, the rest of the volunteers for my project arrived - we were an eclectic mix: two post-A level students, an Irish carpenter, a young woman in hotel management and a 17 year-old from the Carribean. After a day or two's orientation in Cusco with Nikki (great meals!) and acclimatisation to the altitude we finally arrived in Umanes, our home for the next five weeks.

At 3800 m Umanes is a remote picturebook Andean village at the head of the Sacred Valley. Its adobe haciendas, lake, donkeys, pigs, sheep, cows with their attendant offspring, surrounded by spectacular mountains and snow-covered peaks offer a picture to be taken at every turn. However, there is no telephone , no internet, little electricity and, most significantly, no water supply. Make no mistake, life there is tough.

Our team were there as part of a larger two-year project to supply water to five villages from a central reservoir. The villagers and volunteers work together to make it happen and our money goes in part to helping to fund this too. Mornings were mostly spent digging trenches for the water pipes - supervised by Alejandro, the builder. First, the "axe-masters" broke the soil up then others moved in with spades to clear it away. Dig - get your breath back - dig - get your breath back - hard work (you never quite adjust to the lower oxygen levels) but somehow the group energy kept us going - oh, and the freshly squeezed OJ and popcorn at breaktime. My need for a caffeine fix was quickly replaced by that for coca tea, the Peruvian answer to everything. If in doubt, chew some coca leaves!

So village life is simple - no need to make a fashion statement except of the functional sort: old trousers, old tee-shirt, sunhat, sunblock, bottle of water and the ubiquitous anti-bacterial handgel, ritually passed round before eating. Impossible to rival the village women in their flared kneehigh woollen skirts (allegedly with nothing underneath!), cardigans, tall bowlerhats, and poncho (with child) slung over the back, spinning wool as they walked along. They had it down to a T - and a "buenos dias" for you into the bargain.

All pretty idyllic really - except that there are harsh realities from which we volunteers were protected. Lack of running water and electricity, poor nutrition and poverty meant that the standard of living for most villagers left much to be desired. The schoolchildren all had runny, sore noses (= obligatory nose wipe before our lesson!) more or less permanently and probably had parasites or intestinal infections too. But no one bemoaned their lot but celebrated the beginning and end of our project with gusto and celebration dish of guinea pig, washed down with chica, the local brew, and lots of morris-style dancing. We were fortunate enough to witness the memorable day when what seemed like the full complement of villagers above school age, male and female, turned out to lay the pipes on one main stretch and fill in the trenches. It took my sense of satisfaction to a new level.

Afternoons were spent preparing lessons and teaching the "advanced" (!) class. Teaching resources are virtually nil and the community centre had precisely two tables. When we expected 15, 30 pitched up. Yossmillouska, age seven, even had her three year old brother Dante in tow. Afterwards they all trotted off to their homes, often some distance away - a distinct absence of mums at the school gate. After all what could happen to them?

Cuzco with its restaurants, markets and nightlife was our base at weekends but Umanes quickly became my home. Arriving back there on a Sunday evening, seeing the clear night sky with its rash of stars never seen by we Europeans, sitting around the log fire wrapped in fleeces and ponchos, eating Irene the cook's aji de gallina chicken dish, the mountains, the lake, the friendship, the people, the team ludo games- yes, even the cold nights which began at 5 pm when we donned pygamas under our clothes to avoid the going-to-bed-chill factor - I miss it all.

"Have you found yourself yet, Mum?" my children sarcastically emailed me, amused and, I suspect, a teeny-weeny bit proud of their globetrotting, gap year grumpie mum. Someone else asked "Are you getting what you want out of it?" These leading questions imply some expectation of personal change - and indeed, maybe there was. Why did I do it? Simply because I chose to and could. The degree or two more maturity I may have acquired with age has given me the starkly simple realisation that I do not have to justify anything or place unnecessary demands on myself. No need to question further: I can therefore I do - if I feel like it!

"But you're so brave" is another comment I have heard at least twenty times, to which my repost is: WHY? What's brave about going to a country, doing a bit of work which will make a difference, with an organisation which is totally committed to supporting you and to making your experience as meaningful to you as to the people you are helping? You can be as looked after or as independent as you want with G4G. Brave? Surely not - simply stepping out of one's comfort zone (but not too much), challenging yourself, making a difference, oh and a bit of MAD(geddit?)-ness helps too.

Paddy, aged 60 who went to Peru with Gaps for Grumpies

Deborah aged 52 Ghana

Hlefi lies at the foot of the Kpeve Mountains in the Volta Region of Ghana West Africa, not too far from the border with Togo. Only 5% of all visitors to Ghana travel beyond the Volta River, but this was where I and eleven other volunteers found ourselves in July this year. After a long bumpy ride from Accra, the capital, we at last arrived at the lush ethereal surroundings of the village and were immediately besieged by a very large crowd of children and adults who greeted us with shredded paper confetti and shouts of "WEZO" meaning "Welcome" then a procession started into the village with drumming, singing and dancing to celebrate our arrival. The procession ended at a small clearing at the centre of the village where chairs had been arranged under a bamboo roof for our welcome ceremony. The chief of the clan made a speech along with other elders and the palm wine was spilt to give thanks to their ancestors for sending us to help them. The Chief's wife placed a bead and string bracelet on each volunteer's wrist and cleansed our arms with talcum powder, this made us honorary citizens of Hlefi. The feelings that this evoked were something I had never experienced before, I was completely overwhelmed and felt utterly humbled. Here I was at last in Africa and about to fulfil my dream of doing something positive to help these people and it all felt very surreal. Not many of the children had ever experienced meeting Europeans and all they wanted to do was touch and hug us with shouts of "Yevo" meaning simply "White"! The joy on their faces was a sight to behold and I suddenly felt that I was really needed here.

I stayed in a mud hut with open to the air windows and a corrugated tin roof, the only thing in it was a well used straw mattress on a timber frame. Outside was a mud courtyard where Faustine- who lived next door with her small baby Estha, had a kitchen under a wooden canopy with an open fire on which was a cooking pot fired up with long thin logs from the local forest. Nearby were two areas where we were to wash and take our cold showers using just a tin bucket and water brought from the well in the middle of the village every day, there were just three walls to protect our modesty and the toilet was a hole in the ground. The whole area was surrounded by goats and chickens wandering freely, their only aim in life to catch bugs and graze in the odd patch of grass here and there for food.

That first evening the 12 of us gathered together to be briefed by Antonia, our group leader. As there was no sanitation in Hlefi, our goal was to build a block of twelve government regulated toilets near to the forest area at the back of the village. She assured us that we would complete the building in the 5 weeks we were to be there with the help of the local craftsmen but that the men didn't consider it to be "women's work" and we would have to persuade them that we were strong enough to tackle the job.

My first night in Hlefi was a very restless one ; strange unfamiliar sounds filled the night - the crickets chirruped loudly and he goats bleated continually which sounded like newborn babies crying - I could hear Estha through the thin wall between us - she was in turn whimpering and crying and I heard Faustine's soothing voice as she tried to rock her to sleep. The bucket shower was really refreshing as the heat had not dissipated during the night.

Work was to start on the building site at 8am so I had plenty of time to prepare: getting togged up in suitable building gear including my new work boots, and then remembering to apply copious amounts of insect repellent and sunscreen - by the time I had finished I was ready for another shower! Our breakfast consisted of tomato omelettes and dry bread and something I really needed - a cup of coffee - I had decided coffee would definitely not be on the menu and was so thankful that it was! All the team were eager to start work, and at 8am on the dot, Jonathan the site foreman came to collect us - as we approached the site where the toilets were to be situated, there was a large crowd of men women and children to greet us, all laughing cheering and clapping, and for three hours we worked side by side carrying sand and water in the traditional African way on top of our heads in large metal bowls, we laughed and joked together not really understanding Ewe ,which is the local language in the Volta Region, but picking up little bits here and there. Everyone was very encouraging and once we had the knack of how to balance the bowls it became remarkably easy. Sweat poured from my whole body trickling down my forehead and into my eyes, but I managed to carry about twenty five loads - It was the hardest but most amazing work I had ever done.

Our meals now were taken outside under a bamboo and palm leaf shelter in the middle of the main courtyard which we had all helped to build - we were able to watch the women prepare and cook the food - there was a lot of heavy pounding with a very large pestle and mortar as they made the local specialities of fufu from cassava, plantain or yam, and banku or kenkey from ground maize. These dishes were rather unpalatable for our modern European tastes, but were almost always spiced up with the hot red peppery sauce, and we had by now become accustomed to the taste.

I had begun to realise very soon how badly the sanitation facilities were needed in Hlefi, as many of the children had nasty sores on their legs from urinating where they stood, causing leg ulcers and boils which in turn were infected by the flies swarming round them. A lot of them were badly undernourished and unwell as they only ate one small meal a day and drank contaminated water from rusty tin cans, but despite this, they were happy, well behaved children, eager to learn anything we could teach them.

The day I left was a very emotional one as our little community had truly come to mean so much to each other. The toilet block was now nearing completion and so I was satisfied that I wasn't leaving work unfinished that I had set out to do, but I was still torn - I didn't want to leave the people or this wonderful little place and its way of life. Many of the villagers came to wait for the bus with me and Benedicta held on to me tightly until she suddenly made off in the direction of the fields shouting "stay Mama I will be back" Half an hour later and just before we spotted the bus in the distance, she arrived back out of breath and proudly presented to me a freshly cut pineapple - the most precious gift from this community as they take four years to grow. It was then that I knew I would return to Hlefi one day with more help.

Deborah Tuxford, aged 52 who went to Ghana with Gaps for Grumpies