"Sometimes I feel more like an animal than a person"
She lives with a blind puma and runs a reserve that protects them

Finally, she ended up running the place. Meanwhile, her father left, looking for another occupation that was profitable. So far, this venture had been oriented to tourism, and Kai gave it a spin with an educational twist. “I worked from sun up to sun down, but being with the animals made me happy,” she remembers. There were several species, but no felines. Yet. In October 2000, a young female puma arrived, Cacuma. Her mother had died and, with low calcium levels for lack of maternal milk, she had delicate health. “I sometimes feel more an animal than a person, I move by intuition. Helping her pull through was just that: She was diagnosed for euthanasia six times, and I was convinced that I sensed her willingness to live.” In fact, ‘la Cacu’ turned 21 years, and only last December 26 did she die of old age. Her enclosure, a huge one, remains empty; it is like a temple in mourning that honors her founding existence. Her arrival started the sanctuary that today is Pumakawa.

Kai Pacha’s name In 2009, a forest fire, caused by the reckless burning of branches in the midst of a red-alert season, threatened to destroy everything. “Those immense flames crackled like a monster coming forward,” says Kai, shaking. “The second wildfire front moved towards the puma premises. I ran and opened their doors so that they didn’t get burned in their enclosures. I set them free. I couldn’t see anything for the smoke, my eyes were sore. I ran and asked them to forgive us for human stupidity. When I got to where the people lending a hand were standing, I noticed they were scared to see me. Confused, I looked back – and I saw them.” Nine pumas, tame, standing still, were surrounding her. They were following her, as if asking – what do we do now? “At that moment, they turned my life around,” concludes Kai, who was born again, and with a new name. Her friends called her Kai Pacha, which means “puma that protects the here and now.” “Every time they call me, they remind me why I am here,” she claims. “I’ve made a legal presentation, and the judge accepted the name ´in view of the person’s mission.´ This has set a precedent in Córdoba: the possibility of naming someone based on what they want to be,” she explains, with the same activist tone with which she leads her ideas forward. Kai believes there is a second round. Always. She believes in reparation, and in that it is possible to make the world a better place. That’s what she dedicates herself to do, while she heals, feeds, and takes care of her pumas. “The best thing that could happen with Pumakawa is that it should disappear…”, she says, with certainty, and she surprises us with such statement. It is impossible to imagine her without her reserve.

“For me, pumas, far from being a harmful species, are essential for the environment,” she says, and goes on to explain, “They are fuses that blow up before something worse happens.” Kai points at an imaginary map in the air to show that those places in which any conflict with pumas is reported are alarms that go off to warn that there the environment is under attack, that there are no more wild prey. That’s why the pumas approach the farmed fields and human settlements to eat. Seeing the puma as the problem is to look the other way, she thinks. “Working for the puma is opening a door to a much larger journey,” she says, and points out that “it is working for the brushland, and also for its prey; vizcachas (large chinchillas) or guanacos, they have to be there, because they are the puma’s food.” Social perception is another obstacle Kai mentions: “The puma problem is something awkward; we are a productiv ignoring the brushland. We should work for production, and also for wildlife.” Kai’s wish is for pumas not to need to approach the cultivated plots, for people not to kill them, for all to live together peacefully, each taking their own place. In harmony. Imprinted animals Nowadays, there are thirteen pumas living in Pumakawa; twelve of them remain in enclosures, one doesn’t. These animals come from illegal pet keeping, or from accidents, or have been brought by the authorities that caught them and had to decide on their destination. As they have already been in contact with human beings, they will always associate them with food and, instead of hiding or moving away from people –which would be their natural reaction– they would do the opposite, and turn out to be quite dangerous. This forced close contact forever deprives them of their freedom.

In the reserve, they strive to provide pumas with fair conditions: “they should have good food, good emotions; they should continue with some aspects from their life in the wild,” lists Kai, “and we try to make this captivity that they didn’t choose as nice to endure as possible. Also, they switch their role: They no longer are fuses for the environment or predators, but voices that tell us, ´I am here due to the impact of human action on the environment. Human beings have impacted on me´. Nobody can say it’s someone else’s fault, we are all responsible,” she claims, and she owns her part. Pumakawa means “the one that takes care with the stealth of a puma.” The work force Akeem Suso looks like a doll: He has quite curly, long hair, sky-blue eyes, and an ever-present smile. He pushes a heavy wheelbarrow here, there, and everywhere. He is 20, and it is his first work experience. He ended up here after not fitting in a few careers; after going from Benito Juárez, his hometown, to La Plata, and from there straight to Villa Rumipal. He has come along a very unexpected path, and believes he’s found his calling here. Serendipity is this thing, this finding something that you were not looking for. And it is a key word in Pumakawa, as a non-secret password to enter a dimension that bursts with life and remains unseen. Vicky Maca has her hands dirty. It’s not a problem for her, although she is not indifferent either. A while ago, she finished slaughtering two horses. She had never done that, but she learned. The animals were donated by a neighbor: They suffered lethal poisoning, surely because they ate some toxic espinillo and now, thanks to their death, there is fresh food for ten days. The pumas eat 700 kilos of meat a month.

Meche Felcaro is bringing several perfume bottles. It’s not that she’s dressing up to go out –that will only be on Saturday night, when she goes to town with her mates– but it is smell-stimulation day: She sprays a stone through the wire fence, and Maico comes up fast to feel this scent, it scratches its muzzle, it moves, it lights up. It is one of the techniques they use to awaken their senses. Seven young men and women, between 20 and 36 years old, come as volunteers first, and then some remain as staff members. “I work with a group with which we have indeed developed a human pack”, proudly says Kai. “They come for four months after a very demanding selection. They do the routine work, and they learn.” They also keep her company, and build the enthusiasm for the project. They might be taken for a sect if you described the conviction they proclaim, the absolute attunement with which they work, the gratitude they feel for the opportunity of generating a positive impact, the admiration with which they perceive their leader. They also face difficulties. Living together is not easy, work is hard, resources are not always plentiful, and frustration is lurking all the time. However, they say that the costs are amply compensated by the colossal size of the gains. Together in the cave Twelve pumas live in enclosures, and one lives in Kai’s home, next to her. Estanislao is a puma that went blind due to a hit it took as a cub, when it was run over by a harvester. What was a puma doing in a corn plantation? Looking for prey, alternative food to that which the brushland no longer offers. “This is a reality. On the one hand, it pushes us to work out the environmental situation. And then, to work with the community in education, to agree on safeguards: Something as simple as the harvesters considering the need to warn of their presence with noise, light, or motion, so that wildlife can move back to the sides,” says Kai. That is to say, codes to coexist in the climate crisis.

Sight is essential for a puma; Estanislao’s central nervous system has forever been damaged, fully and irreversibly, and he needs help, he cannot fend for himself. Kai’s home is made of mud; its walls contain the heat from a salamander stove that blends in the air with the scent of a burning palo santo. It is located within the two hectares nowadays taken by the reserve premises, but slightly away from the rest; at a distance from the first-aid room, from the tiny home where volunteers sleep, from the cafeteria, the handicraft store, the tree nursery, the hall where the animal enclosures are.

“It is like a cave” – such is Kai’s description of the home she shares with Estanislao. And she details, “at certain times, he stays in a sector of his own, delimited, and at other times he roams around the whole house. In the evening, he plays in the park and interacts with Kunan, a puma youngling that is inside an enclosure. Across the grid, they can communicate.” Kunan has turned eight months, and had to be moved to an enclosure. At that age, pumas develop their need to hunt, and can’t understand the difference between playing and hunting. That’s why those who adopt a puma, in order to reduce danger, tend to make atrocious actions such as pulling its fangs, or keeping it in chains.

With Estanislao, it is different. “Illegal pet keeping is like owning the animal, and I let him own me,” justifies Kai. “All the time, Estanislao is telling me, ‘move,’ ‘get up early,’ ‘work, because we pumas here are becoming blind, losing our food, our possibility to be free.’ He is blind and cannot see, so that I can.”

It is not a zoo The Pumakawa reserve welcomes visitors. It might seem like a walk around a zoo. Kai shelters pumas mostly, but also all sorts of animals that need her. Thus, in the cages it is possible to see Ojitos the owl, Berni the monkey, wildcats, and vultures. Walking around here, you’ll bump into Adela the she-donkey, a one-eyed duck, Luna the mare. There are rainbow roosters that look like peacocks. And there also are peacocks. In the small room, there are possum joeys that will be fed until they are strong enough to be released in the brushland. There are cats and dogs. But it is not a zoo, nor are animals here to be contemplated as recreation . In each cage, rather than scientific explanations, there is a text with a name and a story. “Listen to the purring,” invites Kai a group of restless children in front of Chirola’s enclosure. “Now, place a hand on your chest, and listen again, better. Close your eyes for a little while.” And so she leads them until they get there. “All we know about wildlife is not something technical, but an emotion we convey to people so that they can feel they can do something. There we’re talking about a revolution.” Yes, Kai is revolutionary, and she voices her manifest: “We trust the strength of ‘the nobodies.´ The nobodies are all of us , those who come to visit, the ordinary people. We try to have that person change some habit at their home. We believe that the small gestures of the nobodies are as powerful as a revolution.”

Visitors pay a fee to enter Pumakawa. That is the basic contribution to deal with upkeep, routine costs, and feeding. They also receive help from individual donors, and subsidies from organizations to make improvements. For instance, last year Fondation Brigitte Bardot gave 10,000 dollars to the project : A geodesic enclosure was built, the puma premises were made higher and wider, and the first-aid room was equipped. And there’s more. After being evaluated for one year, in 2021, Kai was chosen as an Ashoka Social Entrepreneur . Since then, she has been one of the 89 fellows who, in the Southern Cone, receive the support from this international organization that promotes the work of innovative people with a vision for systemic change. It is an association that develops networks to work for the common good.

Also Humane Society International and Fundación Cullunche have made an alliance with Pumakawa. They’ve done it for one specific reason: The struggle against puma hunting and the trafficking of blood trophies. “We work so that breeding ventures are not allowed, and hunting preserves are reconverted. We’ve succeeded in having Aerolíneas Argentinas restrict the transportation of hunting ‘trophies,’ because we’re the fifth country worldwide in importing wildlife – and number 23 as regards exports. These are alarming figures, which we Argentines ourselves are not familiar with,” she regrets. “We’re very worried about everything that happens, especially in La Pampa, and also in other places in Argentina. There are hunting preserves in which they practice what we call ‘canned hunting’.” She refers to the practice of marketing a sure shot for a hunter that implies having an animal ready to die, which could have been taken away from its habitat, trafficked, or else raised to that end. In May this year, after a lot of effort, the good news arrived: A resolution had been signed at the National Ministry of the Environment and Sustainable Development prohibiting the import, export, and inter-jurisdiction transit of hunting trophies of native wildlife, which no longer authorizes the native wildlife breeding farms for hunting purposes. Kai read the message, became speechless, and immediately burst into celebration. She then cried, quite moved, as every time she retells it, and reassures that everything is worthwhile, that she will aim for more.

Therefore – why did Kai say that she wishes Pumakawa should disappear? “Because it will disappear when we stop subduing wildlife. When we are connected. When agricultural and cattle-raising production coexists side by side with wildlife. When governments clarify their legislation and enforce it. When there are wildlife freeways, and there no longer are so many dead or wounded animals. When slingshots are forbidden as weapons, and no longer are a toy. When traps are hanging flowerpots. When toxic baits and traps stop being an approved method. When manhood is no longer proven by selfies carrying a dead puma on your shoulders, and turns into a capacity to care for Earth, just as female nature is nowadays seen. When there no longer are breeding farms of pumas to kill, and puma canned hunting is no longer practiced. When we will have evolved,” says Kai. Then the idea makes full sense .

We thank Ashoka for their collaboration in making this article.