Camp Footprints

As the sun began to rise in sleepy Hibberdene last Saturday, Kris and I were on the bus heading for the Durban Airport (probably the most bad ass name for an airport: King Shaka International) having just left the Mercury Children's Home. Kris and I have been lucky enough to have been volunteers at a camp for kids living with cancer called Camp Footprints.

To call it a camp might give the misleading impression of tents & hiking through the woods. The Mercury Children's Home is a former World War II naval base that had served several functions before converting the barracks to dorms and the field into swings and a water slide. The front stairs lead you right to the Indian Ocean. On either side you have a pool, a bonfire, and fields/courts for volleyball, basketball, and, of course, soccer.

When the kids arrived they threw their bags in their dorms and filed into the dining area (it's more similar to a grade school cafeteria). The camp staff and volunteers are expected to sit at the head of each table and I made the rookie mistake of sitting at the little boys' table. The male camp staff are all energetic, silly, funny and engaging whereas I am not great at keeping children entertained without the aid of a ball or a sprawling toy train set. After a few minutes the enormity of my charge became clear when I realized that my boys primarily spoke Zulu and had a very limited grasp of English, some spoke none at all. Thankfully some things can be communicated non-verbally. The pee pee dance has a tad more international recognizability than the Macarena.

Luckily my table had a few who were very sweet and perhaps saw an opportunity to exchange their translation services for piggy back rides. Two hundred years ago the Rademachers probably had no inkling that their robust thighs used to plow their Bavarian fields would one day be used to taxi Zulu children, up to three at a time, to the dining hall. There were a few Zulu words I frequently heard on the playground: ngyabonga, puma la, and tabiso. The first two are "thank you," "get off it," but I couldn't find a translation for the third. I heard it often and with different deliveries. Sometimes it was a long drawn out "taaaabiiiiso" akin to Tarzan's yell as he swings from vine to vine. Sometimes it was a short sharp exclamation. After the second day I learned that "tabiso" was actually the name of one of the toothless terrors at my table. If he wasn't enforcing mafia style rule over the trampolines he was instituting collectivism over the soccer balls. Tabiso's endeavors were not always so high minded, sometimes he just wanted to goon it up. I saw him try to rip another kid's shirt off his back and deliver a punch to the groin that would make a Samoan rugby player proud.

I was going to write a paragraph about the teenage campers who mostly sulked, sat on the periphery of group activities, and lazed about the top of the obstacle course after being instructed eleventy billion times to get off it. Instead I want to apologize to my parents for having to put up with teenage Peter.

It would be a great disservice to our readers to leave the impression that the camp was full of misfits and hooligans. The campers were a delight. Two of the teenagers, Nicole and Keshlin, were considering becoming volunteers. Although most of the activities were geared towards the younger kids, the girls happily joined in and engaged with the children. No one needs to say that the Hokey Pokey is lame; that is an inherent truth of the universe.  While the other teens clearly worried that their participation would signal their disagreement with that truth, Nicole and Keshlin overcame their explicit shyness to help add to the fun. There was also Zaman, another teen who initially struck me as stand-offish, maybe even a tad surly. After settling in he was helping kids learn to swim, playing The Lion Sleeps Tonight on guitar, and yukking it up on the soccer field. Derrick is a gentle giant who takes great care of his two tiny sisters. Sometimes he is their sherpa, occasionally he's a soft place for the sisters to rest their heads' for a nap. He is basically their Hodor, but with a greater vocabulary. There was also a group of 15 year old boys from Joburg. They had cerebral palsy and other cognitive disorders. They had never seen the ocean before and even though the water was deemed too cold by South African standards the Joburg boys couldn't resist going for a dip. Another little boy from my table was Sandile, he walked with a crutch, but that didn't let that stop him from doing flips on the trampoline, launching himself off the swing, and volunteering to play goalie when guys twice his size are rocketing shots goalwards. Without saying two words to me, Sandile elected to impose some semblance of order at the table and keep it from descending into Lord of the Flies.

Easily my favorite was Olet, an undersized eight year old who eagerly waved me over to the seat next to him at meals and field trips. A sweet boy with tireless enthusiasm for playing and a boundless imagination.  The only time he complained is when someone stole away whatever he was playing with. He really reminds me of my cousin Ryan. A lot of times when the kids sought out adults' attention it was a request to be carried or to appropriate a ball from someone else. Olet just wanted people's participation.

Just like Ernest Goes to Camp the kids and the teenagers warmed up to us. Even Tabiso stopped provoking obscenity that would have made sailors blush. On the first day Tabiso took a break from trampolining to have a wee over the side. Before I could yell, "Hey! This isn't Wisconsin!" Kris was over there in a flash letting him know, in no uncertain terms, the error of his ways. At the end of the week the two of them were taking post-field trip naps on the bus and blowing kisses across the playground. I like to think that even the most devilish camper can be swayed by the transformative power of love and a time out in the corner.

Camp was over all too soon. After arriving at lunch time on Monday the campers were heading back for their homes and hospitals late Friday morning. We lined up by the bus to say our goodbyes. There were hugs. There were tears. It was sad knowing what these kids had to face in the coming days, worrying about things kids shouldn't have to worry about. It would be much sadder if this camp didn't exist. One of the older boys that I had played a lot of soccer with asked if I'd be back next year; I was left dumbstruck as I couldn't say yes, but I couldn't stand to say no. The next morning Bev, the woman who runs the home, bade Kris and I farewell and said, "I hope you can come back." I hope so too.