It's the Day of The Show Ya'll

12/11/09


Over and over again we rehearse our welcome song for when the children step foot off the bus onto camp grounds. But when that bus door opens it's not us singing. The children pour out with their bags, smiles, and songs on. Some run to us with open arms while others greet us with the suave Swazi shake. We divide the children into four groups by color. I am team green, along with one other PCV, Jay, and a few of the Swazi staff. Our team consists of nine boys. The teams are divided by age and gender: older girls, younger girls, older boys, younger boys. I was blessed with the younger boys, ten to thirteen. I spot my boys with their green bandanas on. We grab their bags and the willing hands and make our way to the dining hall.

Their eyes are open wide, taking everything in. I am seeing what AIDS can do to a child. The stunted growth, the rashes, the blisters, the glass over eyes and disproportionate bodies. Their little bodies trying so hard to survive amongst the poverty, illness, and unsanitary conditions of the rural world. These little bodies trying so hard to grow in a mad world.

Camp counselors have been instructed to ENGAGE ENGAGE ENGAGE! "So have you guys ever done a thumb war?!" I exclaim. "Yes." They in unison respond. "OK...rock paper scissors?" "Yes." Well shit. Young kids are not my specialty. With the language barrier it's even more of a challenge to engage. But I continue to smile.

Before every meal we ask the children who would like to lead us in a prayer. One of my boys raises his hand. In Siswati he leads us in a lengthy prayer. I have no idea what's being said so I open one eye to watch Swazi counselors expressions. I see emotion, I see pain in their faces. It's time to eat. The children, most who have little food at home, inhale their food faster than even I could. They go on to a second, a third, a fourth helping. I lean in and ask a Swazi counselor what the boy said during prayer. "He said thank you. He said thank you for the food. Thank you for treating us like human beings. God Bless all of you."

After lunch we ask our boys to decorate name tags. "You can write any name you wish us to call you. Any name you've ever wanted to be called. Now is your chance." My boys quickly turn into little thugs. I now have a bunch of R. Kellys and DJ so and so's. I look down at the boy, who gave the touching prayer, at his name tag. He looks up at Jay smiling. His name tag reads, "Jay". I go to hug him, but he flinches. Almost all flinch when we get close.

Before dinner we have a few activities planned. In between each activity if only for a few minutes we play games or sing songs that require no resources or tools. Just clapping hands and singing loud. Each team is asked to come up with a team name and cheer. We want them to engage with each other. We want them to feel apart of something- to feel pride and support. We want them to make friends. After each meal is my favorite activity. We call it DLP. Describe. Label. Praise. Each counselor is required to DLP every camper in their group throughout the four days. We write down something special, something great the camper did. At meal time, in front of all the campers, we stand and read what "this person" did. Then we shout their name loud and ask them to come up to get their special bracelet and place their piece of paper on a wall with the other DLP's. I DLP Jay today. "For his bravery and his beautiful speech... lets give it up for.....JAY!" The kids go crazy and cheer him up to the front of the room. And FREEZE. This is the moment. This is the moment I want to take back home with me. Jay stands...beaming. He takes a deep breath and hugs me back as I hand him his bracelet. All the kids shouting his new name in unison. "Jay will Jay will ROCK US!" We all shout and clap.

After dinner is one of the most important parts of the day. Meds. Twice a day for the rest of their life. Imagine being a kid, your whole life, taking a handful of bullet sized pills. I can't even remember to take my malaria pill for two years. They are tired of the pills, of the swallowing. Most of them have poor drug adherence. Most are already on the second line of ARV's. There are only two lines of ARV's in Swaziland. The first line can add about ten years to your life IF taken correctly. The second line maybe over another ten years IF taken correctly. But after that, there's nothing. After that you wait for your CD4 count to drop, your immune system to become depleted, and some opportunistic infection to take your life. Swaziland is waiting, is praying they are given a third line soon. Most of these kid's lives depend on it. Taking ARV's, so early.. it is so important they take their meds and take them on time. So we cheer them on as they swallow their pills together. For once they aren't the only ones taking medicine. They are together. We spend an arts and crafts day letting them decorate their pill boxes. We try to make taking pills fun and a bonding experience.

After meds, there's more time on the dance floor. Then our scheduled all campers activity in the evening. A chance for them to engage with everyone and not just those in their group. Our nights end in the theatre hall where in unison we sing our "Siyabonga" song. (We Thank You). I am Wendy with my Lost Boys, exhausted, they are leaning on me. Heads on my lap, fingers laced between mine. My lost boys, without mothers, I am their's for four days. I tuck them into bed. Which doesn't last long. They don't want to be alone so they quietly flock to their neighbors room to sleep next to them. Lights stay on.

By day two they are visible to me. Those blank bodies become colored in. I know my boys now. They have evolved into unique individuals. They have evolved into my friends. What was once their blank space filled with my imagination of who they might be and where they come from. The blank space now filled with their personal stories and my personal feelings. We walk side by side, once worlds apart, but now on this planet together.

Arts and crafts today. We ask them to draw someone they love who loves them. We ask them to draw what respect means to them. Pictures of doctors are being drawn with big needles and a smiling face. I notice several pictures of a stick figure. A woman with crazy hair- Medusa like. Who is this woman with snake hair loving all of them? When the activity is over I collect their drawings to put up on the wall. I take a closer look, and I see Medusa is me. Some have drawn me with a large heart on my chest. Or holding the word "Respect". "Antie Simphiwe loves me because she shows me respect. She talks nice to me." "I love Sisi Simphiwe." My first reaction, of course, is overwhelming and heart- warming. My second reaction is more realistic. Is sadness. Where are their Simphiwes back home? Where is their love and respect on their homestead?

Onto the next activity. DANCE DANCE DANCE! PLAY PLAY PLAY! TEA BREAK! ACTIVITY ACTIVITY ACTIVITY! Each game, activity, dance, or motion is centered around bonding. As much as I want to engage with every one of them- it is more important they engage with each other. They're going back to this mad world in a few days and they need each other. I watch them grow together. A high five. A pat on the back. Even a hug.

After three days we are all tiring. The children come to us with aching body parts. Taking advantage of all the food. After the fourth helping we find them puking in the toilets. We make sure ARV's aren't coming out with it. Tooth aches, itchy skin, loss of hearing, blurred vision, hard of breathing, bone pain, and tummy aches. One of our boys goes home early, too sick to stay. This is their every day life and there's no amount of food or games or play that can make it go away.

It's day four and my little chicks are packing their bags. I sneak little notes in each bag- something to remind them of camp. Of love and respect. Camp counselors wave the the bus goodbye. Then immediately prepare for the next camp. The new batch of kids will be a few years older. We're only given a day off in between and we're slowly loosing our minds. We've reached that point of exhaustion that so closely resembles being drunk. So sleep deprived that everything becomes hilarious. Children gone, halls empty, silence. We lie on the dirty floor. String around Jay's head- I don't know why.. but we think it's hilarious. Between all of us we've endured: twisted wrists from clapping, lost voices from yelling, bruised thighs from slapping them during WE WILL ROCK YOU songs, dizzy spells, sleepless nights. We've got smoker's voices and glass rubbed eyes. The doctors have seen us more than the children. Patrick reminds us Peace Corps has their own doctor for our needs. The last time we sung the "Crocodile Song" I was seeing double and screaming like a mad woman. I can't even focus on my fifth coffee cup.

Our one day off from camp we are among other PCV's, not apart of the camp world. I keep counting heads making sure everyone is present, anticipating thumb wars, and humming "We will We will ROCK YOU!" ENGAGE ENGAGE ENGAGE THUMB WAR THUMB WAR THUMB WAR! LINE UP LINE UP LINE UP!

Back at camp tensions arise. The work "style" of a Swazi is completely different than that of an American work "style". I'll go as far as saying they're actually complete opposite working "styles". Now I'm not going to say one is wrong or one is right. But there's is wrong and ours is right.... Some of our Swazi counselors (before I go on know that a few were absolutely amazing and such an inspiration to me) some though, refused to engage with these kids. Doing sit ups on the soccer sidelines or checking their phones while I'm out on the field screaming my little soccer players on like some lunatic soccer mom. They run over and high five me when they score goals. Some of the counselors were taking showers and actually napping when the campers were. Leaving the PCV's to engage and supervise during shower and rest time. Some would even leave camp without telling anyone. It's the same complaints PCV's have of their counterparts back in their communities. One of the nicest sweetest PCV's tries to assure me, "It's just culture Mere." But where do you draw the line between culture and a universal "no no"? When it hurts someone? I'm drawing the line. Today we are all drawing the line.

Senior staff sees the tension and calls a meeting. Swazi, American, half Irish, half New York sit and hash it out. Swazi counselor raises her hand, "Well we NEED to shower twice a day. My kids get up at five to shower. So I shower with them." This culture is known for cleanliness. Showering twice a day if they can and ironing everything to a crisp clean line. Patrick responds, "I haven't showered in four days. (It was either four or two..either way it grossed the Swazi staff out) I'm up till two and then up again at 5. I don't have time. There is time to shower once the kids are in bed. Wouldn't you say showering twice a day is a luxury?" Swazi counselor stares back hard at Patrick. "Yes!" I'm screaming in my head. Many of us come from communities where people are actually dying from dehydration. Another Swazi counselor raises her hand. "I think there are spies in our group. Telling on us to the senior staff. I'm taking a backseat now. I can't work like this." Jay raises his hand in response. "I guess I'm oblivious to all this tension. But I guess I also don't really care. Everything I do, from 5 in the morning till lights out, is about these kids. Everything I do is for them. All my energy is put on how THEY are doing. I don't have time to worry about anything else." We all agree to be more open and respectful in the future.

3 hours sleep later.....

And we're back! At the front gate entrance. Wigs, smiles, name tags on. Soccer pose engaged. Ready for the whistle to blow. Ready for the bus to arrive filled with new campers and new faces.