All of this past week I was at a place called Highover, past Richmond and Mgxobeleni, out in the middle of nowhere. It was a camp/wildlife reserve-- but I believe the only only wildlife there was perhaps about 95846094 different type of insects for me to find flying in my face, biting my feet, in my pants, buzzing in my ears, falling down my shirt, smacking into the light/window of my room and in my bed over the course of the week. I really do not like bugs. Except for lady bugs. And butterflies.

Anyway, we had 48 children with us, between the ages of about 8 and 18. All of them are orphans and come from the Pietermaritzburg and Richmond areas. Most of their parents died of AIDS or TB, but they rarely refer to it and say that their parents got "sick."

The first day everyone came in their nicest clothing, especially the teenagers. I noticed that the kids were carrying very little bags for a whole week of clothing... or did I overpack?  Then that I realized how clever they were in their attempts to keep stylish as I saw the same clothes over and over again during the course of the week, but on different people. Clothes swapping is a great way to mix up the wardrobe.

For the course of the week we split the two groups up between high school and primary school. I stayed with the high school group for most of the time during the week, mostly because every 54th word or so would be in English so for a few seconds I would know what they were talking about. We spent the first few days on life skills lessons: HIV/AIDS, teenage pregnancy, rape, drugs/alcohol, abuse, etc. It is a reality check when you realize how much you have to talk to kids here about these things... in high school I feel like I didn't know nearly this much about such topics because it wasn't as necessary as it is here.

Wednesday was completely focused on bereavement: what it means to lose someone, where people go after they die, how to cope with loss. In the end, in the "Unfinished Business" activity the kids were doing: writing a letter to their parents saying everything they wanted to say. Reading it over and over again to themselves, and then taking the chance to rip up the letter and throw it in the nearby river. The past is done and we have to continue with a clear mind and a forgiving heart. We had a funeral service of sorts, and they went down to the muddy river, sang some songs, and threw their ripped up letters into the water. I couldn't tell what they were saying, but emotion is understandable in every language. After they were done we had a mini celebration by the river, complete with singing, dancing, and laughing... actually rolling on the ground in laughter... at me [the "umulungu"], doing Zulu dance and failing miserably but making everyone smile in the process, which made it all worth it.

It took me a few days to actually connect with the kids because of the language barrier, but I really love kids and figured out a way. One 15-year old girl I connected with by walking a tight-rope of sorts with her across a pond-- she was too scared to do it by herself and I stayed with her and cheered "Woza! Keep with me! All the way to the other side, don't stop in the middle you can do this!" She made it to the other side, we jumped up and down giving each other high-fives and hugs.

I asked one of the quieter girls to braid my hair one morning, and within 3 minutes a crowd of about 20 kids had gathered around my head, all touching my hair and staring at my glowing white scalp... I was surrounded! I wish I could have taken a picture of that. Twenty minutes later I had two nice french braids.

There was one boy that I was really impressed with. So responsible, he came to Mthobisi the first day and told her that he needed to take his tablets at 7am and 7pm every day. He took out his bag of medicine and showed her the 3-4 pills he was to take during each session. It is hard enough for adults to take ARVs to control their AIDS, but to see a child conquer it so easily was humbling to me. ARVs hurt your body and are painful drugs to take. I went with him and Mthobisi back to his house one day when we realized his grandmother hadn't given us enough medication for the week; he sat quietly in the backseat as we were driving and I thought nothing of it. It wasn't until the last day when he passed by and said, "Good Morning, Brittan" that I realized he actually paid attention to who I was. I responded in shock and said, "Good morning! How are you?" "I'm fine. Thank you." I turned around to Deli [an intern at Thandanani] and said, "He knows my name?" and she replied, "He knows English?!"

So needless to say, by the last day I was pretty attached to this group of kids. I didn't even know all of their names and I could barely speak them, but I really loved them and appreciated their maturity in everything they had gone through in their young lives. Through these exercises they had opened up and made themselves vulnerable by expressing their deepest feelings with other people... I also was made vulnerable by performing a really poor Zulu dance in front of everyone at the talent show the night before... I was told the next day that one boy said "Yesterday I had a happy day because I got to see a umulungu perform Zulu dance." Haha.

It was a great week. On the last day I was given this note from the high schoolers: "You are kind, generous, and even though we don't seem like we appreciate you but we really do. Take care and maybe we will see you. I want you to know that you are funny and you have a good sense of humour-- Keep that!"

Tags: camp | life skills