Summer Camp
Suddenly the kids came running up from all directions, hooting and hollering like a swarm of bees high on honey. The Summer Camp sign was still in the process of being hung between two trees in a shaded, grassy area next to the football (soccer to us Americans) field. I had been given the duty of sitting on the cooler – a necessity because the kids feel free to help themselves to the contents of the cooler if it is left unmanned – and I was thankful to be out of the fray for my first few moments in camp. The welcome activity was jump rope, Frisbee, hula hoop, or just good old running around. Physical activities to expend some of that chaotic energy.
After a few minutes on the cooler observing, I jumped in and spent the next 20 minutes swinging one side of a jump rope. This one little guy, who I’m guessing is about 6 years old, was a real pro. He hopped from one foot to the other, he faced me with a huge smile on his face for a few jumps then switched directions and faced the volunteer at the other end of the rope, and he consistently made it to over 30 jumps which we yelled out at a pace that left me breathless and hoarse after a little awhile.
I watched him throughout the next activity, Circle Time. Circle Time is singing and clapping followed by a snack of water and a banana. He was clearly a leader and popular among both his peers and the volunteers. I noticed, as we got up from our cross-legged positions on a tarp laid out on the grass to transition to the next activity, that he was gone. He showed up about an hour later with watery, glassy eyes. He sat down at one of the little tables where kids were coloring, but he didn’t color. He didn’t engage at all. He barely blinked. His expression was far away, zombie-like. Another volunteer who had been there for a few weeks noticed as well and called his name twice with no response. She saw that I was visibly concerned and explained that he sometimes switches to this dead mode where he’s just not there.
These children have been through traumatizing experiences and now their existence is encapsulated in a camp in the woods of a foreign country with a diminishing chance of escape. We were prepped to expect unpredictable and violent behavior. I heard stories of volunteers being hit, pinched, kicked, and spit on. But when a boy suddenly picked up a rock, did a pump fake right at me, then hurled the rock off to my left, I felt frightened.
Most of the girls and boys at Summer Camp are smart and sweet despite having bleak, unimaginable lives. So, I remind myself that these little kids know real fear. They know the fear of war, they know the fear of a sinking boat, they know the fear of being separated from their families, they know the fear of a completely unknown future.