I returned from South Africa about a week ago and wanted to share a few memories from the trip with you all, so over the next few weeks I’ll be posting some stories and photographs to the blog.
One of my favorite memories of the trip happened early on, the first night of Leadership Camp.
We’d just barely gotten to know these kids over the course of the first day at camp, and it was already getting dark. We corralled them into the hall and commenced with a wrap-up and some singing.
The youth workers got the children started on a Zulu song–Zulu is the first language for most of these kids–and they sang it loud and proud, getting a little louder and prouder with every repetition of the simple chorus. It was a beautiful sound. If you can get American kids to sing, they usually sing on melody and, as they get older, with mumbling and embarassed self-consciousness. The Zulu boys and girls had no such inhibitions. They sang in rich, improvised harmony.
While they sang, I leaned over to one of them and ask them what the song meant. I don’t recall the exact words, but it sounded like something from Revelations, one of those songs sung to God by creatures with eyes and wings. Holy, holy, holy is the Lord, who is seated upon the throne–that is the closest I can remember.
After the chorus had run through a few times, the youth workers decided it was time to move on with the program, and so they stopped singing, waiting for the children do the same.
But they didn’t. The kids just kept on singing.
After patiently listening to a few more rounds, the youth workers began actively trying to bring the singing down, shushing and making the universal “sit down and calm down” gesture. It’s the same one you’ve seen American teachers use.
It didn’t work. The kids kept on singing. They were beaming.
We all sort of looked at each other with a “what now” expression. Whistles were blown. The singing got louder. The youth workers shook their heads. By this point our protests were only encouraging the kids, so after a quick huddle, we decided to just walk out on them. We waved goodbye, walked out of the hall into the night, and waited around the corner for the kids to get bored with their game.
They didn’t. They laughed and kept singing the chorus, over and over.
Then they began to walk, almost marching, out of the hall, still singing the chorus. They walked themselves out of the hall and they marched past us, toward the cabins. The music finally died down as they spread out across the camp.
The display amazed me. These kids have nothing. Many don’t have parents, or regular food, or even a safe place to sleep. Yet I couldn’t remember the last time I saw children having so much fun or singing with so much joy.
We were all pretty quiet after they left.
“Let’s start with a song tomorrow night,” suggested one of the youth workers.
