Today we tried the very American game of Capture the Flag with the kids. It sort of worked. They quickly caught on to the idea of pouncing on anyone who came over to their side from the other team. The idea of themselves racing across the line in search of their hidden flag was a bit more abstract. With such lopsidedly defensive philosophies in effect, it was rather humorous to see them standing there on either side of the line, trying to taunt and tease the other team into coming over, all the while themselves being too nervous to make the attempt! Nobody actually won in the end, but they all went to lunch afterwards smiling, so I think it’s fair to count it a success.
Jon and I practiced the songs with the kids in their groups again today . . . It is actually the nearest yet I’ve come to being annoyed with the children. There were an aggravating few in each group - in one group, practically the whole lot of them! - who were just so lazy. They would sing and dance so obviously half-heartedly, and I would encourage them to put some energy into it, and they would - for all of five seconds. But the moment I looked away, they were back to their lackadaisical half-efforts. They were being so . . . so American! And then I had to laugh at myself. Was it really possible that in only a few short weeks, I had accustomed myself so utterly to my almost-hero status with the dear little black children that when they responded to me like they might a normal, everyday teacher, I was offended?
In less serious news, the red team cut out the falsetto “washes, washes” part from their song today. We took a popular vote, and, with the duetist’s hearty approval, the measure passed to cut the improv. Their reasoning behind the decision they told me quite earnestly, “But, Auntie, we will lose the competition. We will lose!” I was more or less heartbroken, but we were in a democracy, and there wasn’t much I could do unless I had issued a presidential veto or rigged the votes. I didn’t think as a role model I should stoop to that.
At the close of our sessions this afternoon, we crowded into our bus with the Brits to go for a quick view of the MFL school-in-progress building site. You see, the school where they are now teaching the former choir children is so small, they are in desperate need of new facilities. They hope to have the project completed by January - but that will depend largely on finances. I love to walk through half-finished buildings, and it was very impressive to know that the hardworking Africans had done all this work with nothing but hand tools! I’m sure any construction workers back in America would be even more impressed than I was.
We returned to the camp with dusk settling in, and ourselves perhaps a bit sleepy - but what was coming next would be worth every hour we were going to miss of sleep! After enjoying a lovely dinner, we gathered our plastic chairs into a circle for another true African bonfire. The children danced and sang for us - clapping all the while and every so often letting out an ear-piercing chant/shriek of some sort that sounded very tribal and would take a lot of courage to do at a church in America. Those who had something special to sing to us, or say, all got a turn. I have to admit, when the two mid-teenage boys got up to sing and their voices cracked, the audience was not very kind to them. But our hearts were touched. A young lady, Rachel, stood up in the face of all her peers and preached something that sounded very like a sermon. We had our turn too, as they rather unexpectedly invited us up to try our best at copying a dance we had seen them do. We call it the “butt shaking” dance, and it’s rather self-explanatory. I should add also that I for one failed miserably in my imitation - and I’m sure I was not the only one! Judging from our audience’s laughter though, I’d say we were a huge hit!
So, the day - and the evening especially - was full of laughter and fun. But I do not think I ever had more fun today than I did with a little boy named Emma (yes, I know, it’s a girl’s name; we were confused at first too). This evening before the bonfire, he volunteered to help me get my guitar. As the sun had gone down already, the hall leading to the room with my guitar in it was quite dark. If there was a light switch, I never saw it, and neither of us had a flashlight. So, we decided to make a game of it. We’d creep halfway down the hall, whispering furiously to one another to, “Be quiet!” Then, at any moment the impulse took us, we’d pretend we saw some huge, terrifying monster, scream something unintelligible that meant, “Run for your lives!!” and tear back down the hall for all we were worth. It took all of ten minutes to actually gain the safety of the room, dive under the table, grab the guitar, and dash out again in one piece. It was hilarious!
I thank You for this day, my Lord. For all their quirks and irritations, these children are utterly precious. Lead me to love them as You love them. I cannot capture today in words. I am tired, and everything in this past month is starting to blur together. But I love You, and I love what You are doing. I will follow. My Good Shepherd, lead me on. Amen.
Oh, and Douglas said he was feeling better today. I praise You for that.
Our attempt at Capture the Flag.
At the end of the game . . . Pretty sure you could call this a good ending.
The school-in-progress building sight.
Every brick made and laid by hand. Impressive, isn't it?
