With the preparations all finished, and just barely on time, my fearless helpers from our church’s youth group were late and the Matsiko kids were early. Of course. So, they all converged upon our surprised little farm at the same time, and my jaw dropped. But only for a moment. Then, clipboard held firmly in hand (I feel lost without a clipboard), I charged out to meet the bedlam.
We gathered the kids on the cement slab, very impromptly and with not much order to speak of. It’s amazing what you can get across with a very loud voice. But they all quieted, wide-eyed, when they heard the word “horse.” Yes, we gave pony rides to the dear African children - and, I made sure to ask while I was in Uganda, most of these kids hadn’t seen a real, live horse before coming to America. The best part was when Kristi, who was leading around the pony while I commanded the larger horse, asked in passing if she could, “let them go.” Well, I was only half listening, as my charge had me a bit preoccupied, and I thought she was meaning, should she take the pony back to the barn to be unsaddled. Giving my okay, I was quite surprised when, glancing up a few moments later, I saw my sometimes sweet, well-mannered pony placidly walking about the pen with an unsupervised little African boy on her back! He was so intently concentrating on steering his newly commandeered pony that I hated to interrupt him.
Then it was time for the scavenger hunt. I don’t like to brag, but . . . it was pretty much the best scavenger hunt of all time. :-) We divided into teams, and each team got possession of their very own zealously-guarded traveling bag, treasure map, and first clue. And off they went! To the apple bobbing station . . . the brave-the-gigantic-Nebraskan-bred-chickens-and-find-the-clue-inside-the-Easter-egg station . . . the create your own “Fred,” who might, it is true, have possessed astounding similarities to a homegrown butternut squash (examples below)
. . . or, my personal favorite, the cowboy picture station, complete with Western gear and faithful rusty red pickup parked in the background (that was one of our Last Minute Friday additions!) - and Indians hiding discreetly in the trees. Did I forget to mention that I had armed the Indians with water balloons? (And, yes, I realize that Indians and rusty red pickups weren’t exactly in the same era, and water balloons were nowhere close. We were enacting a rather abbreviated version of American history).
It took a good hour or so to thoroughly soak, confuse, tire, and delight each one of the teams, and I had the distinct privilege of wandering aimlessly around (much like during the scavenger hunt we hosted in Uganda at our last camp), answering frantically sputtered questions, and watching the different groups sprint laughingly from place to place. It was quite the joy.
In the end, after their very last clue had led them to the buried treasure of some key s’more ingredients, the kids gathered around the fire for a delicious and well-earned dinner of hamburgers, hotdogs, chips, and watermelon. We instructed the goggle-eyed children as to the precise preparation of an American s’more, judged their adorably decorated Fred’s, and presented two happy birthday cakes to a pair of pleasantly surprised children whose birthdays had been that week.
And then we broke out the guitars and sang a few songs . . . and, my, but those dear children can sing! Per request, they heard the Lugandan song written specially in their language one last time. And then it was time for the Matsiko choir to load up the bus and head out. But, oh, what a time we had! I thank God.
