Camp Life: Day One

Eleven hundred children stood in lines of 10 or 11 each, stretching the length of a football field, tightly packed together, awaiting the muzungu (white man.) Though most of them had never been to camp before, they knew, somehow, that the muzungu would love on them and care for them this week. They were ready. 

Each of the Americans were partnered with a local Zambian, someone who spoke the language, understood the culture and communities from where our kids were coming, someone who loved Christ and actively went to church. They would help us counsel the children and translate for us. I honestly can't remember if they're paid, my mom and I heard differently, she thinks they strictly volunteer, I thought they were paid at least some kind of wage. Regardless, it's not much, and these people are incredible - delight in the Lord, speak His truth, pray with a passion rarely seen. They are intelligent, multilingual, hardworking, and exceptional with children. What grace that they found their way to Family Legacy.

Finally, we were off the bus and found our group - I say we because I was paired with Lauren Carrigan Allen, Amy's oldest sister. She had left two young daughters behind in Houston to be here for the dedication of Tom's house. Five years ago she and her husband came together to Camp Life. Since she was leaving two days early at the end of the week, we were paired together to share a group of 11 girls. 

I felt guilty thinking for a moment: "This must be what concentration camps looked like." Thousands of skinny, bone thin, malnourished children, with hair matted or missing in patches, their bodies full of cuts and scrapes, clothes merely rags and mismatched, shoes broken or missing altogether, dirt EVERYWHERE. The smell, oh the smell! Even in open air, outside, a strong stench hovered around the crowd. 

But their was a giant difference here: these children had joy. Smiles. They hugged us like I've never seen anyone hug a stranger. They were desperate for affection. 

The children were begging to be touched, held, loved. How overjoyed they were to be at camp! Whatever these first timers had hear, it must have amazed them, because they were more excited than a group of American children who had been told they could spend the night at Disney world, with no lines, unlimited candy, and no parents. It. Was. Nuts. 

We entered a big building on the hilltop, the "Family Legacy Center" for praise and worship and fun songs. If you forced me to describe it one sentence or less: Vacation Bible School - ON CRACK. 

I loved the rhythm of Grier, the founder of Family Legacy, and Uncle Teddy, his Zambian partner who translated each sentence. They are both thin men, Teddy a bit taller, with long arms and legs. Teddy moves with the grace of a dancer and has a voice like deep, calm water - calming, soothing, powerful. 

I told Teddy that he should record audio books - "Americans would pay a lot of money to have your voice on tape." I don't think my message translated well. He just smiled at me, and I was able to detect a tiny bit of "This American girl is talking crazy." 

We spent time in small groups with our 11 Zambian girls, ages 8 to 12. We talked about the songs we had just sung and Jesus' word and Uncle Grier's message. We learned about the word of God together: First, hear. Then, understand. Then, believe. Then, speak it. 

The girls were receptive to talk about God, and they sang impromptu songs about how God is good to them as we walked through camp. 

Have I mentioned the bathrooms at camp? On the first day, these kids are mesmerized by the bathrooms. Guess what? They're red and blue port o potties, something we stay away from as much as possible in the US. But these kids are fascinated! Can you imagine, and American child, even a very poor one, being fascinated by a port-o-potty, because what they have at home is far worse? 

I am thankful for the immense privilege of being born an American. I am also so very unaware of it. 

Shame on me. 

Thanks be to God for my cushy, plush living conditions that I have always known. 

I thought I was here to teach these kids. I wonder what else they'll teach me as the week goes on...