Football with the orphans

One of the most memorable experiences I had in Africa came by chance on a day without anything planned, when Simon and I decided to take a walk from the guest house we were staying in to a neighboring village. On a whim I decided to bring my camera along.

We had not taken ten steps up the road when the call "mazungo, mazungo" (white man) went out, and a steady stream of kids started pouring down to meet us. There was an orphanage that we had seen a ways up the hill, and I suspected that this accounted for the larger than normal number of kids hanging around, even by African standards. They were grubby little guys, with snot caked on their faces and not a pair of shoes between them, but their smiles were pure unadulterated joy. Some would run up purposefully and blurt "what is your country, what is your name?" then dart off once their English was exhausted. There was a lot of hand shaking and an almost endless round of introductions, then Simon and I started off again, but it was clear that our little entourage would be accompanying us.

As we walked along our little group snowballed into a sizable crowd, and we had a good laugh about the spontaneous parade we had somehow come to lead. After some time we came to a soccer field with some kids chasing a ball around. Everything came to a halt when we arrived, and kids keen on us playing were dragging us by the hand onto the field. I hadn't played soccer since playing soccer meant a swarm off kids in a clump around a ball kicking each other in the shins. These kids were something entirely different. They had serious footwork, and the game they played was graceful and moved with an incredible pace. Kids too small to play were on the sidelines practicing with a makeshift ball made from bundled plastic bags. Simon and I took turns playing while the other filmed. It was good fun. When one of them scored there was an immediate uproar. Kids jumped on top of each other and the place seemed to fall apart around us. When I made a sweet assist (which Simon neglected to catch on tape) there was a wild victory display - I guess it was the final point. I got caught up in it and it was all hi-fives from me for my team.

My video camera has a feature where you can spin the view screen around so that the footage can be displayed from the side. The screen was far to small for the mob of kids that were swarming around us to all see it once, so I had them line up on a dirt ledge by the edge of a field. When I got them settled, two rows deep and all squeezed in, I began to make slow passes with the camera letting them each get a little look. When the camera came by and they got a glimpse of themselves at play, a roar of excitement came out of that part of the line and kids crammed to fit in. It was an amazing feeling to be able to produce that much excitement. Their happiness was completely contagious. The screening of their little match created enough of a ruckus that soon a few farmers had come to see what all the commotion was, and they soon made up part of the line.

When the tape finished we made signs that we had to go, but the entire group decided they would walk us back. On the way two of the older kids told us that they had exams the following day, but had never seen the required book because they could not afford it. It sounded a little rehearsed and I was weary of a potential scam, but when we passed the little shack that was the school store it became more and more believable. Simon went in with the two of them, and they emerged, proudly displaying their new books, which they then clutched to themselves with a pathetic appreciation. These kids were ecstatic and they flipped through the pages with disbelief. I thought of the books my students leave sitting at the bottom of their lockers and the prodding that it requires to get them to look at them. I wondered what they would do if they could see these kids and the joy that a single book meant for them.