Taking in a full breath of air that smells like burning trash, a few teammates and I amble down the familiar paths of the squatter camp. Few residents are outside due to it being midmorning hours. Normally I would find myself walking down the path to the shack of Anita and her family. We’ve become friends over the course of my past few visits, but something is telling me not to visit with them today.
I continue down the path leading past Anita’s shack. Most visitors to the squatter camp never come back this far.
But today is different I think.
I notice a small boy shyly watching me from the doorway of his shack as he rubs his sleepy eyes. I wave as I smile back at him when I see him trying to suppress a grin. He darts behind a near portable toilet and laughs.
Aha! He’s up for a game with me.
I dart over to the portable toilet ready to engage in the game. Slowly and quietly I make my way around it until I am directly behind him. He’s looking the other way for me.
“Boo!”
He jumps sky high and runs away. The game continues. I look around and notice other kids beginning to poke their heads out of the nearby shacks. Meg and Cassie start to play with them as the kids’ curiosity beckons them outside. Glancing at Serah, I notice she is struggling to keep a conversation with a few adults standing nearby.
I turn my attention back to the boy who has now returned to the portable toilet. We play for a while, allowing other kids to join in. A few girls get us involved with drawing in the sand. Then one of them stands up on a rock and yells for us to catch her. This goes on for hours. There is so much laughter and joy surrounding me that my heart is pounding rapidly, I am so excited.
This really is my life, I think.
Soon I find myself leading a train of little ones to the front of the squatter camp. As we walk down the path, more and more kids join. By the time we get to the front, most of the children in the camp are gathered around us. Again the games start up.
A group of “older” boys sits watching from across the dirt road leading into the camp. I walk over to them and sit down on the same log they are on. At first they are reserved, only answering questions when I ask more than once and almost always giving one word responses. But that all changes when one boy, not older than ten, climbs up on my lap. He looks directly into my eyes and says, “Mama!” before lunging at me as he wraps his arms tightly around my neck.
Startled, I look to the other boys…all the while wondering what is going on. Andrew (the only boy with a name I can correctly spell), shrugs his shoulders, not knowing why this little boy called me mama. Meanwhile, the boy continues to whisper it in my ear over and over. My heart leaps. My eyes start to tear up.
This boy’s sister comes running over when she hears him calling me Mama. She jumps up on my lap as well and holds on tight. Not more than five seconds pass by before more kids are surrounding me calling me Mama, including several of the older boys. I hold each one of them close, taking in the beauty of this moment.
You see, South Africa still has a very apparent presence of racism…and these kids aren’t white. I am. The racism that is in this camp is evident. The white adults talk as though the black community is worth less than garbage. Both the black and colored adults respond with the same sort of talk. They keep themselves separated from each other. And these kids are growing up observing all of this happens.
Yet, here I am looking down at a bunch of these black or colored kids (I honestly cannot tell the difference) and can’t help but feel overwhelmed.
I don’t know much about these kids’ home lives besides what I see when I walk through the camp. I don’t know if their dads hit them behind closed doors or if their moms read them bedtime stories. I don’t know how many of them even have parents. But I do know what a difference love can make in a child’s life.
I do know that not only does love need no translation, it also doesn’t follow cultural norms. A child’s skin color doesn’t keep me from giving them love that they so eagerly accept and cherish. Love just does. No matter your language, skin color, age, cleanliness.
These kids calling ME Mama is a big deal. I don’t know if that moment will impact the rest of their lives. I don’t know if things will ever change in South Africa. I don’t know.
But I do know that Jesus works in crazy ways. I do know that I can choose to either feel hopelessness for the way these kids are growing up, or I can take part in what love is doing right here, right now in this squatter camp in Cape Town, South Africa. And most of all, I know that I serve a God whose love isn’t defined by cultural norms.
Below is a video giving a glimpse into my experience at the squatter camp. These kids stole my heart. Please watch and take a minute to comment!!!
