I always thought it was important to throw yourself into looking silly during World at Play sessions. My incredible teammates would tease me about how I hopped, skipped, and jumped around without any coordination during sessions, whether it be when I was calling to start a tug or strength or leading a horde of the youngest ECD kids across a field. According to some of them, I move like an uncoordinated mess even outside of sessions! But I always took it as a compliment because I knew, as a team, one of our greatest strengths was that we dared to be silly. We were the champions of being ridiculous - the greatest at being fools - and it was just what was needed.
Before World at Play, I volunteered with refugees on the Greek island of Lesbos. As an emergency response worker I saw thousands of children who wanted nothing more than to play or sing or dance in a reality where fun and silliness are almost discouraged, alien experiences. It is often said that Moria camp is a place with many children but no childhood and - although I cannot claim to speak of the Congolese refugee experience in the way that Olivier, Patrick, or Josh can - Rwamwanja never seemed to be much different. It was always important then that we from World at Play throw away the serious, analytical faces that we reserved for our daily debriefs and planning. It was always important that we strive to inject laughter and song and dance throughout our structured sessions.
Some of my favourite moments in Rwamwanja were the ones where we broke through the serious faces of the late primary and secondary school students. Understandably, growing up can be a difficult time for anyone, not least if they live in a refugee settlement. We could see that the young people we worked with had a lot of responsibilities and a lot dependent on their education, whether that be their own futures and opportunity or the future security and safety of family. As a result, they often came to us looking very serious, sometimes even reluctant to leave the classroom. However, by the time we’d thrown a few silly songs and dances at them - some boomalaka chingalakas or some cheche ko cheches - they too were daring to be silly, to take part in our games and learn through them, to smile, to laugh. With conscious effort, we even broke down the gender barrier that so obviously divided them, and we could watch in games such as dragon dodgeball as initial embarrassment turned into effective teamwork between boys and girls. To see a smile on the face of a little ECD or primary child was always amazing, but those smiles came relatively easily. A smile from an older child who may have been sceptical of us, who may have been determined not to have fun - that was always priceless.
I’ll end this blog on another silly story, perhaps my favourite from my time in Rwamwanja. Sleeping security lion was a hybrid game we created, a version of sleeping security guard that was easier for the young ECD children to understand. The game involved the little ones trying to “steal” “treasure” from a “lion” instructor. Being the lion was always great fun, chasing and roaring and yawning and snarling at the students. Silliness, there, was key. But the game also involved tact and awareness to run. Some children would fearlessly march up to the lion and take an item, gaining a sense of achievement instantly, but others would be more hesitant. They would be scared, would hang back at a distance, and would require an instructor supporting them to finally achieve their goal. However, when they did have success against the lion, the amount of achievement they felt was so great that you could easily read it on their faces. We would run the game just for them, for them to overcome their terror, to learn.
I like to think of this as silliness, employed correctly, overcoming fear. Us being ridiculous was a tool that could be weaponized to create a great impact and this was the proof. Teachers would agree with me, I know, as they would note down the names and rules of sleeping security lion and over games and ask us for tips or clarifications. During one ECD session I remember this especially as a teacher came up to me after I’d been the lion, a great smile on her face, shaking my hand. “Mzungu,” she said, “they think you are a real lion.” I think it’s the best compliment I’ve ever received.
I am so grateful to World at Play for the chance I have had, but also for all the work they do in Rwamwanja and elsewhere that extends beyond us as individuals and touches the lives of so many. I confess I was once, when I was ignorant, sceptical of World at Play’s impact. Now I can say with confidence that - in ways immeasurable and measurable - World at Play brightens this world.