When we were children, my sister Zanri and I watched The Parent Trap over and over again. We promised each other that one day we would go to an American summer camp, just like the one in the movie.
Years later, I was on a hike near Clarens with two of my US colleagues. (I work at the American International School of Johannesburg.) At a viewpoint, one of them said: “This view reminds me of the hills around the summer camp I worked at for 18 years.”
My friend was talking about Camp Betsey Cox in Vermont, and one casual remark set the wheels in motion…
A year and thousands of kilometres later, I sat at a table in a lodge. More than a hundred girls were streaming through the door. Some were in horse-riding garb, others in swimming costumes. Three sat down next to me and began plaiting each other’s hair. At the door, the members of another group were asked to please leave their bows and arrows outside.
The girls all started to sing, pounding out a rhythm on the table with their fists. It was dinner time at Camp Betsey Cox!
I had arrived at this summer camp deep in the forests of Vermont, in north-eastern USA, two weeks previously. For the next 10 weeks, my job was to teach the girls how to play tennis.
As “camp leaders”, we’d been trained as lifeguards and we’d been taught the American Camp Association’s rules and regulations. We’d also done workshops with themes ranging from “Leadership in a multicultural environment” to “What to do when you come across a bear”.
This story is from the February 2020 edition of go! - South Africa.
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This story is from the February 2020 edition of go! - South Africa.
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