Games, games, games

“Adam! Adam!” squeals Gadaffi. I turn around and the ball is rolling towards me. Fred is stood three yards away waving his arms asking for me to pass the ball to him. I do so. “Adam! Adam!” Calls Happy – yes that’s his name – from behind me. I turn around and the other, smaller, slightly deflated, football is making its way towards me. I stop it and kick it to Peter who is playing with Happy. By the time I have done this Gadaffi and Fred are both calling me in unison “Adam! Adam!” as their ball, the one in a better condition that I brought with me to donate to the children,  is now back at my feet. Before I can kick it back to them, the other two are calling my name again “Adam! Adam.” I ignore them for a second so I can kick the other ball back to Gadaffi. I turn around and this time, rather than kick the ball directly back to these two, I decided to give it a slight boot about 20 yards away. “Sorry!” I called out to them, pretending my accidental hoof was not intentionally done to buy me a brief respite from the perpetual kicking of footballs. How I got involved in two games at once I do not know. I was merely walking to the well.

“Adam! Adam!” Gadaffi and Fred are back with their ball. Luckily, the other two are still off collecting theirs meaning Gadaffi, Fred and I are able to pass the ball about 5 times between us.  “Adam! Adam!” Happy and Peter are back. Football with the older kids at the home often revolves around a game, or something slightly co-ordinated. The younger children, like the four I am with at this moment in time, often just want to kick it to me and have me kick it back.  “Adam! Adam!” now both balls were at my feet at once. Again I pass one ball back to Gadaffi and the other one is again ‘accidentally’ kicked off down the hill, with the slope taking the ball further away, buying me yet more time. If only I could manage to boot them both off at once, making the whole thing look accidental, I might be able to make my escape.

Happy in my shades

In the end, not having it in me to abandon the two simultaneous games – even though I was hijacked into joining both of them – I decide to stick around for half an hour. That half an hour consists of passing one ball to one pair, turning, passing the other ball to the other pair, repeating this process over and over, all whilst hearing my name yelled by all four kids every five seconds or so. And, during all of this, I am fully aware of the four middle-aged female caretakers – employed by the orphanage to cook for the children – watching me as I get more and more flustered by the perpetual calling of my name. I appreciate them trying to hide their giggling at my situation, but it would have been a lot better for me if they had made it obvious, so I could have eased the tension by laughing along with them.

Whenever Claire and I stop to play with the kids, whether it be playing with the footballs, pushing them on the swings, or any other makeshift games, this process is played out to some degree. Excited at the prospect of playing, the kids tend to crowd round, calling our names until we turn and offer the some attention. Not that we’re complaining, it’s often great fun. I taught some of the children a very basic game. The one where you pick up a stone, put your hands behind your back, swapping the stone back and forward between your hands, before presenting your closed fists to whoever it is you’re playing with. They then have to guess in which hand the stone is hidden. I first started playing this game with Fred. However, after two minutes, as soon as I presented my fists to him, I had another eight or so hands leaning over grabbing mine as they attempt to guess where the stone was hidden. Then, the kids got the idea that they themselves could hide the stone and leave it for Claire and I to guess where they were hidden. Come the end the pair of us were presented with 12 or so hands all curled up in fists as we proceeded to play them like bongos, guessing all at once where the stones were concealed. Such a simple game, but the kids loved it, especially Fred, who would burst out in fits of giggles whether he discovered the stone or not.

One young lad, called Luke,  never did learn the game. He would put his hands behind his back and then present me with his closed fists. I would choose a hand and he would then open them both presenting me with two empty palms. Ah, no stone. Again. I don’t know what he thought the game was, but he sure enjoyed revealing no stones to me every time. Either he was glad to have tricked me into guessing again, or he thought that the game was simply to show your palms to a slightly confused looking playmate.

Before we left Claire and I also got the chance play some cards with the kids, who taught us how to play a game called ‘Chance’. In fact, our last evening at the home was spent playing cards and listening to music on the porch of our little guesthouse, with many kids crowded around and joining in.