A Weekend in the Sierras

Do you remember your summer camp experiences? They come back quickly when you´re among 700 kids running around, playing games, swimming, singing, building forts and what not, as Minnesotans would say.

I just returned to Cordoba after 4 full days in Punilla at what previously had been an establishment for mental health patients. Now the Argentine Ministry runs summer camp for less than fortunate kids. I was with a assembly of about 50 people with disabilities. One was blind, being led by a boy who was partially blind. One was deaf. An adult couple were handicapped for walking. Most of the others had mental issues, though for some of the kids it was hard to tell how deficient they were. We were assigned to groups, mine being adults by age, but some had minimal language skill. It was only last night, at our farewell gathering, that I heard one woman speak for the first time. Everyone in this group lived in an orphanage, and had for many years. Their caretaker came along and was so, so great with each and everyone in her group and with others. She´s been with most of them since they arrived at the orphanage. She said some couldn´t even take care of themselves when they first arrived. They´ve come a long way since then, though will never live on their own or maintin a job.

The daily routine for summer camps across countries varies little. Up for breakfast, games, sports, lunch, siesta, swimming, afternoon snacks, more games, showers, a long wait for dinner (yes, dinner even at the camp was late, 9:40), then dancing to Argentine or rock music, or maybe a camp wide game, then bedtime about midnight or 1 a.m. That part might be different from camps in the U.S. The long-popular dance here is the quarteto. Any number of people hold hands and move in a circle, generall from left to right. It´s for anyone who wants to move their feet to music with no real pattern other than to twirl the person next to you.

The weather was perfect, and scenery was ¨bonito¨/beautiful, though we didn´t leave the compound to to any hiking. I think ¨"Punilla", which means "bend in the river", was a few kilometers from where we stayed. On the hour-long drive there, I was surprised to see sailboats. The river is damned up, providing a lovely lake which seems to be well used.

My disbility at camp, if you can even call it that, was my limited Spanish. This is in no way a comparison with those who had disabilities, nor is my havng had a cleft palate when I was born. A cleft palate can be repaired surgically, with the only residual being my nasal speech. I can forget about that for the most part. The people we were with can´t forget their disability, if they´re even aware enough to know the difference between themselves and those who don´t have a disability. I was contintually amazed at how the people in the group took care of each other. This was especially try with the blind boy. Some of the younger boys took the initiative to lead him around, help him with various activities/games/in the pool, etc. so that the entire responsibility didn´t rest of his partially blind friend. Boys will be boys, and they also have hearts that are amazing in such situations. The kids were inclusive of each other in the games and at the dances without being prompted to do so. I was truly touched.

Being the only American there did bring some notoriety, but was mainly a disadvantage. Few people spoke even a bit of English. It forced me to use what little Spanish I do know. The kids were good about listening to my broken sentences, trying to figure out what I was saying, speaking slowly in response, and laughing with (and at) me. That was okay. At least they knew I was trying. One high school age girl came up to me one afternoon during siesta time while I was studying and reviewed some of my exercises. She was very helpful, and I hope gave her a sense of accomplishment. She was very sweet and patient with me.

I´ve had all kinds of thoughts and feelings about what life is like for a person with a disability. The serverity is certainly a major factor. There was a mix of people who mentally are as sane and intelligent as you or I, and those who could not utter anything sensibly to anyone. How would I feel if I were in a wheelchair or couldn´t see or hear and was always grouped with others who mainly observed, swayed back and forth and spoke unintelligible sounds, though could understand some of what I said? Is it best to separate those with disabilities from those with no disabilities as the Special Olympics does. Or is integration a better alternative? I´m sure the answer lies inbetween, and is dependent upon the disability. I´ll be processing this for some tme to come as I work on the marketing plan for the non-profit that caters to disabilties.

For now, it´s on to daily life, picking up the laundry and more studying.

¡Adios!