Wednesday, February 6, 2008

Please Don't Bite My Crotch Right Now

Today I went to Walmer High School hoping to work with some of the students on their English compositions. By the time I arrived, it was late in the day, and hot in the classrooms, and none of the students were down with sitting and talking about their writing. I contemplated going home, but decided I would accompany Anthony, one of the program directors, to the Walmer basketball courts, which were located near a small jungle gym down the street from Walmer High School.

I followed the mass of black and white uniforms down the street and to the court. I was excited to see Anthony coach a basketball league, as he had bragged to me that it was on the court where he let his real side out; the manly Anthony who hurled insults at people, and frowned a lot. This was the Anthony that Anthony was most proud of.

Zach, a tall African American football player, accompanied Anthony to the court. He split the group into rows and forced them to do jumping jacks. Then they did layups and threw the ball to each other before attempting to throw the ball in the hoop.

Throughout the whole practice, Zach was yelling at the players, telling them to stop smiling and goofing off and get back to the serious business of basketball. The yelling reminded me a bit of an episode of Maury I’d seen where a drill sergeant went off on a bunch of 13 year old strippers. Both were horrifying to watch, as an observer.

Fifteen minutes into the game, a 5 year old girl grabbed my arm. She smiled up at me and played with my arm hair, rubbing her skin against mine. I thought it was cute, and a little weird.

“My hairy arms must look silly to you,” I said to her, but she didn’t understand English. Then another boy came and started pulling on my leg. Cute, I thought. They like me. I smiled down at them. “I am a mountain,” I thought to myself, “You can play on me, you can pull my hair, you can drool on me, but I’m staying put. I am a calm peaceful mountain.”

Then the five year old girl started biting my crotch.

Ok, not my actual penis but the cloth surrounding it. “Ack!” I yelled. “Can someone err help me?” I looked up but everyone was super absorbed by the basketball practice. “Quick, how do I say stop it in Xhosa?” I asked a boy standing next to me. “Sizwe!” he said. Then he looked down at the girl who’s teeth were wrapped around my crotch fabric and glared at her. He said something in Xhosa, and began to unbutton his belt. “Wait, what are you doing?” I asked him. “I’m threatening her,” he said. “Oh.” I said. The girl screamed and let go of my crotch and ran away, smiling.

I imagine her internal monologue was something along the lines of “oh you think you can fuck with me? Hahaha I laugh in your face. You’re going to get that 12 year old to fuck with me? You don’t got shit. I’m gonna fuck you up. Just you wait.”

I am scared. I am under attack by violent and insane 5 year olds and everyone is laughing like this is something adorable.

A young boy wanders up to me and grabs for my sunglasses. I let him try them on, because I am a complete moron. Within five minutes, there is a ginormous crowd of 4,5,6, and 7 year olds reaching for my sunglasses. I wonder to myself if 5 year olds ever abduct 21 year olds and bite them to death.

I run away. This was the second tactic I’d been considering; running for my life. They chase me and scream. I turn around and growl as loud as I can. A few run away screaming. They think this is just a game.

Of course not everyone runs away when I roar. I am not a very intimidating person, even with a roar. A few stick around and try and punch me. “Ahhhh! Why won’t you leave me alone!” I yell. More smiles. “Please please please, stop it.” I try and pick one of the girls up on my shoulders, the way I’d seen Anthony do it, but the girl kicks and punches me in the face, so I let go of her. She goes flying into the dirt. I could be arrested for this shit in America.

Now I am all out of tactics; I’ve tried calm, aggressive, playful, stoic, and talkative. I can’t throw children around, because that’s “illegal” but nothing is working. I can’t get the goddammn children away from me.

“Oh hello,” the first five year old is now standing under my shorts and peering up them. “Please don’t…that is disrespectful” I say to her. “Oohhh!” she says.

I walk away from her and stand next to the same eight year old who had translated the Xhosa for me. I now considered him my bodyguard. “Please help me,” I say to him. “I don’t like children anymore.”

The boy says something else in Xhosa, and then the girl says something and then there is silence for about three seconds. “Uh. The girl says she wants us to kiss, and she also says you’re not wearing any underwear.” “Well, I am wearing underwear,” I say to the boy. “Tell her that.” More Xhosa. “She says she wants us to kiss.”

Okay hold up what in the world is going on here? Did I find a gay?

“Ha ha very funny,” I say, and kick the dust with my sandals. The boy smiles at me and I replay an episode of Law and Order in my brain. What if this boy kisses me? He’s eight! Imagine the lawsuits.

The little girl continues to peer up my shorts and I try to shoo her away. Then she sticks up her middle finger and shakes it at me. “Fuckyoooo” she says. It’s the first time I’ve heard her speak in English. I gasp.

Just then, a few of the girls from our program arrive at the basketball courts. They’d been leading a class on Women’s Issues. One of them, Melanie, is attacked by the same children who’d attacked me, but she is serenely calm about it all. She picks up the children and plops on each shoulder. They coo and play with her blonde hair. Melanie looks supremely calm and unaffected. One of the other students from the study abroad program begins snapping photos of her with the children.

Oh just you wait, I think to myself. Wait till one of them tries to bite you in the crotch, or rub snot all over your hair.

But nothing bad happens. In fact, nothing happens at all. Melanie takes some more Princess Di pictures with the children, pictures that will look excellent as facebook profile pictures, because of how perfect the lighting is and how perfect Melanie's hair is, and how perfectly everyone is smiling. Clouds part and the smoke from a distant widfire sneaks into the frame, perfectly.

I sit down in the grass, mutter to myself and wait for our group to leave.

3 comments:

Christin said...

Damn, buddy. My sympathies.

I think the most disturbing part was, "He said something in Xhosa, and began to unbutton his belt. “Wait, what are you doing?” I asked him. “I’m threatening her,” he said." Crazy like whoa.

Are these kids with whom you'll be working regularly?

Holy Moly! said...

flashbacks of my time as a church camp counselor. this is deep psychodrama, beautifully rendered.

josh said...

holy! scary kids.

then again, how many people get to play how many five year olds can you take in a fight in real life?