Camp Crioula

When I reflect on my Peace Corps service to date, it is hard for me to definitively state that the work I’ve done has been a success. I don’t say this in a self-pity sort of way, but rather as a simple declaration of fact. For most of the activities that I’ve organized or participated in, I can look back with a sigh and a snicker and say, “Ha! Well, I think I/we did the best that we could in the circumstance.” It’s not easy to reflect on an activity and say that it was an unequivocal success or failure.


It’s precisely for this reason that when writing a project/funding proposal, a creator is required to determine indicators of success. When imagining Camp Crioula, a week-long summer camp for teenage girls, I never could have foreseen that this litmus would come in the form of tears.

Megan (another Volunteer), Landisia and Andira (young women from my community) and I worked hard to put together an event that we hoped would be fun and educational for the twenty 15-19 year old girls that applied to attend our Camp, but going into the week we had some serious doubts as to whether the event would be a hit. After all, we were asking the girls to sit through a couple of educational seminars a day (regarding HIV/AIDS prevention, career planning, self-esteem, the effects of alcohol, family planning, etc.) and we were counting on a lot of collaboration from community partners for the food, housing, electricity and transportation to come together. Miraculously (honestly, it had to be a miracle), it all did.

The girls were unbelievably respectful to the staff and each other. They seemed genuinely interested in learning during the seminars and participated without complaint or eye rolling when we insisted they get out of bed at 6:30 am in order to race back and forth in the elementary school with balloons between their knees. When Scott and my co-workers from the National Parks Project lead an interpretive hike, Scott prompted the girls to take a break. Someone literally commented, “but you’re presenting such interesting information; we’d rather sit and hear more…” regarding the mating rituals of endemic reptile species.

I’m telling you, we were in the middle of some sort of Twilight Zone episode. These things just don’t happen. Presenters normally just don’t show up, but ALL of ours came- and none was more than an hour late. The girls I work with in my town normally take my “instructions,” as “suggestions,” but these girls referred to me with the respectful pronoun “bosé.” (As in, “yes, ma’am, of course I’ll rally my teammates to go wash dishes now.”) It was just plain weird.

I think that the Camp was such a novelty for the girls, that they truly appreciated the chance to participate, to learn things that were important for their futures and to be away from home with a group of 20 girls who weren’t their cousins. Since it was the first time they’d been asked to untangle a human knot, not the 30th, they still found the activity amusing. And from atop our mountain getaway they even saw an airplane fly by (Professora Melissa! Get your camera!!)

In their day to day lives, many of these girls deal with adult problems and handle adult responsibilities. Just as I began to take for granted that the campers were adult women, I overheard, “The back of our camp journals has a page for the names of our new friends. Can I count on you to add your name to my list?” And on the last night, one team of girls basically reenacted a Brazilian version of Saved by the Bell. Ah yes, I remembered- despite their beautiful, curvy bodies as evidence to the contrary, these girls are still working through crises of youth inside their heads. They’re looking for confidence, a place to belong and a chance to play pretend. I hope the camp gave them that- even if only for one week.

By the time the last night of camp rolled around, the girls were starting to feel sentimental about the inevitable separation from one another. Landisia lead them in a song in Portuguese that stated “no matter how far apart, you’ll stay in my heart,” and the tears began to pour. These girls didn’t just get misty-eyed, they bawled as our cars pulled away. They instructed the drivers to honk and they waved desperately as we drove the mile or so until the vehicles went their separate ways. Oh the sorrow, but what a wonderful sense of accomplishment for Megan, Landisia, Andira and me. A definitive success.

In a very Peace Corps-y moment, the Camp participants posed with members of our host community while holding signs that describe their qualities of inner beauty.

My twin sister neighbors, Andira (with her son) and Landisia, helped organize and run the camp. In 2008 Landisia was a participant in a Camp Crioula hosted by former Peace Corps Volunteers, and her whole family raved about the wonderful experience that she’d had. Since Landisia is now studying social work at a Cape Verdean university, she was enthusiastic to put her experience and studies into practice by organizing this year’s camp. Andira has been a friend and a participant for a year in the Girls Cooking Group.

Scott and his skink.

Arts and crafts time resulted in some pretty great pine needle baskets.

“The Rebeldes,” from the modern Brazilian version of Saved by the Bell,

sang into their hair brushes.

The girls paused their sobbing for one last photo on our journey home,

piled into the back of a pick-up truck.