THE STORY OF CARVIN KHAMBULE
Meet Carvin Khambule, an up-and-coming videographer who filmed content for Global Camps Africa at the October 2024 session of Camp Sizanani. Born and raised in Johannesburg, Carvin faced many of the same hardships as our campers, but he never stopped chasing his dream or believing in his own incredible potential.
Hello, my Name is Carvin Khambule, I am 27 years old.
This story is one of immense resilience, faith, and the pursuit of a creative dream despite nearly insurmountable challenges. Born and raised in the bustling streets of Alexandra, I faced heart-breaking adversity at a young age. When my mother passed away, I was chased out of my home weeks after the burial and my little brother passed on after. These devastating losses left me without family, home, or support, and for a time, I felt hopeless and utterly lost.
With a deep-seated passion for creativity and film-making, I sought shelter from friends and family, but found closed doors at every turn. Desperate and filled with fear, I turned to the only place left for me: the local mall, where I sought help from the security guards. In an act of kindness that rekindled my spirit, one security guard offered me a safe place to sleep at night. For nearly three months, I spent nights there and days searching for hope, driven by a vision of creating something meaningful.
But life on the streets of Johannesburg was unforgiving, and my journey of survival continued. For almost three years, I struggled to get by. When the COVID-19 pandemic hit, I sought a fresh start in Orange Farm, seeking escape from the taunts of former friends who mocked my situation, taking my picture and sending them in group chats for a laugh. A stranger from Mozambique offered me a place to stay until I got back on my feet. Once again, I was a stranger in a new place with nowhere to go. Turning to a nearby mall, I found kindness from another security guard, which gave me the strength to continue.
In a bid to catch someone’s attention and an opportunity, I always stood at the traffic lights 6 days a week from 8:30 am until 5:00 pm. I created a simple sign that read: “Please believe in the creativity I provide; one chance is all I need.” For more than a year and 4 months, I stood at busy intersections, hoping someone would see my potential. My persistence paid off when a kind stranger noticed me and asked me to design a logo for his business. I worked to impress the man, who went on to give me another task and soon after, he donated a camera to me to encourage my talent and passion, sparking the beginning of a brighter chapter in my life.
With the new camera in hand, I pursued every opportunity to grow my skills and network. Then, one day, I came across Camp Sizanani on Instagram, an organization working to uplift young people in disadvantaged communities. Inspired by their mission, I reached out to Claire, one of the team members. To my surprise, Kabelo, another member of the Sizanani staff, drove to meet me personally. He welcomed me into his house and family. Camp Sizanani offered a place where I could not only heal but also contribute my talents. Through emotional workshops like Splatter Painting, I was finally able to confront and release the heavy burdens of my past. The hugs, the laughter, and the unwavering support at Camp Sizanani were like nothing I had ever experienced; it was here that I found love and belonging.
Camp Sizanani’s support, the payment I received for my services, helped me with financial stability to prevent me from losing my rented home in Orange Farm. Their help came at a time of great need, allowing me to keep my precious camera and, with the money earned, register my business, XUnimet Promotions. This marked the birth of my dream, where I could finally pursue my passion for storytelling and brand creation through my own company.
I want to say Thank You So Much For The Support And Love Received. I would also love to thank Claire, Kabelo, Emily, and Phil for their kindness and support.
I look forward to working together once more.
Business: XUnimet Promotions
Instagram: @xunimetp
Twitter: @xunimetp
LinkedIn: XUnimet Promotions
Email: carvinxolani01@gmail.com
The Pearse Family's Excellent South African Adventure
This “Throwback Thursday,” we’re bringing you back to 2007, when Mike and Tia Pearse, directors of Camp Tawingo in Ontario, volunteered to serve as vochellis at Camp Sizanani. In this piece, Tia recounts her time at Camp Sizanani, emphasizing the close bonds she formed with her campers and the incredible transformations they underwent during their time at camp.
The Pearse Family's Excellent South African Adventure exceeded all of our expectations. It is hard to put into words the emotions we experienced, the connections we made, and the sadness we felt upon our departure. The trip has impacted us greatly and we truly see the world through different eyes now that we have come to love the people we met there. From the owners of the Bed & Breakfast that we regarded as our "home away from home" to all the amazing campers who crawled into our hearts and still hold a place there - we have so many new friends on the other side of the world.
One thing we learned very quickly upon our arrival at Camp Sizanani: Camp is Camp, and Kids are Kids! The campers at Sizanani are indeed living in special circumstances - they have been invited to camp because their parents have died or will die of HIV/AIDS. The girls who have lost their parents live with Aunts, Grandmas, older siblings (some only 17 or 18 years old). Most come from very humble means - it didn't take long to understand that most of the girls had borrowed much of the clothes and other items they brought with them...they treated everything with such care. Some come from severe poverty. Many of the campers have never known what it is like to feel full after a meal, most have small jobs that help contribute to the family's survival. Some of the campers have experienced horrors that we only see in movies or read about in books. And yet, these girls, almost without exception were joyful, animated, gregarious, spirited, enthusiastic, courageous. They sang throughout the day, they danced when they sang, their excitement was evident from the sheer volume of their singing! They attempted tasks that terrified them - swimming, and relished opportunities to express themselves creatively - drama. They competed wholeheartedly in sports, and drew pictures and wrote poems for their Vochellis. They were campers having fun and learning new things at camp - like the many campers you know and love from Tawingo.
Vochelli is the word for Counsellor at Camp Sizanani. I don't think it is a direct translation but the campers use the word with such respect and appreciation. While at camp, I was the Vochelli to Cabin J (the oldest cabin). In other words, I was a Dowanewa counsellor who taught Drama as my Interest Group (which ran all day). Mike was the Vochelli of Cabin M...because it was a Girls' camp, Mike was assigned a cabin of three boys - Christopher, Tyler, and Carson. Mike was the equivalent of the Sports Director at Sizanani. The boys were treated as campers, and they spent their days traveling to various "Interest Group" activities. They often helped with set up and take down of programs and during meals they sat at the head table with the Camp Directors and senior staff.
Mike did a lot of teaching and a little bit of learning. He introduced the campers and staff to Basketball, Ultimate Frisbee, Pinball, and Sticks (which was a favourite amongst the campers). He also got everyone singing Baby Shark (which became the staff's favourite song). But he also learned some indigenous games and every South African girl's favourite sport - Netball.
Because the site for Camp Sizanani is a private boarding school (rented during school holidays) I wasn't able to have a "cabin". The girls slept in dorm rooms, two campers in each room. I was lucky enough to have an especially large room so it became the place where the girls of Cabin J hung out. I had 12 campers and they were all very different and all very special. Tholang is beautiful and mature for her age; Simphiwe is what we call in theatre a 'triple threat' - she can sing, dance, and act - but she had difficulty saying goodbye at the end of the session because the last time she said goodbye it was to her dying mother; Matebello is a little bundle of goodness who writes beautiful poetry about missing her mother; Bridgette struggled with her English and couldn't sleep without the light on; Margaret was quiet at first but a fierce and savvy competitor; Khotatso missed her grandma and when a couple of small hives appeared on her skin she claimed it was her Grandma missing her; Lettie is a comedian who loves to laugh almost as much as she loves to eat; Mogadi is an amazing soccer player and incredibly hard worker; Baneka is sensitive and observant and she missed her mother because she had to move away to get a job and left Baneka with her Grandma; Penny is the eternal optimist and a wonderful listener; Thuli is an incredible actress and singer who writes poetry about men who have been cruel to her...I could go on and on about the beautiful girls in my cabin. I could go on and on about campers who were not in my cabin but who I came to know and love as though they were.
Knowing these girls so well and knowing the struggles they face everyday at home, I was in awe of them. They were afraid of nothing. They tried everything and were not embarrassed by failure, it only made them try harder the next time. Helping them learn to swim was one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. They were absolutely terrified. Campers were not allowed near the water without wearing PFDs. They considered it a huge accomplishment to even put their faces in the water. When a camper managed to blow bubbles in the water she would look up at me with a big smile and hug me, and I could feel her shaking with fear. But they continued to challenge themselves.
Their hearts are so big and they were so willing to love us. They accepted us, embraced us, and ultimately adopted us. They gave the boys Sutu names: Christopher was Thado, meaning love; Tyler was Thsepo, meaning hope; and Carson was Thabiso, meaning happiness. They regularly regarded Mike and I as their father and mother. As camp came to an end, the proclamations of love were plentiful; "I love you, Vochelli", "You are my mother!" or "You are my father!" was heard at every turn.
Saying goodbye to the campers was one of the hardest things Mike and I have ever had to do. Chances are very slim that we will ever see those girls again - because there are so many children in South Africa who are losing parents to HIV/AIDS campers are allowed to come to camp only once. We can only hope that they work hard to become Vochellis themselves. That was my message to my girls as I said goodbye: I told them I hoped that the next time I returned to Camp Sizanani we would be working side by side.
The staff at Camp Sizanani is doing good work for kids who really need them. We are very excited that the two Camp Directors, Jackie and Mbali, may possibly be joining us at Camp Tawingo for some of the summer! We have not yet confirmed dates but we are hopeful that you will get to know them during 2nd session!
We will definitely return to Camp Sizanani and South Africa. They say that you can't visit Africa without leaving a piece of your heart behind. That is definitely true of the Pearse family. We are looking to 2010 for a return trip and another session at Camp Sizanani - perhaps it will be a boys' camp?! It doesn't really matter because Camp is Camp, and Kids are Kids.
The Pearse Family in 2019, courtesy of Tia Pearse.
An American in Sizanani: Ruth's Travel Blog #3
Ruth, a longtime civil rights attorney and federal public defender living in the U.S., decided to take a break from her usual work and spend some time volunteering for GCA in South Africa. Follow along as she shares her experiences and her perspective as an American at Camp Sizanani.
Day 4 - Visiting the Townships
KB picked me up in Rosebank and took me first to a club in Freedom Park and then to Kliptown. Two vochellis were running a suicide-prevention program. We were not there long, but I watched them role-play following a discussion led by a social worker. Sizanani campers are drawn largely from the groups of kids who attend these clubs (held as well in Alex (Alexandra City), Poortjie and a few other townships); they also come from “homes” (essentially orphanages as I understand it).
We stopped to check on a family that cooks for the club. The wife of his longtime friend Bafana was moving large quantities of delectable -looking homemade chicken into tubs (she offered to make me a plate). A young woman who might have been her daughter was there with her tiny one, such a cutie who was feeding and introducing me to the dog. Children so tiny will often talk to anyone. I was just another human paying attention. Here as everywhere, I am drawn to the little ones.
KB then drove us to Kliptown, where he grew up. Where to begin. The level and extent of the poverty was staggering. A lot of lack—roads and floors lacking cement, absence of electricity, homes without roofs, no places to congregate whether in or outside. Mountains of recycling traded for funds and then for drugs, a dump where people not only scavenged but lived. KB filled me in on facts: what it was like growing up, where people congregated to use or sell, the more prosperous areas populated by coloureds.
By S. Honorine VOA - http://www.voanews.com/content/kliptown-a-beacon-of-hope-in-soweto-township/1545472.html, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=27915556
Twenty-five years ago a then-ANC member (“then” to distinguish from the politicians of today) took a friend and me into Soweto. What has stood out to me most over the years as I think back is the one- or two-room brick houses they were building, with plumbing. Our hosts’ pride was evident, yet the reaction that has reverberated over the years was how small a number they’d built in proportion to the enormity of the need. Perhaps I was struck dumb by the poverty then as well: I can’t recall, as the Soweto memory always begins for me now with the small brick homes. This, for whatever reason, my age or the country’s, perhaps, feels different. It’s 2022 and so many are still doing without. This was just one part of one township in a nation with a 55% poverty rate. And I was staying among well-heeled accommodations and eateries. Stark, painful, overwhelming.
(I said all this to a dear friend who knows DC poverty far more intimately than most with means. I could not relay well what is different. How do you explain the scale here, the basic unfulfilled needs. Of a different kind. I was reminded of the American acupuncturist telling me about poverty in China. I’d thought at first he was simply blind to the need in DC where he lives, but soon I could hear he knew something beyond my ken. This is beyond my ken. It should be beyond everyone’s, a matter of history. Yet here I am, an educated but ignorant traveler in 2022, in search of understanding. Need to search instead for funds.
KB is still a part of the community, talking to people as we walked and then drove. I’m unclear why he and others show us the townships, and I did ask. To learn and then share, with luck help educate and bring resources I must assume, which I hope somehow to do. But it is also his home, his story. I am grateful, and mute.
An American at Sizanani: Ruth's Travel Blog #2
RUTH, A LONGTIME CIVIL RIGHTS ATTORNEY AND FEDERAL PUBLIC DEFENDER LIVING IN THE UNITED STATES, DECIDED TO TAKE A BREAK FROM HER USUAL WORK AND SPEND TIME VOLUNTEERING FOR GLOBAL CAMPS AFRICA IN SOUTH AFRICA. FOLLOW ALONG AS SHE SHARES HER EXPERIENCES AND HER PERSPECTIVE AS AN AMERICAN AT SIZANANI.
Day 3: The Lay of the Land
I packed up so I could move Airbnb’s and Ubered to the office in Braamfontein, part of the Central Business District of Johannesburg. Still getting the money down, thought at first that the car cost $40 and wondered how I could Uber to and from the office with any regularity. Again the (or this) newcomer’s ignorance of norms/expectations. Greeted at the office by KB, Camp Sizanani’s Camp Director, and his adorable but ailing little boy, brought upstairs by Nkosana (aka Big Fish) and Ntandi, two camp counselors. Then Ditlhare, Sizanani’s Senior Social Worker, showed me around. Reminiscent of Southern Prisoners Defense Committee in earlier years but tinier and less equipped. Shoestring budgets for the poor. As with many experiences here already, familiar and not.
Dilthare is another tremendous staff person. A social worker with 5 students working under her. She spent 3 hours plus with me, explaining Sizanani , the clubs, the work. We started though with a current problem: the inability of children without birth certificates to get vaccinated against COVID-19. These kids are entitled to schooling, they go to school, but they have no papers. Child may be from another country. Parent is expected to go back to that country to get papers on the birth. There are hundreds of children in this predicament. I’m not clear on what else they are missing out on — nearly everything I suspect— but it makes no sense to deny vaccination yet send them to school. Dilthare is on it, asked for lists from the schools of kids in need. Got one list of 84 so far, just a beginning. She is undaunted.
Dilthare hopes I can help here. She goes to Lawyers for Human Rights regularly (they have an office in the same building; perhaps less shoestring but not holding my breath). She gave me a copy of the South African Constitution: I remember learning back in the day about how progressive it is. But how to implement, get access to these “rights”? Haven’t a clue. Going to see what I can find online later today. This has to be resolved. I don’t need to be told that this is one of a thousand obstacles these children faces.
I Ubered back. (Had hoped to go to the Apartheid Museum but it’s closed for COVID.) New “apartment” not quite ready, sat outside at Proud Mary for coffee. Chatted briefly with the (Zimbabwean) barista (even that fancy word seems incongruous here) when a man also coffe-ing outside there struck up a conversation. Then I had to go meet the man with the keys at the Airbnb.
Answered more emails and WhatsApp’s, did some food shopping then tried to work out the money. Think I’ve got it now.
This evening I met up with a new connection, Jackie, and her husband for Jackie’s birthday. Boy did I love meeting them. Jackie is warm and smiling, her husband opened up too. (I believe his name is Lumkile based on a WhatsApp message: my ears have yet to accurately take in names.) They were warm kind and embracing. I know I asked them too many questions. Jackie runs a literacy program for kids (“Literazi” though I couldn’t find it online, another I’m sure in a series of misspellings). It’s new, she’s funding it with small donations (mostly from their savings, it sounds), and appears to be a(n as yet undiscovered) cousin to Sizanani. Again, the need, the small program hundreds of children flock to, the exquisitely created drop in the bucket.
These were wonderful people. Jackie’s husband will be away but I hope to see her again over the weekend before I leave. I learned quite a bit about the country, but mostly delighted in their company.
An American at Sizanani: Ruth's Travel Blog #1
Ruth, a longtime CIVIL RIGHTS ATTORNEY AND FEDERAL PUBLIC DEFENDER living in the United States, decided to take a break from her usual work and spend time volunteering for Global Camps Africa in South Africa. Follow along as she shares her experiences and her perspective as an American at Sizanani.
Day 1: The Flight
On the airplane, nearing the end of the flight, the white woman next to me and I began chatting. I don’t remember how we moved from the mundane of airplane inconvenience to — what shall I call it— “inequality in South Africa.” She lamented that the state of affairs was now “reversed,” that Black South Africans controlled everything, there were quotas for education and hiring such that her kids must now look outside the country for jobs. There was no anger in her voice, she was matter-of-factory stating facts. I talked about the US, gave the example of how I was the beneficiary of my father’s enrollment in the GI bill, a program which changed his socio-economic class but was not made available to Black people. My seat mate listened, perhaps asked a question or two, I don’t remember. But there was little engagement. Very “nice” woman, soft-spoken, friendly, accommodating. For her, likely a chat with an interested but ignorant American. For me, the 2022 introduction to the country.
Day 1+: Arrival
With my cart of luggage and I’m certain a weary face, I circled the arrivals room at Johannesburg International Airport figuring I’d be waiting or calling. But there suddenly was Mpumi Maesela, Global Camps Africa’s South African Country Director, saying my name. What a gift. She took me shopping for food, to the Airbnb, then out for coffee. Over the few hours, she moved from welled-up eyes to silliness and laughter, as if we were well known to each other. I told her about the white woman on the plane, didn’t have to finish the story for her to see the whole picture (and then some). We sipped mochas and Mpumi answered my questions. (“How do you know which of your six languages to speak to a stranger?”) I understand the need for an hiatus from grief (she had just lost her father days before our meeting). But this was a gift to me.
Day and Evening 2: Adjusting
If I have to forget a day I suppose it should be this one. Walked around the mall area, got mani/pedi at Sorbet (recommended by both Mpumi and the white seat mate), had coffee and a smoothie at Tasha’s. Back to the Airbnb (wanting to call it “the apartment,” reminiscent of my 4-year-old self in DC, but also because it’s bigger and better organized than my own DC home). Reached out to friends’ friends, answered WhatsApp’s, deleted emails, struggled to stay awake bigtime, spent 2 hours dealing with Verizon and getting nowhere (woke me up though). Then took myself to dinner at the bar part of where Mpumi brought us for coffee.
Lovely glass of wine and salad cheaper than what I’d pay in DC. But I’m in fancy-land here, a less pricey, more mall-y version of life at home. Clientele mixed, all servers are black. Mpumi, then Jackie (and in between a barista himself ) explained that many of those working in Rosebank are Zimbabwean or from other countries. Chatted minimally with the bartenders owing to some difficulty with my understanding them (accent plus mask), their evident busyness, and my initial shyness as a foreigner.
Shoulder exercises to Netflix (“After Life,” it came up and made for easy background chatter). Then downloaded the book Mpumi recommended, a South African life (the fiction v. non-fiction debate) with humor. “These Things Really Do Happen to Me.” The perfect read.
Then had my second night of waking up at 2 then 4, both times raring to go. And with a Melatonin plan for Friday.