Send In the Clowns

Part of our responsibility here in Tanzania is hosting short-term missions groups. While our work with Children of Promise is not particularly conducive to avenues of assistance by outside groups, the church as a whole appreciates and utilizes these work teams. Most often they arrive to do teaching, training, and construction support for our local school and community. Thusly, last year a group of about 12 individuals from the Pacific Northwest arrived to help out in and around Babati.

During their time in country they spent the majority of almost two weeks assisting at the school. We acted as hosts, preparing the guest huts for them to use, cooking meals for them, and driving them to and from their worksite. After breakfast Deanna would begin preparing dinner for their eventual return that evening, and I would deliver them to the school before returning to my office.  The only work they were doing for the COP program was scheduled to take place the weekend before their departure. We would drive them out to the tiny village of Kiru, one of our program sites, where they would meet with some of our sponsored children and assist in delivering and distributing new mosquito nets. Two days before this was scheduled to take place, a couple from the group approached me one evening after dinner.

“We clown,” they announced as we stood off to the side of the main table that extended along the interior of our living room. The remaining members of the group sat finishing desert and uninterested in our conversation. I stared back at them blankly, not quite certain what they had meant.

“We dress up as clowns,” they elaborated. “We brought our things with us to Tanzania. We dress up, dance, and make silly balloon animals, that kind of thing.” I nodded in understanding, again not certain where this conversation was going.

 It should also be noted at this point that clowns frighten me and my own pensiveness now laced the conversation.

“We wanted to know if it would be ok to do our clown act when we visit the Children of Promise kids?” they asked. 

I hesitated as I thought about the question. It’s one thing for me to be afraid of clowns. I have seen them frequently in my life, and to this point, none has ever attempted my murder. It would be quite another thing for a young Tanzanian boy or girl to be confronted by a makeup-wearing, polka-dot-festooned jester for the first time. If I feared death having been around them for a lifetime, what would these uninitiated kids think?

I agreed to discuss the issue with my staff the following day and respond with our decision in the days that followed. They were appeased and I assumed the conversation had ended.

However, as I turned to walk towards the kitchen a new question stung my ear, “Would you like us to show you now?”

I knew the answer immediately and it reverberated loudly in my head, "absolutely not."

“We could do it for your kids,” they continued.

I thought about the prospect. I certainly didn’t want my kids to carry the same misplaced clown stigmas that I had developed. I reluctantly agreed.

I sat down between Elliana and Ian and tried to explain what was about to happen as the couple retreated to their room to get their things. I’m certain they had seen clowns at some point in their young lives, but I couldn’t recall when that might have happened. They each answered affirmatively that they knew what a clown was and I feigned excitement in an attempt to boost the morale on the couch in which we sat. The clowns returned.

They explained to the kids what they were about to do. They didn’t have make-up or gaudy costumes, just wigs, red noses, and oversized glasses. They turned to face the opposite direction while they donned their aforementioned apparel. When they spun back around their faces lit up with wide grins while the previous smile from my children’s’ faces reacted oppositely. Not knowing what to think, Elliana buried her face in my shoulder while Ian looked on incredulously. While the initial performance was not met with glee, things progressively improved. As each clown danced back and forth he or she would lift a wig or remove a nose to gently remind the kids that it was still just a normal person underneath. By the time balloon animals made an appearance each child was laughing excitedly. By the end of the performance Ian was clinging to his balloon sword and Elliana to her bright pink inflated dog. They genuinely loved the clowns. As the couple retired for the evening I wondered how different the reaction might be in a small African village.

The following day I spoke with Herman at length about the clowns. After pulling up several images of the brightly ordained jesters on my phone for him to see, we discussed the likelihood of villagers interpreting these clowns as harbingers of the apocalypse, as I still did.

Herman saw no harm in the comically adorned faces and thought at the very least our village kids would find it interesting. I told the couple that evening at dinner that it would be ok. They excitedly went off to begin filling hundreds of long thin balloons for the next day’s ceremony.

In the morning Herman arrived at the house, and we packed the group into two separate Land Cruisers. I drove off through the open gate as Herman followed in the other vehicle. After several minutes we left the tarmac and headed northwest towards the base of the escarpment. As we sped along the thin gravel road I could hear the subtle moans of the passengers in the back as they mixed with the chorus of rocks flicking against the undercarriage of the car. This was their first real experience with African roads, as the majority of time they had traced the asphalt from our home to the school. After thirty minutes, we forded several small rivers and watched as the landscape transformed from patches of brown dirt to lush fields of corn and sugar cane. After an hour we arrived at the small building that houses the church in Kiru. The foundation of the church has been dug into the side of a hill, and the building sits halfway up the side of the steep slope. The outside walls of the church have been plastered and stained brown as years of dust have accumulated on there surface. A thin dirt sidewalk is lined with rocks, painted white and buried in the soil. That walkway skirts through several trees before arriving at the front door of the building some 40 yards from the road. In the rainy season we are forced to park alongside the steep incline of the road leading down towards the church, but as it was the dry season we pulled the car adjacent to the side of the building. As I helped the passengers from the car I pointed out the small men and women’s huts that served as the restrooms further down the mountain.

The children were already lined up outside with their parents. They hurried over to the trucks and grabbed on to the white hands and arms of the visitors, leaving thin traces of dust once removed. We were funneled into the church and given seats along the front aisle. Grandmothers wrapped in brightly colored fabrics brought in bowls of fried goat meat to welcome us. Every couple of minutes the old women would enter again with more food, first long yellow bananas, and later mugs of hot-spiced tea.

When we had finished, the plates and bowls were carried away to the backside of the building, where kids hurriedly and excitedly finished what remained. Herman then stood to open the meeting, and after a word of greeting and prayer we began. I explained to the village the purpose of our trip.

“The guests have come to Tanzania to do work at the school. Now that they have finished they want very much to see the children of Kiru and spend time with you. They believe that each child here has a bright future and will do great things. Because they care about your wellbeing they’ve brought each of you the gift of new mosquito nets. Please don’t be afraid of them, but spend time with them, play with them, and talk to them. After the service they even have a special presentation they want to do for you. Thank you for welcoming us.” I then introduced our guests who introduced themselves one by one and thanked the villagers.

With that the service began. The children had prepared Bible verses to be read and one by one nervous little faces walked to the front of the room to recite their lines. As each finished he or she would turn back to the crowd behind them and excitedly return to their seats. After the verses came several songs the group had prepared. The younger children formed their own small choir as they danced and sung traditional Tanzanian songs before the older kids took over and did likewise. Stomping feet, clapping hands, and rhythmic melodies filled the spaces of the small building and brought the guests’ hands together in unison with the children. When it was all over the guests cheered and clapped wildly. After almost an hour of this, the kids returned to their seats and I reintroduced the guests. I tried to explain what was about to happen but my Swahili vocabulary was sorely lacking the appropriate and necessary adjectives one would use in introducing never-before-seen or heard of clowns.

Two giant bags of the long balloons were hauled to the front of the room as the clown couple made their way to the center. They had yet to put on their clothes and made a point of emphasizing the costumes that they were about to don as they held them aloft. Having done their best to ease the costumed transition they turned around and put on their glasses, wigs, and red foam noses. I was sitting along a bench at the very front of the building so the clowns faced me as they dressed. I could tell they were nervous about how the children and their parents would respond. They hid their fears behind giant anxious smiles and turned around to face the crowd. I watched in eager expectation, especially taking note of the five young boys seated across the middle front row. As the clowns turned, their mouths dropped in awe. There weren’t smiles, only uneasy and frozen stares. The clowns began singing and the couple twirled around the floor dancing and clapping to the stunned audience. 

And then, a funny thing happened.

As the songs filtered back through the crowded church I watched as the faces changed. The awe that accompanied the sight of the costumed foreigners was replaced by the joy of just how funny they looked. Suddenly, one by one, children and parents began to giggle at the sight of the clowns frolicking down the aisles. The clown couple had wanted to perform simply out of a desire to see underprivileged kids experience a few moments of joy, and the intended effect was materializing before our eyes. Kids poked and prodded one another to look on at each silly step and boisterous song. When the balloon animals appeared kids excitedly snatched up each rubber animal that was passed in their direction. They waved the tiny creations along with the music in moments of simple ecstasy.

I laughed along with the crowd as the rest of the guests took up places around the clowns and danced in accompaniment. Soon the kids and parents alike were shouting back the simple choruses of the songs they sang. I ducked out a side door as the singing amplified and walked along the side of the building towards the front door. I stood in the entryway watching from behind as the celebration continued.

I tried for several weeks afterward to put what was happening that day into words and each time I’d come up remarkably short. In three years of being in Africa I’ve experienced nothing quite like it. I’ve seen wedding celebrations and the shouting and singing that often accompany church services. I’ve been present as parents learn for the first time that someone across the world has sponsored their child and I’ve personally witnessed moments of great and profound joy. But I have never experienced the type of laughter those two clowns delivered to that small village.

Several hours later we retired outside to sit in the shade with the students and pass out mosquito nets. Having finished, we shared lunch together. Sitting around bowls of rice and beans and sipping on warm soda I watched as the spark from the clowning experience remained in the conversations and faces of the visitors.

I must admit looking back now that I had judged clowns prematurely. While I’m still certain there are costumed jesters out there with ill intention, there are also souls who exist simply to bring joy to other’s lives. Perhaps even, these individuals possess some traits that we’d all be wise to emulate: the ability to recognize and laugh at our own silliness, a humble heart, and a thirst for bringing out happiness in others.

I don’t mean to imply that we are to demean ourselves for the enjoyment or service of others, and I firmly believe that wasn’t at the heart of what the clowns were doing or accomplishing. But I think there is room in all of our lives to take ourselves a little less seriously and find a little more time to laugh with those around us. 

I’ve seen a lot of individuals come to Tanzania with good intentions and a desire to do good things. Sometimes the effectiveness of those goals falls squarely on their attitude. It’s amazing what can happen when someone is willing to arrive in another country with the attitude of a joyful servant and not an expectant savior. And it's incredible to see individuals who recognize that every single moment with a child is an opportunity to change that child's existence, even if it starts with a laugh or a smile.

God bless the clowns.