Thirty-five people (9 mentally handicapped youngsters, some severely so, 4 mothers, 1 priest, friends, including children with problems), two small houses nestled one against the other, a chestnut forest and the splendid panorama of the Castelli Romani: these are some of the ingredients for a summer camp. «Thirty-five people? Aren't there rather too many of you?» commented those who had assisted with the preparations, doubtfully. We would look each other in the eyes and change the subject, trusting in our other friends, confident in their maturity and experience. «But those little houses... aren't they a bit cramped? All those stairs, the garden with those winding paths, with all the wheelchairs you have?!» Same knowing glance, we changed the subject, trusting in the shoulders and arms of the sturdiest among us. «And as for the organisation of the day, have you thought, for example, about what it means to prepare food for everyone?» out came the list of mothers (four of them, no less) with highly respectable credentials. Between one glance and the next, the day finally came to truly set off: as for setting off, we set off; as for arriving, however, there were a few problems.
The friends were already there from the morning, while the youngsters arrived in the afternoon, and this system of staggered arrivals resolved many practical problems. The camp immediately presented itself in its fullest reality, without sparing us surprises and unforeseen events, and we soon realised that everyone had to work well if we wanted to keep going.
With a scheme that now draws on almost 10 years of experience, in the morning, after the circle, we did the chores that are carried out daily in every family. Taking turns, whenever possible with the youngsters, we prepared breakfast, cooked, cleaned, set the table, almost as at home. For those not on duty there was always something to do: transplanting new seedlings, repainting the benches, or joining in a great game of «cops and robbers».
After lunch and a moment of rest, other activities: drawing, short walks, or simply singing together, games (from daring games of «hide and seek» in the woods to spirited «treasure hunts» throughout the large garden), an afternoon snack. Later there was Mass or a moment of sharing and communal prayer, then dinner and afterwards the evening gathering. To describe what each person experienced inwardly during those days would be difficult and presumptuous. Yet memory cannot alter the light that ran through everyone's eyes and the breath that sang in each person's chest. Whether one was scrubbing the floor, playing the guitar, or eating fruit salad for Vittoria's celebration, we were there to return to what is essential; without doing great things (you should have seen what state those seedlings were in after just a few days) but little by little letting ourselves be guided by the youngest ones along the path of the necessary, without hurry, without fear. And the theme of the camp peeped through in the moments (there always are some) of greatest tension, worry, nervousness: «Why are you afraid? (Mt 8:26)».
I must admit that the example of the youngest was indispensable to us — they perhaps lived this spirit of serene availability better than we did. How could one forget those sunsets behind Lake Albano that would interrupt our dinners, distracting us with their celebration of colours and poetry. There was indeed a touch of melancholy poetry in that gazing into the distance, almost an anticipated nostalgia for what was being lived in those days, which made us feel so far from everyday life. We were slowly freeing our hearts to the purest feelings, rediscovering tenderness, sincerity, trust, following the steps that the youngest ones had taken before us, and at a very different price from our own. We admitted with a smile that we were discovering and living realities that in today's world are absurd. And at the moment of departure a small seed of all this remained, and as «an almost decade-long experience» teaches, tears were not lacking. But what meaning would it have had to stay there forever, if not that of enjoying among ourselves that island we had found? Quite apart from the fact that in the last few days we were all dead tired and it would have been impossible to continue — would it not perhaps have seemed to diminish that gift we had received?
«Everything must end...» concluded one, shaking his head, and a friend of mine looked at him with a smile. «Nothing is ending!» he replied, clapping him on the shoulder: «This is precisely when the real fun begins!»
I did not immediately understand what he had meant, but back home I was rereading a page of Tagore: «Why did the lamp go out? I shielded it with my cloak to save it from the wind, that is why the lamp went out»! I too was beginning to understand.
All things considered, it was a good camp, characterised by a very intense personal relationship with the youngsters, and this is a fundamental point that gives each camp its own particular quality. Among the things to reconsider, however, for another time, two are the main ones: better coordination of activities, and a few more moments to deepen the acquaintance among friends. It is clear that the number of participants and the location contributed to making both the organisational and personal aspects difficult, but I am sure that with a little extra care we can do better.
-Nanni, 1986
Why did the lamp go out?
Why did the lamp go out?
I covered it with my cloak
to shelter it from the wind,
that is why the lamp went out.
Why did the flower wither?
With anxious love
I pressed it to my breast,
that is why the flower withered.
Why did the stream run dry?
I dammed it with a barrier
to keep it for myself alone,
that is why the stream ran dry.
Why did the harp string break?
I tried to draw from it a note
beyond its capacity,
that is why the string broke.
Rabindranath Tagore, Poesie Newton & Compton, 1971.