Feeling the Spirit in Camden, NJ

I first became aware of the poverty in Camden, NJ three years ago, when I was on a bus from Cherry Hill back to Philadelphia. As we drove closer to Walter Rand Transportation Center, we passed countless empty lots, boarded up buildings, and barbed wire fences. The song "Why Does my Heart?" by Moby was playing on my iPod, which just asks, over and over, "Why does my heart feel so bad? Why does my soul feel so bad?" I hadn't dared to think that one day, I would choose to work in this city.

Working in Camden is a very unique experience, so I will give you a quick run-through of what a typical day entails for me:

I wake at 5:15 am or so. Depending on the day, I either dress in just jeans, sneakers, and a T-shirt or sweats over my bathing suit. I stopped wearing just my bathing suit top and a skirt after I was mistaken for a prostitute on Kaighn Avenue.

At 6:20, I walk out the door to catch the trolley to 13th Street, and then catch a NJ Transit bus to Broadway and Kaighn. Overall, this commute takes about 50 minutes, with me reporting at 7:15 at the Neighborhood Center.

My day really starts at 7:30, with a staff meeting every morning, where we go over the day's activities. When this meeting is finished, I pick up my first round of 9- and 10-year-olds from the gym. There are usually about five or six of them, and we head back to "the trailer", where my classroom is, where they do some reading while about 10 to 12 more children sidle in over the next hour.

Breakfast is at 9am. For the first week or so, we were being provided breakfasts from the city, but they are never delivered on time, so our cook, Mr. Dan, provides cereal, milk, and fruit juice for about 90 kids every day.

After breakfast, we have our Bible lesson, which I usually teach. Our Bibles are in comic book form, and the kids really like taking turns reading from them. Every so often, we get into some fantastic (and very funny) discussions. For example, when some classmates were explaining the size of God to one boy, they said, "God's so big, he could step off of buildings!"

Today, we somehow got on the subject of how God sees everything you do, and is with you all the time. Naturally, my kids said, "Really?! Even when you're in the shower?! That's gross!"

After this, we take the kids outside. (When I say "we", I mean myself and my aide, Ms. Wanda.) Today I had the pleasure of spraying some of the kids with spray bottles as they ran around the jungle gym. The kids love kickball, and inevitably, they will self-start a game.

At 11am, we send the kids back to the trailer for some academic work. This is mainly just review of what they should have learned in the previous year in math, reading, and language arts. Most of my kids are very smart and have no problem getting through this material with little help from me or Ms. Wanda.

I also select three kids at this time to go and help Mr. Dan in the kitchen on the soup line. I started this as a disciplinary measure, but the kids really started liking it, especially when they figured out that Mr. Dan would let them have a plate or what they had prepared, which is way better than what everyone else gets: Lunch is provided by the city, and is typically an unappetizing-looking meat (and sometimes cheese) sandwich. We've found that heating up these sandwiches in the microwave makes them more palatable. (We will not be using this food program next year.) Only after all the sandwiches are heated, can we counselors get our lunches. I brought my own for the first couple of weeks, but when my digestive system started disagreeing with the repeated pe anut butter and jelly sandwiches, I started eating off the soup line. Mr. Dan's cooking is way better than my sandwiches anyways.

After lunch, all hell breaks loose.

Ok, that may be a bit of an exaggeration, but the kids do magically acquire an influx of energy that can be exhausting to reel in. Luckily, a lot of our afternoon activities are off-site excursions, to either bowling, skating, or swimming.  Mondays are the only days I really need to fill with something, so that varies between a craft, playing outside, or watching a movie.

Dismissal is at 3:20ish. Only when are my kids on the bus, picked up by parents, or transferred to PM care (sort of an after-school care) am I free to leave. This is usually around 3:45. Miss Patricia has been kind enough lately to drive me up to Walter Rand Transportation Center, since there are quite a few more busses that go into Philadelphia from there. The few times I have walked to the corner of Broadway and Kaighn to wait, it's easy to see that drug use and prostitution are rampant and blatant. I do my best to be both kind and inconspicuous to the locals, though with limited success: I'm white, and therefore, almost assuredly, not from the neighborhood. I am very definitely in the minority in this city; in fact, not one of the students at the Neighborhood Center is white, and only a few of my coworkers are. So the walks to and from work are an exercise in not making myself a target. I tend to make at least brief eye contact with people I pass, so as not to give the air that I'm afraid, and greet those who greet me, so as not to give the air that I'm hostile, or think that I'm above the people in this neighborhood. After all, we are all children of God.

Despite these stresses, though, this has so far been an affirming experience: I am absolutely sure that I am on the career path I should be, and reaching the youth I should be as well. The Neighborhood Center is a place I want to come back to again and again, year after year. No words that I put down here could possibly do this experience justice.