If I were ten years younger...
Summer camp was a foreign concept where I grew up, in South Africa. I never went, and neither did any child or teenager I knew. My holiday experiences consisted of TV marathons, building forts in the garden and (in later years) a waitressing job at a local restaurant. Camping, maybe, but summer camp? This was exclusively an American tradition, as far as I was concerned. It was not until my second year in university that a close friend of mine suggested I work with her at a local camp over the 2010 world cup holidays. It was that May that I took the first steps into my future career path, dipping my toes into the sea of my future (both literally and metaphorically) . Days spent on the lagoon with surfing, kayaking, paddle boarding and swimming, all ending off with a final campfire on the last night of every camp. I’m reasonably sure I never want to go home. Every camper I met loved the camp as much as I loved being a counselor there. The benefits stretched beyond learning to