Help Heal Children in Hospital - Laughter Heroes

A Snapshot of a Day in the Life of a Jabulani

Yesterday (at this time of writing) was typical of any for members of the Jabulani Kingdom — visiting a side of life unseen by the majority: hospital wards full of critically-ill children (often with parents sitting at the bedsides, looking both helpless and hopeless).

After putting on my outfit at home (identifying me clearly as a ‘fun uncle’) I went to the Donald Gordon Medical Center where I did my fantasy magic tricks and modeled balloon animals for the kids — most lying immobile in bed, but a few ambulatories. One two-year-old was awake but lying face-down, and — while making funny noises — I tapped my fingers gently up and down his spine. (No, he didn’t have a spinal problem.) He gurgled but didn’t turn over, and his mother told me he was both blind and deaf. After (as a ‘visual’ entertainer) — hesitated for a moment, I decided to made him a ‘balloon mouse’ and, when I put it into his hand, his reaction to feeling the unexpected toy was humbling. He chortled happily, while fondly squeezing, stroking, and patting the unfamiliar texture of the ‘mouse’. . . something that we, who are sighted, take for granted.

Then on to three pediatric ‘open wards’ at the Rahima Moosa Hospital, where many of the children are at least slightly ambulatory. I started moving from bedside to bedside for those confined, until a staff member asked if I could jump ahead to a six-year-old who was imminently to go for ‘a sonar’, and was afraid I would be gone when he got back. I quickly made him a balloon rabbit — and got the staff member pushing the gurney to promise that the rabbit too would have a sonar. The boy was ecstatic, and the staff standing around the gurney chuckled.

Later, while I had half a dozen children around me in a corner, a distinguished looking gentleman led a group of adults into the ward, chatting to them while I was entertaining the kids. Noticing me, he broke away from the group and approached me, asking who I was with. When I told him I was with Reach For A Dream, he thanked me/us profusely, introduced himself as Professor XXXXXX, and commented: “You chaps are doing a great job!”

Thank you, RFAD, for letting me share in your “great job”.

—MAURO JABULANI

PS: From my perspective, I have come to realise over the years that the children RFAD has permitted me to ‘entertain’ are doing more for me than I’m doing for them. At the end of every ‘visit’ I mentally recite as a kind of ‘mantra’: “Mauro, you have really nothing serious to complain about!!!” And — since coming to this view of life —I pass this concept on anyone I meet who responds to my greeting (“How are you?”) with “I’m fine!”, “I’m okay!”, “I’m good”, “I’m well!”, etc., by telling them of many people I know who are all those things . . . but not ‘happy’; so, in future, they should respond: “I’m HAPPY!” They get the point!

MY FAVOURITE MEMORY OF BEING A JABULANI

During one visit to the Chris Hani / Baragwanath Hospital I popped in to a tiny ICU ward with just one little 7- or 8-year-old girl by herself in isolation. (I didn’t ask her or any of the staff ‘What’s the problem?’ — my business there is just to ‘entertain’, primarily the patients, secondly the parents [if appropriate], and lastly, the staff [again, if appropriate]) I made a balloon animal and did a few age-appropriate tricks and spent between five and 10 minutes there maximum.

Exiting the room to move on to the next ward a doctor stopped me in the corridor. [At this point I must stress that we had never before met, or knew each other’s names — so there was no ‘social contract’ for either of us to wave or say anything.] The doctor, without even introducing herself, said: “That young girl has been here in ICU for the past 15 days — and this is the first time I have seen her smiling!” . . . a totally ‘unsolicited testimonial’. Yes, the social workers and others we know of the hospital staffs do often commend our work . . . but I have wondered if they may be just encouraging us in admittedly not a ‘happifying’ environment. [Entertaining ‘well’ children ‘bouncing off the walls’ at their homes is a totally different experience — so If I can get even a smile from a chronically-ill, bed-bound youngster, I feel I’ve got through to them.]

And regularly — as I enter a big ward at any hospital — the kids recognize the outfit and scream: “Jabulani!!!” . . . and those that can jump out of their beds, do so, and I get swamped!