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REVIEWS
Life as a Circus ClownBy Leah Blain, Observer Report The lights over the big ring shine on nothing. The show is over, the
Mundo Campa sits in the bleachers in an expensive grey suit, looking over the empty ring. The trapeze and the trampoline are put away. Even the red carpet around the ring has been folded nicely in piles. Only half an hour ago, Mundo's antics had the audience laughing. He is a clown. Two circus children come running through. Little two-year-old Christian stops to give Mundo a hug; his head only reaches the man's knees. And he runs off again. "I've been the clown for nine years. The hardest job to do is to make people laugh. It's easy to make them cry." He says in his soft foreign accent. Mundo's whole life is the circus. That's all he knows. The circus has been a family business for a few generations. His father, Robert, owns the Mexican National Circus that came to Quesnel last weekend. Robert is the announcer and even sings some of the songs for the acts. Mundo's mother makes all the costumes the performers wear. "The circus is in my blood. I can't leave the circus and the circus can't leave me." Before he took over the job as clown, Mundo did just about everything else, trapeze, trampoline, flying from a cannon and the motorcycle jump. "That is my father's invention," he says looking at the motorcycle contraption with an obvious note of pride. The bike stays on a metal semi circle on the back of a pick-up. The driver rides back and forth while a performer stands on the front of the bike. Then the performer flies into the air and onto a long banner that is held up by the other circus performers. Mundo used to do the jump himself, now he drives the bike. Now the "Wolf Kids" do the jump. Two brothers, Danny and Larry, come from Mexico. A genetic recessive gene left their bodies totally covered in hair. "That's what they call them, Wolf Kids, but we don't see any difference. We're all like one family," says Mundo. The lights start going off in the big ring. The performers are making plans to go out for dinner. Normally they have their trailers with them when they travel, but on this Canadian tour, their first time north of the American border, they are staying in hotels. It was a wise choice, says Mundo. His father couldn't afford to pay the performers otherwise; the crowds have been sparse so far. One of the girls comes by to ask Mundo if he is going to wear his suit to the restaurant or if he will change. She is the wardrobe person, he says. All of the performers have jobs behind the scenes. She has to make sure everyone's clothes are clean for the performances. (Mundo's other job is promotion. He goes around town announcing the circus on the megaphones that were mounted on their green car). This nicely tailored suit is part of Mundo's act. At the end of the show, he comes out in to take off his big goofy clothes that are overtop of his suit. Then, in front of a mirror, he takes off all his make up, even his big red nose. "It was my idea. I do it especially for the kids to make them feel better. I take my make-up off so kids see I put it on to go to work. I think kids understand I'm exactly like them." He knows some children are scared of clowns. Even though he grew up in the circus, Mundo himself wasn't comfortable around the clowns when he was little. "I was scared of them. I never saw them without their make up. When I was working in the United States performing they were the next act. When the clowns were coming I would run all the way out." And so, Mundo breaks all the traditions as he de-mystifies the mask. "Some people think that you lose the magic. But that's the adults that say that, the kids don't. The day a kid tells me I'm wrong then I'll think about it." Of all the jobs Mundo has done in the circus, he finds the clown set the most difficult. Even though he has broken his arms and legs numerous times, doing dangerous stunts in the air is still easier than staying on the ground. Mundo looks to the top of the circus tent. He fell from there six years ago. He was in a wheel chair for two months. No, he's not afraid when he goes up there now. "When we break our arms and legs, we call this the kiss of the circus."
 Click to hear Mundo |
people are gone. Only the sound of foreign voices that stray from behind the performers' curtained-off area break the silence.
