I woke up this morning feeling sad. It took me a while to figure out why, and I still don’t know the fullness, but I realised Eric was on my mind. I probably had a dream about him that I do not remember. Eric was one of the first kids I met living on the streets of the Claremont area when I first moved to Cape Town back in 2000. We had become close. He was also the first kid, of now many, that I knew who passed away, in 2001.
He was such a lively kid; full of joy, life, fun, continuous laughter. It is always sad to lose someone who is dear to you, but what made Eric’s loss even harder was the fact that his death was a “freak accident” in a drop-in centre that was new at the time, and in self preservation the leaders of the shelter kept Eric’s death on a very low level.
I miss Eric, and others like him who have died tragic deaths here on the streets of Cape Town. Even when I look into the eyes of the living, the older guys that were the younger guys when i first moved here, I feel the same sense of loss that I feel when I think about Eric. Because though they may be living, the lively children I once knew are very far gone, and their eyes tell the story of having seen too much, too fast, for way too long.
And above and beyond Eric, others who have passed away, and the guys that have grown up too fast, I think this morning I woke up mourning the death of parts of myself. I look back on my early years here and see such a different person. I have changed a lot; for the good and bad, and I am pretty in touch with both sides. But on a nostalgic-driven monday morning like today, I wish I could travel back in time, just for a visit, and say “what’s up” to Eric, all the others I have lost, the kids that are now “all grown up”, and my ten-years-younger self.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Day 282: 1 September - Two Worlds
Today I was on my way to one of the projects I work at, walking back from lunch.
A young man, carrying a black plastic bag of clanking glass, and another plastic bag of unknown items, walked up beside me. He was dirty, beyond the usual "unkept dirty"; dirt was literally caked on his face. His long nails had thick black dirt under them, his clothes look like they had been on and not washed for months, he smelled like a mixture of body odor, horse and mildew, and he had the look of desperation.
I didn't recognize him as he walked beside me and asked me for five rand. I said I do not have five rand. He asked me for any change I may have. I told him I had none. He asked for a cigarette. I told him I don't smoke. He gave up his efforts to try and get something from me and surrendered to small talk.
"You go to the soup kitchen much anymore?"
His question made me look at him properly. He recognized me from my 16 day time on the streets, more than 26o days ago. His question was nonjudgmental, in the sense that he did not look at how I am dressed now, and how I was then, and base a conclusion of why I would or wouldn't go to a soup kitchen on those judgments.
I felt embarrassed for not having paid more attention to him in the first place.
"Nah, I haven't been there in a long time."
He quickly said he also doesn't make it there much anymore. He said he was on his way to change those glass bottles because he was starving and he hadn't eaten all day. And then it hit me. When he approached me, I thought he just saw me as a "whitey", or a guy to "get something from", but he had seen me as a "comrade", someone who had eaten meals with him at the soup kitchen, someone who had to scrape to get by, a fellow "survivor". We continued to walk and spoke until we went our separate ways.
That short, seemingly insignificant, interaction caused me to think about things.
About what a different life it is to literally have to hustle, scrape, beg, and search for basic survival. How the place we are in in life is relative and also a matter of perspective, not only of self but of others. How we as humans can adapt to pretty much any situation and become comfortable in that. Today, this was the thought that was the most revealing, devastating and wonderful for me. I am again comfortable in not having to scrape for very basic survival, and that world, which I lived in for a brief moment in time, seems again very foreign and far off to me.
A young man, carrying a black plastic bag of clanking glass, and another plastic bag of unknown items, walked up beside me. He was dirty, beyond the usual "unkept dirty"; dirt was literally caked on his face. His long nails had thick black dirt under them, his clothes look like they had been on and not washed for months, he smelled like a mixture of body odor, horse and mildew, and he had the look of desperation.
I didn't recognize him as he walked beside me and asked me for five rand. I said I do not have five rand. He asked me for any change I may have. I told him I had none. He asked for a cigarette. I told him I don't smoke. He gave up his efforts to try and get something from me and surrendered to small talk.
"You go to the soup kitchen much anymore?"
His question made me look at him properly. He recognized me from my 16 day time on the streets, more than 26o days ago. His question was nonjudgmental, in the sense that he did not look at how I am dressed now, and how I was then, and base a conclusion of why I would or wouldn't go to a soup kitchen on those judgments.
I felt embarrassed for not having paid more attention to him in the first place.
"Nah, I haven't been there in a long time."
He quickly said he also doesn't make it there much anymore. He said he was on his way to change those glass bottles because he was starving and he hadn't eaten all day. And then it hit me. When he approached me, I thought he just saw me as a "whitey", or a guy to "get something from", but he had seen me as a "comrade", someone who had eaten meals with him at the soup kitchen, someone who had to scrape to get by, a fellow "survivor". We continued to walk and spoke until we went our separate ways.
That short, seemingly insignificant, interaction caused me to think about things.
About what a different life it is to literally have to hustle, scrape, beg, and search for basic survival. How the place we are in in life is relative and also a matter of perspective, not only of self but of others. How we as humans can adapt to pretty much any situation and become comfortable in that. Today, this was the thought that was the most revealing, devastating and wonderful for me. I am again comfortable in not having to scrape for very basic survival, and that world, which I lived in for a brief moment in time, seems again very foreign and far off to me.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Day 271: 21 August - Nothing for the Cock
I was driving today, and just thinking.
It all kind of started when I pulled up to a red light and stopped. It seems red lights have been used a lot in my life lately to provoke thought. So there is this older man who stands and begs at that red light every day. I mean, e v e r y, s i n g l e, d a y!
Though he is a little bit kooky, he does not seem to be an alcoholic or drug addict; the fear many people have of beggars. Nope, this man just seems to be your average, semi deranged, but usually friendly old man.
He strolled up to my window and held his funny looking, clear-yellow-tinted-plastic cup, looking something like a cup one would be given for a urine sample, in my face.
“Nothing for the cock?!”
“Cock” being an old British word, used as a “term of informal address to a man”.
I smiled at him and did the awkward, sideways-nod-and-wink maneuver, to say “No, I have nothing for the cock today, apart from this smile and wink”. Though I know the Cock is familiar with the response-to-beggars protocol and sign language, his request did not stop there.
“Young man, no small change to get me in the night shelter tonight?”
I said, “No, sorry sir. Not today.”
“Nothing? Ok, young man.” He then looked up to the bus driver, sitting next to me at traffic and pointed at me, “What you didn’t know is he is the piano man!”, playing an invisible piano located on top of my car as he walked to the next vehicle.
Though I am getting a bit sidetracked in the minor details of the story, it was at that moment, pulling away from the intersection, that the self proclaimed Cock got my mind a working. I mean, he is there every day. Some days he seems a little irritable, but for the most part, he is pretty friendly, and carries on conversation, even if it doesn’t always make sense. He is not one of those hostile beggars that shouts and raves and goes on if you do not want to give something.
But he is out there every day, in the same place, trying to get money just to live in the night shelter. He stands all day and tries to get money just for basic needs, basic survival. It made me wonder if the Cock enjoys being out there at that intersection every day, or if it is a task he finds no joy in. If standing out there is just a means to an end, and nothing more.
Like a miserable man, in an uncomfortable suite, sitting from nine to five in a small office cubical, hating every second that goes by.
Then my mind just went.
Some people work, and hard, their whole lives, at jobs they do not really enjoy, just for basic survival. Their lives become one big means to an end, until THE end. I started to wonder how many people in the world are so busy working hard to survive that they don’t really ever get a chance just to “live”. I think about where I come from, where the emphasis on success is based on how hard you work, how much education you get, how much “stuff” you acquire, and so on.
People spend the first 18 years of their lives getting educations they might not really enjoy, just to continue on and do 2 to 12 more years of education they may or may not enjoy, just to continue on to work a job they may not enjoy, the rest of their lives, for stuff; and some not even for “stuff”, but only for basic survival.
Some people seem to live to work. Others work to live. But I wonder how much “living” actually goes on.
On any given day…
What is the ratio of moments enjoyed to moments not enjoyed?
How often do we laugh?
Do we take time to really taste the food we eat? I mean, really TASTE it; not just swallow it.
Do we take pleasure in the sights that surround us each and every day?
Do we enjoy each others’ company?
Are we here to merely survive? Or are we here for a much greater purpose?
Some may say, “We can’t all go off and have fun everyday! Someone has to do the work around here!” And though that may be true in some way, I guess I just wish that every “someone” would find that “something” that really makes them feel alive. And that “something” would be connected to their livelihood, and therefore they are allowed to truly LIVE and not just “get by”, in a way that the means is just as fun and important as the end.
I don’t know about the Cock. I don’t know about you. I am evaluating my own life.
It all kind of started when I pulled up to a red light and stopped. It seems red lights have been used a lot in my life lately to provoke thought. So there is this older man who stands and begs at that red light every day. I mean, e v e r y, s i n g l e, d a y!
Though he is a little bit kooky, he does not seem to be an alcoholic or drug addict; the fear many people have of beggars. Nope, this man just seems to be your average, semi deranged, but usually friendly old man.
He strolled up to my window and held his funny looking, clear-yellow-tinted-plastic cup, looking something like a cup one would be given for a urine sample, in my face.
“Nothing for the cock?!”
“Cock” being an old British word, used as a “term of informal address to a man”.
I smiled at him and did the awkward, sideways-nod-and-wink maneuver, to say “No, I have nothing for the cock today, apart from this smile and wink”. Though I know the Cock is familiar with the response-to-beggars protocol and sign language, his request did not stop there.
“Young man, no small change to get me in the night shelter tonight?”
I said, “No, sorry sir. Not today.”
“Nothing? Ok, young man.” He then looked up to the bus driver, sitting next to me at traffic and pointed at me, “What you didn’t know is he is the piano man!”, playing an invisible piano located on top of my car as he walked to the next vehicle.
Though I am getting a bit sidetracked in the minor details of the story, it was at that moment, pulling away from the intersection, that the self proclaimed Cock got my mind a working. I mean, he is there every day. Some days he seems a little irritable, but for the most part, he is pretty friendly, and carries on conversation, even if it doesn’t always make sense. He is not one of those hostile beggars that shouts and raves and goes on if you do not want to give something.
But he is out there every day, in the same place, trying to get money just to live in the night shelter. He stands all day and tries to get money just for basic needs, basic survival. It made me wonder if the Cock enjoys being out there at that intersection every day, or if it is a task he finds no joy in. If standing out there is just a means to an end, and nothing more.
Like a miserable man, in an uncomfortable suite, sitting from nine to five in a small office cubical, hating every second that goes by.
Then my mind just went.
Some people work, and hard, their whole lives, at jobs they do not really enjoy, just for basic survival. Their lives become one big means to an end, until THE end. I started to wonder how many people in the world are so busy working hard to survive that they don’t really ever get a chance just to “live”. I think about where I come from, where the emphasis on success is based on how hard you work, how much education you get, how much “stuff” you acquire, and so on.
People spend the first 18 years of their lives getting educations they might not really enjoy, just to continue on and do 2 to 12 more years of education they may or may not enjoy, just to continue on to work a job they may not enjoy, the rest of their lives, for stuff; and some not even for “stuff”, but only for basic survival.
Some people seem to live to work. Others work to live. But I wonder how much “living” actually goes on.
On any given day…
What is the ratio of moments enjoyed to moments not enjoyed?
How often do we laugh?
Do we take time to really taste the food we eat? I mean, really TASTE it; not just swallow it.
Do we take pleasure in the sights that surround us each and every day?
Do we enjoy each others’ company?
Are we here to merely survive? Or are we here for a much greater purpose?
Some may say, “We can’t all go off and have fun everyday! Someone has to do the work around here!” And though that may be true in some way, I guess I just wish that every “someone” would find that “something” that really makes them feel alive. And that “something” would be connected to their livelihood, and therefore they are allowed to truly LIVE and not just “get by”, in a way that the means is just as fun and important as the end.
I don’t know about the Cock. I don’t know about you. I am evaluating my own life.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Day 268: 18 August - Fear Monster
I just thought of something today. I am most definitely sure it is not the first time this has been thought of by someone, in the every same way I thought of it. I am also sure it has been expressed many more eloquent ways than I am capable of. But it struck me all the same, and I want to share it. I realized something.
Fear is like a pet monster.
We all have different levels of fear, about different things in life. Some fear rejection, others fear acceptance. Some fear public speaking, others fear solitude. Some fear “the other”, others fear self. Some fear the exposure of things in the light, others fear the darkness.
Some of our fears are valid, and experience based, others are irrational uncertainties we have allowed to spiral out of control.
But no matter what the fear is, as long as we entertain it, we are giving it a place of residence. That fear becomes our very own pet fear monster. And like any pet, the fear monster thrives, or dies based on our maintenance of it. And this maintenance of that pet fear monster, its means of survival or extinction, comes out of how we engage with the object of our fear.
Surely denial of fear, along with avoidance of the object of the fear, only gives nourishment to the fear monster. It eats it up, grows, becomes more powerful, acts more rabidly, and becomes less and less easy to contain. Our fear monster becomes like a raging Rottweiler, foaming at the mouth, barking behind the fence, scaring those who pass by. After a while, even us as the pet owners lose control, and that fear monster literally eats us up alive!
But maybe that fear monster should not be seen as a pet at all. Maybe more of a pest; like a disgusting rat that managed to burrow its way into the walls of our house, only taking from us, spreading disease, and giving nothing positive in return. But depending on the size of the fear monster, mere once off poison will most likely not do the trick to rid our lives of this vermin. We have to work more long term.
We have to stop feeding it, and cease giving it the nutrition it needs to survive. We have to starve it.
Without doubt, this is a process of challenging it, engaging the object of fear, putting our self in a place to confront it and even be beaten by it at times, to stand back up to it again and again, over and over again, and then a bit more.
The fear monster will starve, be malnourished, a bony being with no meat, weak, feeble, delicate and tired. The fear monster will have no strength to stand and absolutely be powerless over us.
But we have to determine whether our fear monster is a pet, or an unwanted visitor. And depending on the answer to that, we need to treat it accordingly.
Friday, July 31, 2009
patience helps you give others permission to be human. it understands that everyone fails. when a mistake is made, it chooses to give them more time than they deserve to correct it. it gives you the ability to hold on during the tough times in your relationship rather than bailing out under the pressure.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Day 163: 5 May - True Activism
I think true activism is birthed from the connection of two parents...
a deep, unconditional love for someone, a group or something
and
a deep, unconditional hatred for anything that threatens the existence or well being of that person, group or thing.
a deep, unconditional love for someone, a group or something
and
a deep, unconditional hatred for anything that threatens the existence or well being of that person, group or thing.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Day 157: 29 April - Humanity is Refreshing
It has been way too long since I last wrote and I am terribly sorry for that! No excuses!
Much of my time is spent trying to convince people to act on injustices they see around them instead of merely accepting those injustices as reality. Sometimes when I am speaking with people I can tell they want to “right the wrongs” but just don’t know how; others go through the motions of nodding their heads, but I can see on their faces that they are fortunate enough to be unaffected by the injustice, and will happily continue to allow it to cause misery for others, as long as it does not begin to impose on their way of life. One of my biggest “battles” of this nature has been with the pedophiles that prey on the children living on the streets of Cape Town.
I do think the average citizen feels disgust and disdain about these happenings, but I have rarely seen that emotion turn into public action. I personally have worked with all different forms of police units and “protectors of the public” to see justice be served, but due to the complexity of the situation, formerly weak policy (now changed and still evolving), the fact that “they are only street kids” (in the words of National Intelligence years ago), and other complications, children on the streets of Cape Town are the most vulnerable and easily accessible group of sexual prey for pedophiles.
This morning however, I was refreshed by humanity. I checked my Facebook and I had a message from a person that I am not “friends” with, and have never met before, neither on Facebook or in real life. She said she had seen me on one of the Special Assignment episodes done about pedophilia amongst street children and she wrote hoping I was the “right guy”. She then told me about an event that happened Monday night on Long Street.
She was driving around the corner of a dark, back street, just off Long, when she saw an old white man calling two children to get into his car. The way the man was behaving let her know that he was a pedophile. She told me that she immediately drove towards him and blocked him in. She wrote down his number plate, the make and model of his car, and she said she would have done more but she had her friend’s child in the backseat of her own car and did not want to put him at risk. She contacted me and is going to take matters further, whatever that looks like.
I am thankful for people like this lady who are willing to act when they see injustice! I am so thankful she made contact with me, to take matters forward, but also reaffirming something in me that I already knew but sometimes forget: basic acts of humanity can be so refreshing! What a way to start the day!
Much of my time is spent trying to convince people to act on injustices they see around them instead of merely accepting those injustices as reality. Sometimes when I am speaking with people I can tell they want to “right the wrongs” but just don’t know how; others go through the motions of nodding their heads, but I can see on their faces that they are fortunate enough to be unaffected by the injustice, and will happily continue to allow it to cause misery for others, as long as it does not begin to impose on their way of life. One of my biggest “battles” of this nature has been with the pedophiles that prey on the children living on the streets of Cape Town.
I do think the average citizen feels disgust and disdain about these happenings, but I have rarely seen that emotion turn into public action. I personally have worked with all different forms of police units and “protectors of the public” to see justice be served, but due to the complexity of the situation, formerly weak policy (now changed and still evolving), the fact that “they are only street kids” (in the words of National Intelligence years ago), and other complications, children on the streets of Cape Town are the most vulnerable and easily accessible group of sexual prey for pedophiles.
This morning however, I was refreshed by humanity. I checked my Facebook and I had a message from a person that I am not “friends” with, and have never met before, neither on Facebook or in real life. She said she had seen me on one of the Special Assignment episodes done about pedophilia amongst street children and she wrote hoping I was the “right guy”. She then told me about an event that happened Monday night on Long Street.
She was driving around the corner of a dark, back street, just off Long, when she saw an old white man calling two children to get into his car. The way the man was behaving let her know that he was a pedophile. She told me that she immediately drove towards him and blocked him in. She wrote down his number plate, the make and model of his car, and she said she would have done more but she had her friend’s child in the backseat of her own car and did not want to put him at risk. She contacted me and is going to take matters further, whatever that looks like.
I am thankful for people like this lady who are willing to act when they see injustice! I am so thankful she made contact with me, to take matters forward, but also reaffirming something in me that I already knew but sometimes forget: basic acts of humanity can be so refreshing! What a way to start the day!
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