My Hero Is On The Street
By: Bob KandetuWHEN we farmers come to town all must happen in one day because we must be back on the farm by nightfall. If someone invites you for a birthday party you almost ask the question ‘is it today?’ Normally we get into town by 07h30, run errands until 16h00, only to realiae that one has not eaten.
I chose Kentucky Fried Chicken on Mandume Ya Ndemufayo for a meal and sat at a table overlooking the parking lot on the top floor, so that I could see my bakkie through the window. There are so many stories about city life and cars disappearing these days. Four young black men were hanging out in the parking lot, each time walking over to patrons as they left and asked them for money. After forty-five minutes of watching the boys I left.
The young men were gone and there was only a young man in a wheelchair sitting passively three cars down from mine. He greeted me politely and looked away. I walked over and handed him a five-dollar coin. He thanked me very politely. As I got into the car, a young white man appeared from behind, waited until I took my seat comfortably and said: “Good Afternoon Sir”. I greeted him back and waited. He politely asked for audience and when I consented he said: “My little sister and I are starving on the streets as both our parents have died. We survive through my own efforts. I sell these little crosses which I make from buffalo skin. Will you please buy one cross for N$20 so that we can have something to eat tonight?”
For a moment I was undecided as to what to do so I asked: “Well, where do you get the skin from?” His answer was: “My friend who works in a skin factory brings them for me.” I produced a N$20 bill, gave it to him and said: “I shall make a donation and you can sell the cross to someone else so that you get some more money.” The boy declined the money. He would not take the money if I did not take the cross. He said: “Sorry Sir, but I cannot take your money for nothing. If you want to buy the cross I shall take the money or else sell the cross to someone else and let you keep your money.” I looked him in the face, somewhat in amazement, and decided to take the cross. He thanked me politely and left.
As I drove back to the farm I reflected on my last experience of the day in Windhoek. We tend to stereotype people easily and expect everyone who cannot find a job to be on the streets begging. This young man taught me a lesson in integrity: that you do not have to be rich to have integrity or to be proud of your person. And while I saw in him somebody resembling a culture of entitlement, his statement that “I shall not take your money unless I can give you service of some kind,” showed otherwise.
What puzzled me even more is the fact that this was a white boy, those we have believed all along will never ask a black man for help. And when he requested help it was on his terms. I wondered where he was when the four boys were in the parking lot and what he had thought of them.
Yes, I found my hero on the street!