It’s 8 am.

Du Plooy and Chris Hani streets are quietening down after the morning rush. Scattered along their lengths is an assortment of men in both broken trousers and crisp reflective overall. They are disparate in age: some with youthful energy beaming from their faces and others showing the world-weariness of middle age.

They all have two things in common: looks of desperation and the will to work.

Their faces look pleadingly at each vehicle that passes – doubly hopeful when it’s a bakkie. The next may be the one that loads a couple of men to do skropwerk on their building and if a car slows down they’ll converge on the driver with promises of skill and dedication, hoping desperately that today will be the day.

The search for labour starts early, so these men get up in the dark to walk – or spend yesterday’s pay to catch taxis – to these Potch pavements. They don’t carry bags with food and drinks: those are cost burdens on a day when you may be without pay. On these icy winter mornings, these men don’t have gloves or jackets. All they have is hope to keep them warm.
By 10 there is still a scattering of men. At noon, they haven’t moved. Perhaps they’re unusually optimistic or perhaps there’s no reason to go home, because there’s not much there and it’s a long, long walk. While they’re on that pavement of potential, they can dream of a job, some crisp rand notes in their hands and a meal for their families that night.

What if, instead of throwing away last night’s food, we popped the contents onto some slices of bread and dropped them off on our way past these work-seekers? They’re not begging on the streets, or out robbing for their needs. They are humble men, desperate to sell the skill they have – no matter how small. A small gesture like this might mean more than a partially full stomach on which to work. Or dream. It would be our neighbourly hearts saying, “I see you. I appreciate the man you are. I am sorry I can’t give you work – but, human to human, here’s some love in a paper bag.”