THERE is a young boy, probably mid teens (it’s hard to tell), who hangs around the car park and traffic intersection near our offices.
Some of my colleagues have tried to help him. He’s washed cars and at times can be quite pleasant. He can also be very persistent.
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When he doesn’t get his way, a not-so-nice side emerges… the bottom lip drops and the faces becomes a little thunderous.
This happened the other day when I walked through the car park to get some things taken care of.
He was at my side, hassling me, telling me he was starving.
I did not have my wallet on me so tried the cordial approach – sorry, no cash on me today – but it didn’t work.
Finally, I muttered to him to ‘leave me alone’ and tried to stride off. That didn’t work either.
He just didn’t seem to understand the word ‘no’.
A strongly built bloke noticed what was going on, and spoke to this teenager in his mother tongue.
The teen gave him some lip, which I suspect was a mistake.
The barrel-chested bloke’s eyes darkened, his mouth twitched a few times, and he glared at the boy.
Then he bellowed something so loud and powerful it may have stopped traffic.
The only word I understood was ‘sebenza’, so am guessing it was something to do with telling this teen to get a proper job and stop begging.
The boy scampered away to avoid a beating, which seemed imminent.
I too, hot-footed it a touch, concerned I too may get a beating.
While I was grateful to my new friend, who nodded fiercely in acknowledgement of a job completed, I suddenly felt overwhelmingly sorry for the boy.
What’s his story? How did he end up on the streets? He’s oblivious, it seems, to rejection. Which is sad, because that’s probably all he knows.
I don’t have the answers but next time may handle it differently.
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