Ice Cream Cones
Sometimes I have moments that remind me of exactly how fortunate I am:
Someone from the department came to Letseku to give them money to use for a learner who was particularly poor in order to buy her new school uniforms. I hopped into the front of a pickup truck with the principal and a teacher while the learner sat wrapped in a blanket in the bed of the truck. It was obvious that her family didn’t have a lot of money: she didn’t have a full school uniform and the clothes she was wearing had holes in them, but often I don’t think past this stage. There are many children in the school who are in the same situation. It didn’t occur to me to analyze the circumstances much further. I like to live in my bubble, otherwise it becomes too depressing to be here.
So we ended up in Tzaneen and the learner was visibly excited. The principal asked her if she had ever been to Tzaneen before. She shook her head. This admission left me incredulous. Tzaneen was less than an hour away, and where I went to do all my grocery and other shopping. I usually go to Tzaneen on an average of once a week and here was a child who was in 6th grade, 12 years old, had lived in the village her whole life, and had never been to town. Suddenly, the whole trip took on new meaning for me too because it finally occurred to me that she would remember this trip forever. This was a highlight activity for her. In my childhood I will always remember going to Disneyland or going to the beach, but for her, going to town would be a memory she would always have.
I wanted to do something for her to make the experience really special. I asked her if she had ever had ice cream. She said no so I brought her to the ice cream store and bought her the largest cone they sold. She happily accepted the treat and the whole time I thought: I want to keep her here all day and take her to lunch and buy her new clothes and jewelry and chocolate. I may have done it but then I have to think about the fact that she’s one of hundreds of children in the village, and I can’t do this for all of them. Suddenly I felt helpless, I so desperately want all these children to be able to have beyond their basic necessities. I want them to be happy and to have experiences and big goals in the world. I want to be able to give them even a quarter of all the opportunities and experiences I was given as a child and it kills me to think that this will never be a reality for them; that at least at this point in time I would have to settle for a sixth grader getting new uniforms and ice cream for the first time in her life, and hope that for now this was enough.
Someone from the department came to Letseku to give them money to use for a learner who was particularly poor in order to buy her new school uniforms. I hopped into the front of a pickup truck with the principal and a teacher while the learner sat wrapped in a blanket in the bed of the truck. It was obvious that her family didn’t have a lot of money: she didn’t have a full school uniform and the clothes she was wearing had holes in them, but often I don’t think past this stage. There are many children in the school who are in the same situation. It didn’t occur to me to analyze the circumstances much further. I like to live in my bubble, otherwise it becomes too depressing to be here.
So we ended up in Tzaneen and the learner was visibly excited. The principal asked her if she had ever been to Tzaneen before. She shook her head. This admission left me incredulous. Tzaneen was less than an hour away, and where I went to do all my grocery and other shopping. I usually go to Tzaneen on an average of once a week and here was a child who was in 6th grade, 12 years old, had lived in the village her whole life, and had never been to town. Suddenly, the whole trip took on new meaning for me too because it finally occurred to me that she would remember this trip forever. This was a highlight activity for her. In my childhood I will always remember going to Disneyland or going to the beach, but for her, going to town would be a memory she would always have.
I wanted to do something for her to make the experience really special. I asked her if she had ever had ice cream. She said no so I brought her to the ice cream store and bought her the largest cone they sold. She happily accepted the treat and the whole time I thought: I want to keep her here all day and take her to lunch and buy her new clothes and jewelry and chocolate. I may have done it but then I have to think about the fact that she’s one of hundreds of children in the village, and I can’t do this for all of them. Suddenly I felt helpless, I so desperately want all these children to be able to have beyond their basic necessities. I want them to be happy and to have experiences and big goals in the world. I want to be able to give them even a quarter of all the opportunities and experiences I was given as a child and it kills me to think that this will never be a reality for them; that at least at this point in time I would have to settle for a sixth grader getting new uniforms and ice cream for the first time in her life, and hope that for now this was enough.
posted by Cait at 10:02 AM
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