Personal email sent to financial sponsors on April 4, 2014 12:28pm
Friend—
We have left Cape Town, South Africa
and all I can say is wow. I’ve had some incredible experiences in this amazing
country.
Here are some of the highlights: I
visited the Institute for Justice And Reconciliation; learning about Archbishop
Desmond Tutu and the role of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission post
Apartheid. I walked through District Six; where hundreds of thousands were
relocated during apartheid simply because of the color of their skin. I saw,
through performance the effects of Apartheid from the stage play Missing;
written by John Kani at the University of Cape Town’s Baxter Theater (a
beautiful campus and state of the art facility). I visited Robben Island; where
Nelson Mandela was imprisoned during Apartheid. I placed shoes on the foots of
school children living in Townships during a TOMS Shoe Drop—in collaboration
with Rotary International. I experience the local culture with some friends,
leaving the country with a new name: Matla—which means strength, deriving from
my American name—Brian, meaning strength and honor. I hiked to the top of
Signal Hill, and Table Mountain. While all of these experiences were great I’d
like to share with you a story of my most memorable moment in Cape Town, South
Africa.
I was hungry, and my local friends
and I had stopped at a McDonalds—per my request—so that I might grab something
to eat. I ordered my food, and while waiting for it I noticed three little boys
sitting near the door of the restaurant. These boys couldn’t have been no more
than 6 or 7 years old. I concluded from their clothes and mannerisms that they
were poor. They sat next to the door sharing a drink from one cup. My food had
arrived and I began to take my first bite. But before I could proceed any
further I stopped and went up to the three boys. I asked them their names.
Ethan, Jeremiah, and Samil (if I remember correctly-although I think I am
generalizing what I heard with American names). I asked them if they were
hungry. They said yes. I told them to follow me. I took them to the register
and I asked them what they wanted to eat. I told them to tell the cashier what
you want, and that they could get anything. They were so happy. Their smiles
moved me. They ordered 3 big Mac Meals. The cashier told me—as I was paying for
their meals—that “God is going to bless you.” There food was no more than 10USD.
While waiting for their food. I sat
and talked with them, laughed with them, and kept them company. My friends were
shocked and couldn’t believe what I did. I was simply lending a helping hand.
Their food arrived and I got them settled in at a table. At first I wanted to
take a picture with them so that I could have it to remember, but then I told
my friend no, I didn’t want to take a picture, I told him, I’ll remember
their faces. My friends couldn’t understand what was happening but I tell you
this story because this is what I felt:
While leaving the McDonalds and
waiving to three boys in the window, I struggled to hold back my tears. I lent
them a helping hand, not because I had much to give, but because I know what it
is like to have nothing. When I was in the 5th grade, not much older than these three
boys, I dropped out of elementary school. I had been moving back in forth so
much that I just stopped going. My mom had gone back on the streets and I had
virtually no one looking after me or to be accountable to—so I just survived as
I could. I lived liked these three boys. I went to a McDonalds one day and
pulled out all of the UNICEF boxes that I could out of the trash from other
peoples happy meals. At the time, UNICEF had partnered with McDonalds and
included little boxes for kids to take with them when they went
trick-or-treating during Halloween to collect money (often coins) and then
place the box in the mail to send back to UNICEF. This is how I survived for
two weeks. I kept the money and used it to eat and live off of until something
happened. One day after coming back from a 4 hour day of “work” with
approximately $42.00 in my boxes, my older sister told me that “some white man
came looking for you” and that he was “from the school” and that “I think he said
his name was Mr. BeBeau.” When I heard that name I dropped my boxed, I got
scared, and I packed up whatever clothes I had and walked approximately 2 miles
to another community where I my aunt lived.
Mr. BeBeau was my elementary school
Principal. We had a relationship; primarily because throughout my years in
elementary school, I frequented his office on many occasions. It got so bad
that my school teachers bypassed time out, and the referral process and sent me
straight to Mr. BeBeau’s office. He really cared for me. I’d like to believe he
understood my cry for attention, my need for love, and just a chance to
succeed. And it showed that day my sister told me he came looking for me. He
had noticed that I had stopped coming to school, and came to find me. Needless
to say I started going back to school. What Mr. BeBeau did for me, is what I
hope I did for those three boys. Although it was just a meal, I hope they felt
as though they were worth enough for someone, anyone to care about them. It
seemed so small for my friends to understand but for me it was a reality that I
had lived.
Friend, I want you to know, you have
helped me too. You have lent me a helping hand, and I am so thankful for that.
I have to tell you this for my sanity because I truly am grateful for
everything you have done for me; to allow me to experience what I am experiencing.
If I were to ask you to do anything
it would be to find a way to continue to lend a helping hand. This experience
has opened my eyes to so many horrors of the world, but from experience, I know
the impact from someone simply lending a helping hand.
Best,
--Brian
