Cry for our beloved Country

Driving to La Lucia this morning to drop Connor at tennis, I stopped in at the petrol station in Springfield.  I watched as a not too shabbily dressed beggar approached an African woman with pleading eyes and hands cupped in front of his chest, as he asked for her assistance please.  Without a moment’s hesitation, she skillfully sidestepped the demure character and carried on walking, not once looking at him or uttering a word.

We continued our journey encountering beggar after beggar at just about every robot and stop street, the only thing differentiating them from one another being their state of appearance. Some were raggedly dressed, others had gimpy appendages, the odd one clutched a sign scrawled on a scrap of cardboard, one or two staggered precariously among the rush hour traffic miraculously avoiding being sideswiped; while a few held up bin bags offering to swap the rubbish from your car for a handful of coins.

Each and every one of them approached my closed window, only to move onto the next vehicle as I automatically shook my head no and stared straight ahead avoiding eye contact.  Our return journey after dropping Connor at the courts, resulted in more of the same vigorous head shaking and hand waving dismissal of both the same and some new beggars. 

Later this morning I dropped in at the Pavilion to pick up a few necessities and upon leaving the building through the sliding doors at entrance 6, encountered a bedraggled, sun wrinkled Gogo with two young snotty nosed children in tow.  I immediately set my jaw, looked ahead and made a hasty retreat for my car ignoring her withered pleas.  It was only when I was heading home through yet another barrage of beggars, that it suddenly hit me how hard my heart has become to the sight and plight of our country’s down trodden.

It is rather a frightening reality that poverty has become so prevalent and in our face that I rarely feel compassion for it anymore, instead I find myself annoyed and irritated by the constant demands made by the begging fraternity. My feelings of animosity are especially aggravated by the odd wave of guilt at the fact that I am not, and probably will never be, in a financial position to save all of those who are apparently unable to save themselves.

It is little wonder that violent crime has become the norm in South Africa since we are more and more becoming a nation devoid of humanity.  The ability to value people above possessions will soon be a widespread rarity.  I fear the dawning of the day when instead of having emotions of deep sympathy and genuine concern for friends, neighbours and random strangers affected by horrific injustices, I simply experience selfish relief that it wasn’t yet my turn.