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I went to visit a small township
in Southern Africa: a dusty little
area with a halo of smoke
hovering over it from the small
fires and chimneys. There were
children running around in the
streets in the orange haze of the
setting sun - their feet bare and
dusty; their bony limbs poking
out from shabby pieces of cloth.
Dogs, with their thin layers of
skin draped over their skeletal
bodies, howled and barked
weakly in the
distance, scavenging for scraps
of food and garbage.
I saw one young boy sitting
against the sink wall of a rusty
shack, one like the rest that
were smothered together. He sat
alone and scraped in the red
sand with a small stick. "Why
aren't you with the other
children?" I asked him. His face
remained down-turned and he
made no answer. I reached in my
back-pack and pulled out a
small stuffed teddy bear and
handed it to him. Barely looking
up, he took the stuffed toy from
my hands and stared at it. He
looked at it as if trying to figure
out what it was. I could tell that
he knew, yet he remained
frowning. I caught a glimpse of
his big, brown teary eyes when
he gave it back to me. "Don't
you want it?" I asked him
sincerely, and when he answered
me my heart sank into a pool of
compassion and empathy:
"Don't have food to give him..."