(Song choice for blog entry: "How Bad We Need Each Other" - Marc Scibilia)
It is quite a remarkable moment when you realise that you are in the presence of one remarkable human-being.
Jay is a minibus driver for the Baz Bus.
This middle-aged man drives tourists along the Port Elizabeth to Chintsa route every Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday.
In his spare time, Jay collects rolls and slices of bread from local food stores and small bakeries in the area. He then apologises to all the tourists aboard the Baz Bus, as he makes four short stops along the journey to Chintsa, handing out this bread to women and children who stand waiting on the side of the road.
A very rural part of the country, here they stand four days a week. The women are tired, and the children look hungry. They sound hungry - all of them - as they desperately grab for their small share in the loaf of bread, gasping and grunting against the fight for the grain. This is after having walked kilometres over the hills and through the forests of the Transkei.
Jay and his sister have being doing this for years. They also collect cheap pairs of flip flops where they can, usually buying them for around the price of R20. They give these to the children who have no shoes.
In a part of the world where poverty has the potential to be so rife that it becomes stifling - these are the lucky few who have crossed paths with Jay.
Many go without.
Perhaps what Jay does may seem small and insignificant compared to massive campaigns and support groups in solidarity of those without. But I can guarantee you, Jay does a significant amount of good for these road people.
As we pulled off from the fourth stop before arriving at Chintsa, after giving the children what ever chewing gum and sweeties I had packed myself for the bus ride, I realised why I felt so strange inside. Here I was, chasing visions of my future, while I recognised how inevitably uncertain the futures of these road people are. I left with damp eyes.
So who are the lucky ones in this 'bigger' picture?
Jay's road people?
A very rural part of the country, here they stand four days a week. The women are tired, and the children look hungry. They sound hungry - all of them - as they desperately grab for their small share in the loaf of bread, gasping and grunting against the fight for the grain. This is after having walked kilometres over the hills and through the forests of the Transkei.
Jay and his sister have being doing this for years. They also collect cheap pairs of flip flops where they can, usually buying them for around the price of R20. They give these to the children who have no shoes.
In a part of the world where poverty has the potential to be so rife that it becomes stifling - these are the lucky few who have crossed paths with Jay.
Perhaps what Jay does may seem small and insignificant compared to massive campaigns and support groups in solidarity of those without. But I can guarantee you, Jay does a significant amount of good for these road people.
As we pulled off from the fourth stop before arriving at Chintsa, after giving the children what ever chewing gum and sweeties I had packed myself for the bus ride, I realised why I felt so strange inside. Here I was, chasing visions of my future, while I recognised how inevitably uncertain the futures of these road people are. I left with damp eyes.
So who are the lucky ones in this 'bigger' picture?
Jay's road people?
No readers, I suppose it is you who are the lucky ones.
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Jay and the grain. Somewhere between Port Elizabeth and Chintsa, the Wild Coast, South Africa. |
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A heart of gold, Jay tries to distribute the bread as evenly as possible. |
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Skinny and barefoot, hot under the midday African sun. |
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Packets for bread, waiting for change. Transkei, South Africa. |
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This two-and-a-half year old toddler walked the journey with her older siblings to meet Jay. |
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Sometimes, we need each other more than we even know. Transkei, South Africa. |
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This gogo (Xhosa for grandmother), and her grandson, waiting for Jay. |
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Jay, gogo and grandson. Bread. Somewhere along the N2, Transkei, South Africa. |
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