Bivoj na Křemešníku

feel like a bit of a weirdo here in the Internet cafe right now! I sat down and began thinking about what i was going to write about and i just started crying. Even as i type now i am gates struggling to see the screen because of tears. Anybody that knows me knows i do not cry that much (not by choice), and so when i do cry it is obviously something significant! So what got me all teared up? Really something very simple i was thinking about this morning. I was just thinking about the different things i have seen on this journey and the way they have “moved” me. We can be “moved” by all sorts of different emotions. I specifically think back to just the last 12 hours…I was moved when i door handles met a friend on Long Street who was moved by what i am doing. He said he had duvets at his place for me to hand out to the guys. Me and Gregory went with him to his flat and he insisted on cooking us some food; even though he had very little in his fridge and cupboards, and in his own words, can’t cook (he asked me how to cook rice), he wanted to make me and Greg some food. When people patio doors that have little, give much, that is moving!

I was moved when i passed by the little kids that stroll on Long Street last night, back on a dark street, smoking rocks (crack). These kids are so addicted. I have always known it. I don’t doors want to mention names but two of them have been smoking rocks since they were 5 and 10 years old. They started smoking with their father. Now they are 13 and 17, but still look about 5 and 10 because of the hectic drug use over the past 8 years. To see children’s innocence robbed by the stupidity of adults, only to lead them to a life trapped in addiction is moving beyond wordI was moved when i arrived back to my slaap plek (sleeping place) and Malibongwe was waiting for me there. I have known Malibongwe the entire time i have lived here but haven’t seen him in a long time! He hasn’t been in town for a while and has been living at home, but he came to town on Friday. I saw him at Crippie. When i got to the flower stand he was standing there like a worried parent. I asked him how he was and he said “not good!”. I asked him what was wrong garage doors and he said, “I’m angry”. I asked who he was angry at and he said, “Who do you think? I am angry at you!”. I asked him why and his eyes filled up with tears and he began to cry. He couldn’t speak at first. His eye wells reached their limit and some tears rolled down his face and he said, “I never thought i would see you like this! I don’t know you like this! I was shocked to see you here on the streets...when i see you at Crippie i just stare at you...it doesn’t even look like you! I don’t know you like this to live on the streets!” Obviously he had not been fully briefed about what exactly i was doing here. As he continued to cry and continued to try and gain composure, i explained to him why i was on the streets, and that is was only for 16 days. He seemed relieved, but was already in an emotional state and began to talk about the problems he has recently experienced at home (specifically french doors with his step dad), which is why he came to town again. He doesn’t want to be here. But his step father doesn’t want him there, and makes his life miserable. To see someone who is walking through such a dark time show the compassi