Thobiso was lying on the ground, bleeding with a man at his side.
“What happened to him?” I screamed.
“Kiddo was working with us...” the man started, speaking as a laborer.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, he was working with us, near the big city, and, you know, he hurt himself,” he answered, chewing something.
“No son of mine is a laborer!
Thobiso is going to be a politician, or a teacher, nothing less.
He is going to change lives!”
“He already did, sir.
Said he was with us because he wanted to learn to build school.
You know, without school building, no teaching.
He felt yesterday and a brick hit his head, but he is fine.
Now, sir, with all my respects, sir, you should just take care of him.”
And I knew he was right.
Thobiso was home, and that's all that mattered.
May 2014
Ψηφίστε τώρα! 