The Scribblings of Lea de Witt

The electronic doors whoosh open.

Hot, sticky wafts of the midsummer South African breeze ooze over me. Instantly sweat pops out on my slightly sun-crisped forehead. The air turns to shimmering waves steaming off the Pick ‘n Pay parking lot pavement.

Shouts of the local kids mix with the bantering of the street vendors hocking their handcrafted wares to create a jovial euphony of sound. Some I understand. Some is beautiful gibberish.

Weighed down, I wander in the direction of the car, a happy Sherpa with my trove of goodies, excitedly liberated from their imprisonment in the grocery store.

Amongst my purchases are a large bag of biltong (a savory meat treat sort of like our North American beef jerky), an array of chocolates and an assortment of exotic fruits, so flavorful my taste buds might explode. Yes, I may have overdone it, but this way I wasn’t missing out on exploring new tastes that may never again have the chance to grace my palate. Plus… I’m on vacation!

On the backseat a greasy container holds my leftover lunch of deep-fried vetkoek and fries. With all these new treats I know the vetkoek and I are at the end of our short but savory time together.

The trek to the garbage leads me past a man sitting down at the edge of the lot, two buckets of water next to him. Sweat makes his dark, leathery skin shine under the sun. Stripped to his boxers, I can see how thin he is, boney but not skeletal. Grabbing a bar of soap he begins to wash his clothes.

Kids play around him, chasing each other. How is the pavement not burning their bare feet?!

Watching me as I pass him with my uneaten lunch and a can of flat, warm orange Fanta, he asks in soft, broken English, “You.. throw out?”

Seeing the incredulous, hungry look on his face at my reply, I hesitantly inquire if he wants it.

A beautiful smile, missing teeth and all, breaks across his weatherworn face. Taking the container and can, he thanks me repeatedly.

Shyly continuing to watch him as I return to the sun-roasted vehicle, I see the children flock to him, clamoring to get close. He shares the food as they take turns sipping from the can.
A mixture of joy and guilt war inside me. Joy paralleling their joy over the gift of an unwanted meal and warm pop, something I had deemed not good enough to finish because I had something new and better. And guilt of not even thinking twice about what I was, in fact, wasting.

Without a bite or sip for himself the man returns to his laundry. Smiling.