The Tragedy of Human Despair

The Tragedy of Human Despair in South Africa

I came across this scene while running errands. The person, a man, I think, sat on the dirty, tar road at a robot, straddling the center and right turn lanes on a busy street. The light had turned red, so I was forced to face the human tragedy of poverty, hunger, and hopelessness. It’s not like I hadn’t seen people on the streets begging for food, clothes, jobs, or anything to sustain them for another day, but this was different.

He rested in a fetal position, head bowed and covered by a white t-shirt juxtaposed against black clothing. And what about the books? I couldn’t see their titles; maybe one was a bible.

He was as still as a statue and as quiet as the dark before the dawn. He did not flinch or moan, nor did he have pleading hands reaching out for a tidbit of salvation. The human was simply there, a tableau worthy of a production by the Ontological-Hysterical theatre company in New York City’s lower east side who keep their dramas “primitive and minimal with extremely complex and theatrical themes.”

But this man was not an actor who could walk out of the theatre and meet adoring friends for drinks after the show.

I tried to turn away, ignore, avoid, and pretend I wasn’t seeing what I was seeing, but morbid curiosity drew my eyes back again and again. The scene screamed at me. Do something, do something, DO SOMETHING! But what was I to do? Give him 10, 50, 100 rands, or an apple, a granola bar, maybe. Kind words! Had he looked up, would he have even listened to me in my Nissan X-trail, listening to Christmas music, with a boot filled with food? What did I know of his life?

His sign reads, “God Bless You.” No, no, no, you poor despairing man, God must bless you!

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