They were the type of people your mother warned you about – bearded, clad in dirty, ragged clothes that very obviously announced the prolonged absence of a good steam iron (or any kind of iron for that matter).
To the irritation of the bold and beautiful and oh-so-fine people walking by at a cautious distance, the brown-clad guy was holding his rather bemused friend’s hand. I noticed the aggravated eye rolling that followed them as they made their way through the lush green park, headed for the ancient, out-of-date hospital at the corner which has been around for centuries, its main clientele now weary labourers and bachelors.
After picking up snatches of their rough conversation, I identified them as labourers who had left their families in home countries and were working – as far as I could tell – for a tissue factory. They were talking about how bottles are recycled. One doesn’t really expect men ‘like these’ to know these kind of things. It’s against social rules.
I felt a surge of pity. At home they were respected – they constituted the strong, rich working class. They were the few fortunate ones who had jobs. Here, they were ignored.
As the two men passed the park, a little bubbly girl walked towards them with a wide grin showing off three white teeth and curiosity shining in her wide, hazel eyes. She was obviously well-cared for. Her curly hair was brushed and braided, her pink frock well ironed and little silver sparkly ballet shoes. She provided a stark contrast to the down-trodden state of the two men.
Brown Guy gazed at the girl, a warm smile lightning up his sun-browned face, but as soon as the mother spied the men, she hastened earnestly, contempt and worry written on her powdered face. She picked up her daughter and turned away. In the sun’s dimming light, I saw the anguish straining the man’s handsome features, hurt etched on his face. The dark eyes dimmed, the smile had vanished and a small toffee dropped from his fingers, back into the pocket he’d just pulled it from.
People scrutinise the dirty, shabby state and stop. They go no further but discard the person into the why-were-you-even-born category. Will these good-hearted people ever get the respect they deserve?
Alina Abdul Salam, age 14
