A boy and his grandma

This morning i drove into town to buy printer cartridges so we can print colourful certificates for the teachers that have been participating in the workshop. While walking to the bank to get money out of the cashpoint, a small boy passes me with his elderly grandmother on his arm. Shuffeling slowly, the boy looked up at me with big eyes; his clothes dirty and holed, his grandmother blind and stooped and helpless on his arm. He held up his hand, I walked past on my auto-pilot "Sorry, No." So many ask me for money, so many hold up their hand. I wouldnt know where to start, and automatic pilot is on before i step out of the car.

Walking on towards the bank, my heart broke a little. My shell broke. He is not a glue sniffing street kid, although they deserve as much help as anybody. His grandmother is blind and cannot care for him as I imagine she wants to, needs to. The upside down roles, the shame the grandmother must carry inside her, the responsibility of the little boy, he couldn't have been more than six years old.

I promised that on my way back i would find the boy and his grandmother, and give them a little bit of money.

Scanning the streets for the boy and his grandma, my eyes fell on little boys in shop entrances, little girls on the sidewalk, with grandmothers on their arms, old, dilapitated and some also blind. But i couldnt find the boy. I walked beyond the car and continued on. Looking left and right, up the streets and down the streets. I couldnt see them anywhere. I saw a crowd infront of Shoprite, the big South African supermarket chain. I crossed the road, waded through the crowd, passed hords of little boys sniffing glue and gave up. I looked down to my left, and on the floor, just there, next to me, the little boy sat. Looking at the ground, a little distance from his grandmother who sat on the ground, crumpled in on herself.
Amazing, here they are!
I walked up, and said 'sorry'. He looked up, a little dazed. I put the 5,000 kwacha in his hand and he started to beam. Smiling, i pointed to his grandmother. He leaned over and said something, put the money in her hand, she lifted her head, he said something again. I smiled at him and walked away. I turned back and saw him wave at me, and beam, and smile a beautiful smile. I smiled back, kept on walking, crossed the road, and felt a force of something overpowering and painful rise up inside me. I crossed the road crying, walking on to the car crying.
I don't know what it was, or what it is, because it wells up inside me as I write.

My shell broke. I found the boy. He smiled, and I cried.