This is my entry in the “Act Of Kindness” Competition, as described in yesterday’s post.

Last week, my wife, Sally and I had to go into town, on business. We live on a smallholding, just outside Pietermaritzburg, in South Africa and were dying to get out of town and back to tranquility. As we approached Umlaas Road, I suggested we stop off at the hotel, for some lunch.

The hotel is very peaceful and set in a country atmosphere, overlooking the surrounding farmlands. As it was a beautiful sunny day, we sat on the verandah, relaxed and admired the scenery. After we had eaten lunch, we decided to stay a while, for a couple of beers.

As we were sitting chatting, a hobo arrived. He looked rather dirty, had a mop of stringy hair and an enormous bushy moustache. He looked about my age. As is so often the case, we judged him by first appearance and whispered to one another about him and what we thought he wanted, by arriving at the hotel. Just then, he came over to us and asked for a cigarette. We offered him a smoke and then lit it for him. He was very polite, quiet and humble. During this exchange, he had not looked directly at either of us. As he thanked us, he looked up at me. His face lit up and he exclaimed “Hey, howzit boet, I remember you!”

I was stunned and thought it was a ploy to get some money out of us. I asked him where he thought he remembered me from and was startled at his reply. His name was Brian M— and he had schooled in Pietermaritzburg at the same time I had. He remembered that I had been well known for my music collection and parties. I had started the first mobile disco in the town, way back in 1967. He had attended a few parties and was able to offer many names of common friends from those days. We started chatting music and he asked if he could sit with us.

Anyway, to cut the story short, we sat talking for the next hour, or two. We reminisced about the old days and old friends and of course about music. It turned out that Brian had been one of 7 children, had grown up in a poor family and had been to a state school. His mother had died when he was young and his father had been an alcoholic. He and the 3 younger children had been taken to a home, a place of safety and they lost their identities. At the first opportune moment he had rushed off to Richard’s Bay, on a work contract. The living was tough, the conditions harsh, but the money was good. Once the contract was over, he had nowhere to go, so took odd jobs. Brian was taken in by a kind hearted butcher and learned the trade as a blockman. He had no home and was invited to stay at the humble shack dwelling of a fellow black worker. Brian was 17 and became a part of that humble, poor black family. His friend’s mother treated him as one of her family and to this day, he still referred to her as “Ma”.

Brian had drifted for many years. He had hitched around the country and had taken many temporary jobs, but never settled anywhere. He appeared relatively happy and he had a refreshing philosophy on life. He explained that all people were the same. No colour, education, wealth, or possessions made anyone special. He treated everyone humbly and expected the same. He said he had a simple life. No responsibilities, no rules, no dependants, no bosses, no baggage and paraphernalia. He said if he felt like going down to the coast, it would take him precisely 1 minute to finalize the move. I actually started to envy him, for his honesty, openness and simplicity.

Anyway, what had happened, was that he had arrived at Umlaas Road and asked the owner for a job. The owner had agreed to feed him and accommodate him for a week, in return for some simple maintenance work being done. He had been there for 3 days already. I never knew this, until later.

I never judged him for what he was and actually started enjoying his company. I bought him a couple of drinks and eventually bid him farewell, as we had to get home. He asked for my phone number, to stay in touch and I gave it to him, although I didn’t expect him to call, well, not so soon anyway!

We got home, unpacked the car and settled in for the evening. I started reading the newspaper and Sally started to prepare supper. The phone rang. It was Brian. He sounded upset and almost tearsome. He explained that the barman had reported him to the owner, for socializing with customers and for having drinks, during working hours. I had not known he was on duty and he had forgotten his responsibilities, as the reunion had been such a highlight for him. He had been fired and evicted and had nowhere to go. He wondered if I could maybe give him some money for bus fare, so he could get to the coast, where he would look up an old butcher friend and try for a job.

I relayed the story to Sally and aired my suspicions that his story might be lies in another attempt to get money from us. Sally surprised me with her response. She said: “Shame, don’t you feel sorry for Brian? What if his story is true? How would you like to be in a similar predicament? He has no other friends and you made his day today. Why don’t you go fetch him? We will give him a meal, a bath, a place to sleep and you can make him really happy, by playing your music.”

Well, I fetched him. We had a great evening, playing all the old music, chatting and reminiscing. He hardly touched his food, as he said he wasn’t used to eating. He very seldom had a plate of food placed in front of him and ate like a bird. We gave him a towel and showed him the spare bedroom and bathroom, before retiring to bed. All evening he had worn a big grin on his face. He was really happy. He had even cried, while thanking us for our generosity and trust in him. He was truly appreciative, of being welcomed into our home and repeated his thanks over and over. We went to bed, leaving him sitting in the lounge, still sobbing with gratitude and of course still listening to my music.

On waking the next morning, I wandered through to the lounge, to have a smoke and wait until Brian surfaced. Imagine my surprise at finding him asleep on the floor, curled up in a little ball. He hadn’t touched the bed, the blankets, the bath, the towel. He hadn’t done anything at all. He just fell asleep, happy, content and safe. When sally asked him why he hadn’t used the bed, he explained that he hadn’t slept in a bed for many years. He was blissfully happy and kept hugging us. He wanted to catch that bus to the coast, to start afresh. I dropped him at the bus rank, gave him money for fare and waved goodbye. He still had that big grin on his face, as he waved back.

I learnt a few lessons that day and I made a friend. We haven’t heard from, or about Brian since. As suddenly as he had entered our lives, so too had he departed. Our lives went back to normal, but I know his is different. He appreciated being treated for who he was, deep down and not for what he looked like. We place too much emphasis on the unimportant things in life. We came with nothing and we will leave with nothing. Are we really happy? We were touched by his sincerity and simple approach to life. Under that rough exterior, was a simple, soft soul.

Derek Robson is an up and coming, South African, internet marketer, with a vision of empowering all fellow South Africans and non U.S folk, to have equal opportunity and success, on the internet. He is a syndicated article writer. He and his wife Sally, have started a string of sites, resources, courses and articles, as part of Dersalsites. For daily postings and articles, on Internet marketing, South African business, list building, affiliate marketing, the law of attraction, rugby and general topics, check his blogsite, at: http://dersalsites.com/southafricanbusiness  

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