Notes from Cape Town: Kalk Baai

The hungry children sit on the edge of the harbor and glance over at our plate of fish and chips every few minutes. One of them is swimming, jumping into the water and climbing up the cement ledge. This one mostly ignores us. The other one, who must be around fourteen, glances at us regularly.

The woman who is clearing the tables asks us twice if she can take our plates. Both times we say no. “Don’t give it to them,” she says.

“To who?” Michelle asks, clarifying. I think she must be as stunned as I am.

“To them,” the woman repeats.

“To them,” I say, motioning with my chin towards the boys.

I finish my plate, not thinking clearly, and Michelle decided to box hers up to give to them in defiance. We analyze in mumbles if we should go against the woman or feed the children. In retrospect I don’t know why there was a question, why I didn’t save some of my own meal, and why I didn’t just go back in and buy another plate of fish for the boys.

“Lady,” the boy calls out when Michelle comes back with a box for her chips. “Can I have that?”

We nod to him, glancing around for the woman. “Yes,” Michelle says. “Over there.” She motions to parking lot. He looks confused. I motion with my thumb too.

As we leave he follows us. “Lady, can I have that?” Both nodding, we motion for him to follow us. With the caution in which he follows us I wonder why any tourist would ever be afraid of him… why only half an hour before Michelle and I were disturbed by the whistles of a group of adolescent boys. Alone he is unthreatening, his face confined by furrows of hunger, his mouth pleading, lady, lady.

“Is she looking?” Michelle asks me.

I turned around. “No.” I knew she would see anyway.

Michelle handed him the box. He bowed his head slightly in thanks.

“She told us not to give it to you,” I explained. I don’t know if he understood, not because we spoke English, but because he was more focused on the food.

And why would I ever hesitate to give my leftovers to a child on the street? After a year of Food Not Bombs and my disgust of waste? Next time I will buy him, the lone child, a meal. I would like to ask him to sit with us while he eats. When I begin to break down the barriers of coldness we have learned to erect around ourselves, suddenly the ways we live are completely absurd.