It Takes a Village - Like Mine

Karin Brynard's heart is warmed by the way in which her local community comes together to help an old man.

- By Karin Brynard. Illustrations by Derika Volpi and Paula Dubois

One thing I just don't have the emotional tools to deal with is seeing a grown man cry.

Don't get me wrong. Tears are tears, no matter whose they are. The weight of sorrow comes in equal measure to all of us.

And yet, the tears of men are seldom seen. Perhaps they just dam up behind a tough façade. And, once in a blue moon, may spill over at the slightest touch of tenderness.

Like the time I saw an old man cry, a gardener from the neighbourhood.

He was sitting under a huge oak in a little open field close to my home, his shoulders hunched, staring at his hands resignedly. I recognised him from a splendid garden down the road. There was a 'for sale' sign at the house, I recalled. My people have moved, he replied when I enquired after his well-being, far away, over the water. And me, I look for the new job, every day I look. He lifted both rough hands. “These hands can work, Mama, they can. They love the soil. But they keep on being empty.

He let his hands fall back in his lap. “All that is left for me now is the ‘aar-three-fifty'. He was referring to the government's poverty relief grant of R350 per month. But you can only apply online.