McDonalds

We were in Hatfield Plaza today; an old mini shopping center about 5 minutes from our house. Beggars are lined up on every sidewalk, by every parking spot, waiting for someone to pass by. Amanda, Stacy, and I were sitting across the street from McDonalds, waiting for our team leader, Kendra, to finish up on the pay-phone. 

A man approached us. I recognized him from earlier in the week. I think he comes to Hatfield regularly. Cupping his hands to make a bowl for the change, he began to plead. "Excuse me, sistahs..please, any change. I am hungry and my mum have no food for 3 days. I need one loaf today so we can last for weekend. Please sistahs..any change."

"What's your name?" Amanda asks.

Taken aback, he proudly says "Kris" with a smile. 

"Kris?" 

"Yes, Kris. My name is Kris. That is my brotha Joseph," he says as he points to the man across the street, looking almost identical to him.

"How about we buy you some McDonalds, Kris? Would you like that? We would like to get you some food and talk to you for a moment."

"Yes mamn. McDonalds. Thank you mamn."

"You don't need to call us mamn," we said with smiles and went down the row introducing our names. 

The McDonalds has no indoor seating. It's like a walk-up counter with an outside patio of maybe 5 tables. It has limited space so people are crowded all around. As Stacy and I walk up to the line to order him a couple burgers, Amanda offers him a seat at the only open table. Heads turn and eyes stare at the strange and unfamiliar scene of well-dressed American women taking a malodorous black beggar out to lunch. 

"Tell us your story," we ask as we offer him his first meal of the day. 

Kris is one of 3 children. He has an older sister who is 26 and finds work by cleaning white people's homes. "She is hard worker," he tells us proudly. Joseph is his older brother by one year. Joseph is 22 and makes a living by coming to Hatfield plaza with Kris Monday thru Friday to watch people's cars. Very commonly in South Africa, beggars will stand by parking spots in public areas and help people park, make sure their car doesn't get stolen, perhaps wash their car while the people do their shopping, and though there is no fixed price for the job, a couple Rand is usually what they receive for their service. Before the sun sets, Kris and Joseph walk about an hour and a half back home to their family. Kris' dad works in construction. Occasionally, he will let Kris come to work with him and help dig holes for buildings, roads, water pipes, and many other things. "I like working with my fatha. But I only go on special days." Kris' mother is home and sick. "Sick" can mean anything from the flu to AIDS. In many of the townships, children will say that their family member is "sick" instead of saying that they have AIDS. It is a shameful disease to them and many fear abandonment and punishment if they admit to it. 

"I have to help my brotha..but thank you for my foods, mamn"

Though we wanted to talk more, Kris' work was important for him and his family's health. 

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Kris. And please, call me Ali."

"Ali, yes mamn. Thank you Ali."

"Stacy."

"Amanda."

He shook each of our hands and left with 4 burgers to share between him and Joseph that afternoon. 

God moved. God won. And I can't wait for Him to do it again.