My Street Brother

“Aunty nipee kobole” a voice said near me.

I looked down to see a young boy, probably nine years old, his right hand outstretched. I clutched my handbag. Would he snatch it from me? I kept wondering.

“Aunty nipee kobole nikanunue chai,” he continued.

He was dirty and underfed. It was chilly and windy, the little boy did not have a jacket, neither was he wearing a shirt. I buttoned up my coat to keep myself warm as I adjusted the heavy woolen shawl around my neck. My hands were well covered by a pair of gloves. I clutched my handbag tighter. These street urchins! I looked away and ignored him.

“Aunty nipee kobole nikanunue food.”

The bug! He was still there. Don’t they learn? I looked at him in disgust. Couldn’t he leave me alone? I clutched the paper bag that contained the packet of chips I was carrying for my younger brother who was at home. The delicious aroma was inviting. I looked at the little boy again. Yes, he was almost the same age as my brother but he was smaller, way smaller.

My brother would probably be playing with his newest toy, a playstation that my mother had bought him for his birthday. He loved that piece of toy. He spent hours just playing games, inviting his friends over so he could show them his newest toy.

“Siz, nipee five hundred nikanunue football,” my brother had said to me that morning.

I gave him the money of course. He would throw a tantrum if I did not. He was not spoilt, he just got what he wanted. I hope he bought the ball, I thought. The few thousand notes I had in my purse were for buying a new dress from Mr. Price. I mean, my best friend’s birthday was just around the corner and I needed to look hot for the birthday party.

“Aunty nipee five bob nibuy supper.”

That was the last straw. I was now angry. A taxi stopped and the driver hooted at me. I opened the taxi door. The taxi pulled away. I looked out of the window. The little boy was still standing where I left him, one hand clutching a bottle of glue, shirtless, the other hand still outstretched.

Funny, he looked just like my brother.

*This story first appeared on http://daystarportal.wordpress.com/2011/10/29/my-street-brother/

THE BEAUTY IN ME

(This poem is dedicated to every woman out there. Tall, short, dark, white. We are all beautiful, despite the drama we go through with our hair, body and skin. Take a look in the mirror and say "damn I am beautiful.")  

"I AM A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN," I told him.

He looked at me; up down,
And said,
But you are too short, you are too fat,
Your hair is too kinky,your skin is too dark,
I smiled... Smiled at his insecurities...

Smiled because I wished that he knew of the many times that I had cried;
Cried because of other people's insecurities,
Cried because I thought that I wasn't good enough,
Or tall enough, or too dark...

But I cry no more, because I am a beautiful woman...
And I smile when he says that I am not good enough,
I smile because I am not defined by the color of my skin,
Nor the size of my trousers, or the bra that I wear,
My beauty is not determined by the shoes on my feet,
Or the size of my waist; nor the kilos of my buttocks.

I am beautiful because I am passionate,
I am dedicated, I am strong....
I am beautiful because I have been called ugly;
By insecure people...
I am beautiful because I have learnt to smile...
And to rise up and walk...or run...
I am beautiful because I have learnt to fight back...

To see how beautiful I am, you must look deeper;
You must look past my physical attributes,
Past the shape of my body, the curve of my hips,
Past the movement of my buttocks as I walk...

Because when you find that beauty in me;
In any woman, then you have found
A GEM.

(Poshia)