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It was a beautiful day.

We had taken the kids out into the countryside. We stopped at a market along the way. The smell of meat on the open fire drew us in.

I felt so happy!

My kids ran off towards the makeshift playground. There was a slippy-slide; just a guy with a hosepipe and some washing-up liquid dishing up happiness. I knew that I stood no chance in trying to convince my kids that I didn’t want them wet. They were stripped down to their undies and laughing all the way down the slide in seconds.

That childhood innocence was beautiful to watch. Gratitude filled my heart.

There were families everywhere. Every now and then a kid would run up to their parents to grab a bite, give a kiss and run off again.

I spotted a 2 year old playing alone. She really stood out.  She had long white blonde hair with curly ends. She sprayed water all over my son and he burst out crying. An old lady came over and shouted at her. The girl didn’t flinch.

I assumed that the old lady was her granny but she started talking to me “IT is very naughty, you know.”

Yes, she referred to the girl as “IT”.

My kids were burning in the heat. The family sitting on the striped blanket under the Jacaranda next to us offered to share their sunscreen. In return, I offered some of our watermelon. It felt like summer.

I noticed all the other kids sharing sunscreen too. The blonde child called “IT” was very burnt but no one seemed to mind. I also noticed that her diaper was soiled and she didn’t have anything to drink for 2 hours.

I asked the old lady if anyone knew who her mother was. She pointed her out to me. She was the drunk lady in miniskirt, pouring drinks for a group of men in the band in the distance. The old lady said “She doesn’t care about IT, so why should anyone else? Mark my words. IT will end up just like her sorry excuse for a mother.” 

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I was about to scream at granny-zilla “No! You are wrong!  She is the victim of shit circumstances, for sure, but that doesn’t mean she CAN NOT and WILL NOT rise! F%#%ing idiot!” but it was just then that a storm broke out and we all ran to our cars.

I blamed the rain for my mascara stained cheeks.

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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