what do you say?

There has been so much that I have wanted to say about this world cup.Many times I have considered updated my blog with the greatest intentions of doing so, but haven't. I apologise. It is difficult to write about something that isn't as fresh in your heart and memory, so instead of blogging about the beginning of my World cup experience, I will blog about something that happened last night.

It was (as we all know) the FIFA World Cup Final. Big hoopla, big excitement. There was no way that I was going to miss the last oppertunity to experience a truely South African world cup 'vibe', and so I decided that I would make my way to the Durban Fan Park on the beach front. I am estimating that there was close to 40 thousand people in the area. What a vibe.

I was walking from the car towards the fan park, when a man approached me. He was very 'local'. Not terribly dressed, didnt smell like acohol or sewerage, but it was quite easy to tell he wasn't an upperclass man living in Umhlanga. He greeted me, and being the friendly person I am, I turned and shook his hand. After exchanged the initail "how are you's" of any conversation, he said to me "listen my friend. I have something here. I have some very nice Marajuana for you". I must say didn't really expect that from him, although, at the same time, I wasn't completely suprised. I guess the fact that I was supporting an afro for the night made me look like a customer. I immediately turned down the offer politely. But I wanted to ask this guy about his life and find out more about his situation.
Not knowing what else to say, I asked if he knew what he was doing was bad for him and... well... illegal. He said "yes I know, but I have to feed myself somehow. And it is the only way I get money". "Why don't you find another job? Surely there is stuff around here to do?" I asked. "Boss, you give me a job then".
I continued the conversation to learn that on a 'good night' of business as a marajuana dealer, this man made between 1 and 2 thousand Rand ($130 and $230) selling his Marajuana on the beachfront. Good sum of money for someone living on the street. I wanted to express that what he was doing wasnt right, and there is a better way to live, but I didn't know what to say. I was speechless.

Millions of things ran through my mind. Do I point him out to the police. Do i try tell him about my faith. If I did tell him about my faith, what would I say when he asks, "but how do I get money for my family then? Jesus won't give me money". Do I give him some money. Do I buy him food. Do I just continue and pretend I never met him.

After asking me where I was from (expecting I would reply somewhere in Europe or the United States) I told him I was a Durban local. He was suprised, but smiled and shook my hand. He said goodbye, and as I looked back to say somthing to him, he had disappeared into the huge crowd.

I walked away from that conversation a failure. I felt it too. I didn't share with him what I believed, I didn't help him at all in his situation, I didn't even learn his name.

How can we bring a message of Hope if we are not prepared? We have to be ready for these situations at all times, not just on Sundays or when we do outreach events.

I suspect there are millions more men, women and children like this man in our cities and around the world. Don't make the mistake I made. Take every oppertunity you are given! Speak to people, seize the moment, rather than finding yourself, like me, praying for a nameless man that I will probably never see again.