JOURNEY TO CHILDREN OF BWOLA DANCES. AMAYA
can disappear for the whole day playing with other relatives, without the parents even losing a heartbeat, with concern about their whereabouts. Every afternoon after school and on weekends, Olum would disappear with another twenty cousins, second cousins and third cousins into the bushes or forests close to the village to hunt for different types of rodents, or catch green grasshoppers, a peanut butter tasting local delicacy when fried and then ground into paste. Alternatively, the wings and the long barbed hind legs are pulled off before frying and eating.
They would while away the afternoons, between hunting adventures with climbing every wild fruit tree in sight. These include mango trees, Olam trees (type of plum), Cwa trees (a sour nectar) and Oceyu (a sweet & sour fleshy fruit). During the peak mango seasons, families of monkeys and baboons would be feasting when the children happened along. There would sometimes be a contest between these two groups. The trick was to get the monkeys or baboons to throw ripe mangoes at them as a weapon. To achieve this, the children threw stones or sticks at the animals in the mango trees. The monkeys or baboons in turn, being infuriated and trying to protect their territory would pick mangoes and return assault at the children. Being lousy shots, the animals were duped into being fruit pickers at no risks to the children. Where they could not climb the trees they used stones or sticks to get fruits such as Tugu (a palm fruit).
In the heat of the day, to cool dawn and maybe catch fresh fish with their bare hands, they would plunge into the various streams covered with papyrus reeds. For Olum and his merry relatives, the complete cycle of life just happened, to the village community with year-on-year of temperatures that rarely fell below 20 degrees during the raining season and rarely went beyond 38degrees during the dry season.
In the late afternoon, as the sun was setting, they would arrive home from their adventures with funny stories to amuse their parents. Among their many chores around the home was to roundup the chickens and goats into one of the huts for the night, fetching water from the nearby stream about 200metres from their home. The evening meals was family affair including any uninvited relative or stray child who was too tired and hungry to make it home in time for their meal. Mealtimes were always open to the other families and no one was ever sent away or made to feel unwelcome, that is village life in the community heart of Africa. After dinner they would move on to making up games or playing traditional children’s games until it was time to go to bed around 8pm.
A bee flew past his head, which startled Olum. They love the smell of ripe mangoes and their sting is nasty. It awoke him from one of his many lonely hours reminiscing about another eternal past of his previous life. As a 14-year-old now, these were the moments of recollection that he would travel to, to laugh and play as he sat, occasionally swinging his dangling legs off a large mango tree branch, 20 metres up among the canopy. The breeze was cool up there, and whenever he so desired, he could reach out and grab mangoes at various stages of ripening.
Than those tormenting would force themselves into his paradise. His, mum would from time to time, appear in a dream calling him by name with a big smile. She would wrap her arms around him with a big and gentle hug. He was her favourite because he was a boy, after having two daughters. Before he started school, she would take him to the garden. On the way, she always held his hands and would tell him traditional folk stories with the accompanying songs. These were stories about the rabbit and the tortoise, or the one-eyed monster called, Obibi. They were very funny stories he thought, even though they had a moral behind it that he didn’t always like. When his sisters, whom he adored, arrived back from school in the afternoon, and quickly changed from their school uniforms, they would meet them in the field to help with the crops. His mother always cooked him something special whenever they had extra money to buy the ingredients. She was his best friend. Olum, wiped away the tears that trickled down his cheeks, while holding onto the memories of the much loved and missed departed.
In a world where jealousies are plentiful, these wonderful paradise lifestyles were doomed. One day the destroyers and exploiters arrived, uninvited and extremely ruthless. It was the beginning of an unenviable journey, nine years ago when he was just 5 years old, that would set him on a course that would change, forever, both his destiny and that of another 14 year old boy, in Australia, in the coming New Year school holidays as their world’s meet.
Fair Go!
John Georges (nickname – Jonno) could not wait to see the high profile and highly reputable man from Andreessen, Arthurton & Associates (Triple-A). He had never been to see one and did not even know there were such people. The only people he knew about finance were bank managers and they had very little time for low-income people like him. Even though he had managed to save enough money for a deposit on a house, his employment status as a casual worker and worst still an Aboriginal meant there was no likely chance of seeing a bank manager. At best Jonno remembers seeing an assistant of an assistant branch manager. The woman had stared down at him from her expensive looking ugly half spectacles with an expressionless face. Jonno knew he was only being tolerated and any courtesy was for the sake of the other customers waiting next in line.
“Can I help you?” she had asked with disinterest. She felt like telling him, “You are wasting my time and money by filling up the queue. I am only interested in profitable customers and you are definitely not one of them.”
Jane Phillips had had a gutful, by the time this Aboriginal chap came to the counter enquiring about the possibility of getting a loan for a unit. She had served pensioners at the Savings Account counter since 8:30am and she could swear she saw grass growing in the queue. Her face was sore from the fake smile she had to put on, in case some grumpy old prune juice complained to her manager, yet again, that she had poor customer service etiquette.
This suburban branch, even though so close to the city’s vibrant social networking, night clubs and cafes scenes, seemed like in a god-forsaken other world. The branch was old, and the customers stank from rotting teeth or alcohol or medication filled breath. She just couldn’t wait to get a transfer to the city centre. After about four attempts to get a transfer she had not yet been given the approval. She felt trapped and couldn’t believe that there were some lame brain staff members who had been in the branch for like, 10 years. 10 years! Oh my god! She shuddered. The very thought of it made her want to vomit right there and then.
This afternoon Jane was transferred to the Loans and Investment counter, but this did not help because the pensioners still came over anyway. It was, therefore, an unfortunate encounter when this Aboriginal chap reached her counter. Back to that fake smile again, she thought, but all she could achieve was the expression of someone who had just unexpectedly bitten into a lemon. Not a pleasant sight for poor Jonno, the customer.
“Do you want to withdraw funds? she asked and continued without waiting for a reply confident that he probably could not read, and therefore did not understand the clearly labelled queue for those who wanted a loan or to make investments.
“If you do, then you are in the wrong queue. Go to the other one and you will be served”
Although feeling insulted by the obviously condescending redirection, Jonno was not going to be discouraged from achieving that financial breakout.
“No, I am in the right queue, thank very much. I know what I am up to and know why I am here.” He replied confidently.
“I want to get information on getting a loan for a two bedroom unit” he continued. As the words poured out of his mouth emotional confidence rose up like the best ever wave on a beach.
“Yeah, I want a loan so that I can buy myself my own property. What is the process?” Jonno continued without waiting for an answer.
“I have already saved enough money as a deposit for a loan and my mum will give the rest to pay for the stamp duty.” Now his confidence had turned into excitement at the very thought that he could even talk about a loan. None of his family members had ever talked about owning property. They wouldn’t even dream of it.
“Do you have a full-time job earning at least $50,000?” Jane hit back with a proverbial financial brick batt that