Marc McCole
Marc McCole 1 pledge

I grew up surrounded by extreme poverty, and too often find myself oblivious to its presence. In Africa you're so inundated with the fall-out, that it's all too easy to develop a set of suitable blinkers. That's hardly an excuse, but it is my reality; I would suggest I'm not much different from many people in this regard.

Today, while walking down to get a coffee, I walked by a young mother and her child sitting next to a newspaper stand and begging for money. Everything about that scene hurt; whatever about the ease with which we can impose some story to a young adult with their hands out-stretched, I couldn't make the stretch with a kid. A child is a victim, born into circumstance. It hurt. It made me think of the fifty dollar note in my wallet, the idea that it'd get thrown into booze and broads and whatever ills my night might hold. In the midst of said thought, I took it out and pushed it into her hand. I don't know what she'll do with it, or whether she'll use it wisely, for drugs or for child. The only thing I do know: she'll do no worse with it than me, and the good would be better.

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