My soul is like my garden. The weeds of stereotypes are all over the place. How easy I judge. Just when I thought I’ve pulled out racism with roots and all, it just grows back again. Life is tricky when you try to keep it organic.
Humphrey works in our garden. My first impression of him was not good. All the stuff my culture (wrongly) taught me about poor black South-Africans came to the surface the first time I saw him.
Then he got to work.
And all the labels disappeared.
And his true character broke through my prejudice.
Humphrey has green fingers. He is intelligent. He has a humble soul, but a proud posture. He is kind to my wife and good with our dogs. He is eager to work and up for any challenge relating to plants, compost, bone meal and big rocks.
I bet when it comes to everyday life, Humphrey and I, are brothers from different mothers. We have the same needs, longings and big picture prayers. Like the common weeds in my beddings,
the difference is only skin deep.
All I got to do is keep pulling the bastards out.