An Act of Kindness

I was extremely distressed, to put it mildly. The feeling was so intense that my faith received a low blow due to the sudden death of my father. Heart attacks are so sudden and final. My feelings were such that I was ashamed of myself as I harboured thoughts similar to those of Job’s wife as recorded in the Old Testament. My father meant the world to me. He was the sole breadwinner in a home consisting of my grieving mother, a semi-educated and indolent brother who was unemployable, and me, a current student at the University of the West Indies. My life and that of my family had taken a dreadful and unexpected turn.

I asked myself, “Who could I turn to in my hour of need?” With bowed head and drooped shoulders, I traipsed over to Mr. Harris’ office after disembarking the bus. Mr. Harris is a family friend and an elder in my church. It was mid-day and my tummy grumbled fiercely. I had not eaten since last night but a cup of hot chocolate calmed my nerves at breakfast. Mr. Harris is a kind and humble man missing a generous amount of hair. It hurts my heart to entertain the thought of asking him what I should do in my current situation but I have no one else to turn to. His past guidance has been immeasurable and I am compelled to pursue this avenue, again.

The secretary who guided me to his office looked me over and frowned. Perhaps, my youth and lack of an appointment made her uneasy about my intentions. He rose from his executive chair and greeted me with a huge hug that almost took my breath away. He invited me to sit on a comfortable chair opposite him. I am certain that he was wondering about the reason for my visit. There was a quizzical look on his face but his permanent smile calmed me and reassured me that all was well or, at least, would be.

I explained my predicament to him and my family’s current welfare situation. He looked concerned but continued to nod his head occasionally as I recited my woes. My explanation was focused on the burdens of my tuition fees, my transportation costs and meals for the last semester of the year. He probed me at length on whether I had approached any government bodies or NGOs that could aid in alleviating my burdensome situation. All options had been exhausted. It was as if all the financial spigots in all of Guyana had been turned off. Tears streamed down my face as he made the last telephone call to a friend. Rising from his chair, he handed me a small, white handkerchief with which I dried my tears. He hugged me again and insisted that I sit on that confounded contraption of a chair. It had become an uncomfortable device of torture. “Help me Lord, please!” I prayed silently.

Mr. Harris reached for his briefcase hidden under his huge, mahogany desk and pulled out a roll of hundred-dollar bills. He checked my rough calculations and matched the sum budgeted for my monthly expenses. He snatched a brown envelope from his desk and placed the money in it. He sealed the envelope and wrote the words, “With much love and respect for the Bowen family’s first graduate.” He handed the envelope to me requesting that I return his handkerchief within 30 days upon which time, I would receive another sum of money on the condition that my grades continued to be above average. I started sobbing uncontrollably. The chair held me and redeemed itself. I was counseled to put away my newfound wealth carefully into my haversack before I left his office. I felt as if I was floating on clouds as I strolled out of his office and stepped into the hazardous streets of Georgetown. I felt like a newborn babe.

When I left his office, my prayers of gratitude were muttered inaudibly under my breath. Passersby may have thought that I was one of the mentally unstable and homeless people who traversed the streets, aimlessly. I smiled at the thin, short, shabbily-dressed woman with unkempt hair who had made the sidewalks her home. I offered her a sandwich which I bought from a nearby restaurant. We ate together and we talked together. I can understand why people do what they do. I did not pass judgment. It’s a rough world and finding the right people makes it bearable. I cried again but these were tears of joy as I sent up Mr. Harris’ name to God. God will bless him, no doubt. There are angels on earth if only we open our eyes.