Minus mic,
his voice still carried,
barely and with just enough humour
to detect genuine humility
and passion.
He spoke
of early sadness,
not being good enough
and
finding meaning.
He spoke
of childhood,
of family split
and dodging school
to fail.
He spoke
of finding
worth in himself
through purpose
and work
and sharing
a shed
with rats,
cockroaches,
scary spiders
and other youths
in a far-off land
where native children
were taught in awe and desperation,
drinking thirstily,
desperate for education.
He spoke
of forgiving himself
and his mum,
of whispered prayer
to find strength.
He spoke
of changes
in direction
to aspire
to doctor dream,
of local service
then returning
to Africa,
giving back
what he had found.
He spoke
of waiting soon
his first child –
to spontaneous applause
at his awed thrill.
His face lit
the stage.
A lad, I thought,
of tender years
for nothing
marred
his glowing face.
But experience
lent truth
to his age
and joy in life.
From sad and broken beginnings,
he spoke,
while I choked back tears
at radiant happiness
and a voice
that spoke
to youths
and adults alike.
He spoke
of finding
the meaningful key.
scottishmomus 