This is the story of the cost of bread

A calm morning in Langa.
No children yet.
Just me and a PPG employee.
From time to time this woman volunteers holding seminars in schools.
She teaches youth about HIV, stds, unwanted pregnancies and the prevention through the use of contraceptives.
She also speaks about something else, something iniquitous and unjust.
Sexual abuse.
Rape of minors.
She argues the importance of reporting such events and tries to encourage victims to come forward.
No one should be forced to carry the burden of assault alone.

She had a story to tell me.
A shattering wake-up-call about the many shades of reality.

Recently she visited a middle school.
She spoke of sexual abuse.
Crude, non-consensual, vicious, destructive, illegal rape of children.

After the session was over a scrawny girl approached her.

Shame.

This child hesitated.
Face down.

In silence she just stood there, gathering courage.
Finally she looked up.

Sad oppressed eyes.

With a faint apathetic voice she asked:

...What if the man who rapes me is the man who gives me bread..?