listening as a public act of kindness

today was a beautiful day outside.

on the way back from the toilets (which are in harmsworth hall at the moment - a bit of a walk), i saw one of the young african boys i spoke to this morning, sitting on his own, on the parkie's bench.

i veered over, planning to ask him again about his favourite song*. and when i got close, i realised that i had his face in his hands. when i asked him if he was ok, he started crying. poor love.

i sat down next to him and listened to him cry and tell me, sobbing, about what happened. i didn't quite catch the whole story, but i did understand
'ah fffound a handbbag ffuh mmuh mum and mmmuh cuzzzin tttookit and guh-guh-ggave it tu-tuh his mmuh-muh-mumm...hoo hoo hoo..'

he found a handbag for his mum and his cousin stole it from him. and punched him when he tried to get it back.

poor love.

i consoled him, sympathised with him and told him he didn't have to let his cousin speak to him like that. i let him sniffle along for a bit and then i took him back over to harmsworth hall, let him wash his face and i grabbed him some tissues to wipe his face.

his name is KK and he was quite reserved still, but trusted me, mostly. which is good. i'm a stranger.

i suggested that, instead of focusing on the missing handbag, he make his mum something instead and that she'd probably like that just as much (if not more) than a handbag. i'd meet him back at the park benches in 2 minutes.

he liked that idea, so i came back to the underground, grabbed a very expensive art magazine, some paper, scissors, textas, glue and headed back to where i agreed to meet him.

there we both sat and cut out things from art & australia - he made his mum a card with an ad from this exhibition by joanna lamb, with "i love you mum" on it. i started cutting out from articles about the john kaldor foundation, fashion exhibitions and romance was born.

i think the process was cathartic for both of us.

it was such a lovely gesture and it felt like it was still within my project of listening to the estate. rather than listening to the ambient, collective sounds, i listened to KK and his story.

the story of him maybe having to stay in melbourne because his mum couldn't afford the ticket back to mildura (where he lives - he was just visiting).

the story of him being third in the top 3 goal scorers in under 10 soccer and having scored a goal in under 12s. he's 8.

the story of him not knowing much about sudan, where his parents are from, but having lived in frankston, cranbourne (the last station in melbourne - his words), doncaster, footscray and now mildura. he thinks mildura's OK. it's not the greatest, but it's not the worst.

and his favourite song is by LMFAO.

by the time we finished making pictures, i felt pretty good and KK felt a bit better. art didn't save the world today, but it did help him feel a little better and it gave him something nice to give to his mum. and an interesting story to tell her when he gets home.