Raspberry Sparletta

The large crowd crammed into the bare room and sitting on the cement floor, was quiet.
The horse flies were buzzing, and the air was thick with heat and anticipation.

We were sitting on cheap wooden chairs at metal trestle tables, and a Senator was listening intently to an elderly gentleman slowly explaining how difficult it was for him to walk the nine kilometers to the rural clinic.

We were on a fact finding mission, six Senators and I, in the depths of the Transkei, where there were few paved roads, little running water, and many tiny rural villages and mud huts, connected by cattle paths and dusty bicycle tracks. The tiny clinic where everyone had gathered on this day serviced thousands of people, and had no decent plumbing, electricity or even rudimentary medical facilities. We were here to listen, observe, ask questions, make recommendations and to ultimately welcome these people to the New South Africa where all were equal, and health care was no longer a privilege for the wealthy or white.

The oppressive heat was not acknowledged by the soft women wrapped in colorful blankets, rocking silently as they patiently waited for their turn to speak -- many of them with tiny babies tucked into the folds of their makeshift nests. I scanned the room as I paused between pencil scrawls in my notebook.
I looked at the faces for any signs that anyone had noticed that I was the only white person in the room. No-one seemed to care. No-one was paying any attention to me. The adults were focussed on the discussion, hope of a better future enlivening their eyes. The silent, skinny children had all fixed their saucer-eyes on a white plastic tray which had been placed on the corner of a trestle table.
It bore a cluster of thick plastic glasses and an ice-cold, frosted, one liter glass bottle of Raspberry Sparletta.

The children were transfixed. Their wanting was palpable, as they subconsciously licked their dusty lips and swallowed dryly. I visualized their pleasure in having a swallow of the raspberry red bubbly soda, recalling simultaneously that we had some warm bottled water in the government van we had traveled in for this community meeting. We would no doubt settle for this on our way back to our lovely hotel in an hour.

Our schedule was pressing, and our time was up. Respects were paid, and thanks extended. One of our hosts graciously gestured to the icy refreshments when chairs began scraping backwards, and tight Senatorial ties were being surreptitiously loosened.
The adult villagers began gathering themselves. The children did not move.

A Senator smiling in anticipation, unscrewed the cap with a hiss, and carefully poured out the soda equally. Glasses were quickly passed down the table, and sugary soda gulped with pleasure and relief. The barefoot children vanished with fleeting resignation, as I watched in surprise.

Puzzled, I looked at my Senators and noticed that of course, they had been - and still were in some way - those dusty children.