Dear Mr President

Dear Mr President


Before you pass this off as useless and senseless, I pray that you may just pass your eyes over my messy scrawl and see the message hidden therein. Perhaps I could teach you something new.

See me not, Mr President, as the young child that I am, for you forget us so easily. See me not as inexperienced in the matters of a country, for I see more than you may know. See me not as unimportant, for I am the future of your country. See me, Mr President, for once, as your equal and listen only to what I have to say.

I’ve often wondered, why, in the schools that you control, we answer questions about how the bad in this country can be fought. I’ve wondered whether you would even bother with our opinions because we are, after all, the children that you forget so easily, we are only another source of income.

Tell me, Mr President, when you drive home at night, do you see the man standing on the corner with his hands outstretched, asking for but a few cents? Do you seem him and turn your head away in disgust, not even thinking that you are the one in charge of giving him a job or do you miss him completely while you sit wrapped up in your own thoughts. I’ve seen him too Mr President, I’ve seen that man. His dirty clothes and blind eyes have become fixed in my mind and by now I’ve stopped telling myself that you would do something about it. Now, I rather say a silent prayer because God is the only one who can help us now.

Do you know that almost eight hundred people die everyday from HIV/AIDS in our country alone? What does this matter to you? As long as no-one you know dies, you’ll be fine. Did you know, Mr President, that because of AIDS, I live in an orphanage. Did you know that because of AIDS, I will not live long enough to have children? You say you don’t know anyone with AIDS? You’ve just met me.

Did you hear about the murder that took place a few nights ago? Don’t worry, I didn’t either, I was too busy reading about the murder before that. Crime is taking over. I’m scared every night that it might be my last, that I might wake up with a gun pointed at my head, that the few years that I had left to live are stolen away from me, along with all my possessions.

The honest truth is, I’m scared Mr President. I’m scared to think about what will happen if this carries on. I won’t be here, but I’m scared for my friends, I’m scared for their parents and I’m scared for you. If this carries on I don’t think you are going to cope. You hardly are at the moment.

I ask that you see this not as written by a child, but by your equal. Someone who loves this country as much as you do, someone who loves to hear the national anthem being sung, someone who loves seeing our flag flap in the wind.

You won’t hear from me again, I won’t be here. Please do me a favour and fix this country. Think of your family, your wife and you children. See me as your equal, I am not a child whom you can forget so easily. After all, you have children of your own.