family on the matter of money. It was important for her to support him in order to ensure that the kids learn personal financial responsibility. She would clench her teeth if need be to avoid an argument.
“We all watched the movie last weekend. So, Luke how about you, what are your thoughts, darling?” Ashwyn asked.
“I’m supposed to be first, because I am the youngest at the table, Dad!” Matt protested, slamming the table for emphasis.
“Okay then! Matt go ahead” retorted Luke a little annoyed at his brothers tantrum.
The discussions then continued for another 10 minutes before Ashwyn thought it was enough for the day. Besides, it was getting late and the kids had to get organised for bedtime. Very satisfied with the discussions, Ashwyn knew he could now use this platform at appropriate time in the future to build on the family’s financial literacy. Turning to Jill, he thanked her for having been patient and tolerating the discussion. She smiled with clenched teeth and gave him the “evil eye.”
A World Away
There is another world out there where real humans live with the kind of freedoms, and community structures that have uncanny similarities to ‘A Bug’s Life’. In that world, there is a village, where a young boy is growing up. Raised according to the traditional customs of the Acholi tribe deep within the very heart of Africa. The children of the Bwola dances. That majestic, powerful warrior dance before their Chief of Chiefs (Paramount Chief). The dances of triumph that terrified their tribal enemies of old. There in the midst of that tribe, in a village is a boy, Olum, the youngest of three siblings. At the tender age of five years old, he has been bringing special joy to his parents. As a male child, he will carry the family line, something highly treasured among the Acholi tribe. The Acholi did not have surnames, like the Europeans. You only got one name and that is it. In the villages, everybody knew one another. To know who belonged to which family, they simply used the reference ‘son of’ or ‘daughter of’. So Olum would be referred to as Olum son of Ociti. However, Ociti is actually his father’s first name, and only name. This confused the British colonialists when they arrived, so they enforced the introduction of surnames for administrative purposes. Hence, Olum is now called Olum Oteka, inherited from his grandfather, as a make do with some kind of surname as far as the colonialists were concerned. Never mind that Oteka was actually a first name. His father is now called Ociti Oteka.
Having two sisters, according to tribal traditions meant his father will be a rich man when they got married. He will get dowry payments that could be substantial, especially if they are well educated. This could ensure that they have additional cattle, goats, and chickens and money. Some of which would be set aside for when Olum got married.
Living within this village environment is an entire neighboured of relatives, each with their family plot of land. Together, the village stretched over three-square kilometres. It is a place where children, like Olum and his sisters, can disappear for the whole day playing with other relatives, without the parents even losing a heartbeat, with concern about their whereabouts. Every afternoon after school and on weekends, Olum would disappear with another twenty cousins, second cousins and third cousins into the bushes or forests close to the village to hunt for different types of rodents, or catch green grasshoppers, a peanut butter tasting local delicacy when fried and then ground into paste. Alternatively, the wings and the long barbed hind legs are pulled off before frying and eating.
They would while away the afternoons, between hunting adventures with climbing every wild fruit tree in sight. These include mango trees, Olam trees (type of plum), Cwa trees (a sour nectar) and Oceyu (a sweet & sour fleshy fruit). During the peak mango seasons, families of monkeys and baboons would be feasting when the children happened along. There would sometimes be a contest between these two groups. The trick was to get the monkeys or baboons to throw ripe mangoes at them as a weapon. To achieve this, the children threw stones or sticks at the animals in the mango trees. The monkeys or baboons in turn, being infuriated and trying to protect their territory would pick mangoes and return assault at the children. Being lousy shots, the animals were duped into being fruit pickers at no risks to the children. Where they could not climb the trees they used stones or sticks to get fruits such as Tugu (a palm fruit).
In the heat of the day, to cool dawn and maybe catch fresh fish with their bare hands, they would plunge into the various streams covered with papyrus reeds. For Olum and his merry relatives, the complete cycle of life just happened, to the village community with year-on-year of temperatures that rarely fell below 20 degrees during the raining season and rarely went beyond 38degrees during the dry season.
In the late afternoon, as the sun was setting, they would arrive home from their adventures with funny stories to amuse their parents. Among their many chores around the home was to roundup the chickens and goats into one of the huts for the night, fetching water from the nearby stream about 200metres from their home. The evening meals was family affair including any uninvited relative or stray child who was too tired and hungry to make it home in time for their meal. Mealtimes were always open to the other families and no one was ever sent away or made to feel unwelcome, that is village life in the community heart of Africa. After dinner they would move on to making up games or playing traditional children’s games until it was time to go to bed around 8pm.
A bee flew past his head, which startled Olum. They love the smell of ripe mangoes and their sting is nasty. It awoke him from one of his many lonely hours reminiscing about another eternal past of his previous life. As a 14-year-old now, these were the moments of recollection that he would travel to, to laugh and play as he sat, occasionally swinging his dangling legs off a large mango tree branch, 20 metres up among the canopy. The breeze was cool up there, and whenever he so desired, he could reach out and grab mangoes at various stages of ripening.
Than those tormenting would force themselves into his paradise. His, mum would from time to time, appear in a dream calling him by name with a big smile. She would wrap her arms around him with a big and gentle hug. He was her favourite because he was a boy, after having two daughters. Before he started school, she would take him to the garden. On the way, she always held his hands and would tell him traditional folk stories with the accompanying songs. These were stories about the rabbit and the tortoise, or the one-eyed monster called, Obibi. They were very funny stories he thought, even though they had a moral behind it that he didn’t always like. When his sisters, whom he adored, arrived back from school in the afternoon, and quickly changed from their school uniforms, they would meet them in the field to help with the crops. His mother always cooked him something special whenever they had extra money to buy the ingredients. She was his best friend. Olum, wiped away the tears that trickled down his cheeks, while holding onto the memories of the much loved and missed departed.
In a world where jealousies are plentiful, these wonderful paradise lifestyles were doomed. One day the destroyers and exploiters arrived, uninvited and extremely ruthless. It was the beginning of an unenviable journey, nine years ago when he was just 5 years old, that would set him on a course that would change, forever, both his destiny and that of another 14 year old boy, in Australia, in the coming New Year school holidays as their world’s meet.
Fair Go!
John Georges (nickname – Jonno) could not wait to see the high profile and highly reputable man from Andreessen, Arthurton & Associates (Triple-A). He had never been to see one and did not even know there were such people. The only people he knew about finance were bank managers and they had very little time for low-income people like him. Even though he had managed to save enough money for a deposit on a house, his employment status as a casual worker and worst still an Aboriginal meant there was no likely chance of seeing a bank manager. At best Jonno remembers seeing an assistant of an assistant branch manager. The woman had stared down at him from her expensive
