Mr Charles’ first house

We went to visit Mr Charles at 10:30 am in his new home in Ndola, northern Zambia. He was having lunch. Such is the way of some of a certain age and life habits. Mr Charles was 99 years old. This was his first ever house.

The house consisted of two rooms and a lavatory. The walls were made from unadorned breeze blocks, the roof of corrugated iron. There was a door and windows that could be opened and shut. The floor was bare concrete. Mr Charles spoke reasonable English.

The house had been provided through our humanitarian efforts which had also included the building of a water ‘kiosk’ (water well) that, to this day, serves 300 or so families. As the CEO of the insurance company that had organised and paid for the works, I was there to show support.

Mr Charles apologised for being in the middle of his lunch. I apologised for having disturbed him. He thanked me. He then thanked me a second time, a third, a fourth. The soft signals are the ones that matter in life. There was something beneath his thanks and so I said with just enough enquiry: “Mr Charles, there is really no need to thank us. Please. How are finding the house?”.

“This is the first house I have ever lived in. I am so happy. The children of the village come here and sleep on the floor.” He indicated the raw concrete next to our feet. “I am not sure I understand.” “Well, I have only ever lived in a hut with earthen floors. When the children slept there they would always have bronchitis, pneumonia, lung infections. Here, the floor is dry and they are ill far less often.”

It was my turn to receive a gift. We are not always so lucky to have our frames of reference so utterly overturned. Disorientation. Shame. Embarassment. All understandable emotions and reactions. Mr Charles you never knew, in the years since, it was I who thanked You. By now, several hundred fold…