The little yellow plastic ball

I was standing at the gate of my office, talking on the phone with a client. Busy with my work, trying to convince her about a big important strategic decision to be taken. This was about the theme of an annual report which will no doubt mean a lot to them in terms of prestige and money. The usual stuff about how we need to present the figures of a multi-million dollar corporation in a manner that is chest-thumping and yet with the appropriate dose of humility.

Suddenly a little yellow plastic ball rolled up to my feet. It was a bright, shiny ball, maybe the size of an orange. It had a lot of dirt marks on it, but the bright colour was still shining through. I picked it up and looked around to see who it belonged to. That’s when I noticed a little boy. Not more than 4 years old. Dark, wearing tattered clothes and extremely dirty. He was standing tentatively behind a bush, his eyes riveted on probably the only possession he had in the world – now in my hand. I couldn’t help but smile at the little kid. I could sense fear – not of me – he was too young to know that. But there surely was a primordial anxiety of losing something you love. He didn’t move an inch, just kept looking in turn at me and at the toy with his bright, dark eyes.

I smiled at him and called him to take it from me. He still didn’t move. Then after a few seconds, the love of the possession overcame the fear of the unknown and he walked towards me. Completely ignoring my smile, he just reached out for the toy and ran back to his parents. They were hard at work too. Both mother and father, unskilled labourers, digging at the side of the road.

Before I knew it, the little kid was lost in his old world again. I could still see the brightness of the yellow ball in his grubby little hands even from the distance.