"Other things may change us, but we start and end with the family." - Anthony Brandt

I was called into Jane's office yesterday afternoon.

I arrived to find a rather agitated looking seventh-grade student sitting in the chair next to her, along with three faculty members and one of the trusted school security guards. We'll call this boy Siya.

I looked down at Siya and saw the expression on his face. He looked agitated and angry. That's not surprising as nearly all the kids look angry when they're in that environment. But he also looked sad, depressed, beside himself-and that caught my attention. He was silent, his head was down, his eyes locked on the floor, his hands rolling a crumpled, day old newspaper in his lap.

Jane began.

"I asked you all to be here today because of something going on I was not aware of."

I thought in my head, I can only imagine what we're about to hear: what has happened now--and why do I have to be a part of it?

"I called Isiah 58 this afternoon," she said. "The person who picked up the phone asked us to please stop calling Tiyabonga."

Siya and Tiyabonga are brothers.

Isiah 58 is a facility that helps kids who've had major behavioral problems get back on track--and hopefully saves them before they're put behind bars.

I had let Siya call Isiah 58 on my cell phone about a week ago to talk to his little brother. Apparently, many others have done the same-and this is causing major disruptions in his Tiyabonga's otherwise good behavior and rehabilitation.

We were not to call anymore.

Siya was very upset over this. Arguing with Jane and the other teachers in Xhosa about this less than desirable arrangement, raising his voice, even getting up to walk out of the office at one point, Siya was beside himself.

Much of the meeting was conducted in Xhosa-sharp words, raised voices, very little silence as each side continued. Part way through the meeting, my mind wandered. I remember an early morning last June when I had slept in the shelter, Tiyabonga had not been sent away yet, and both he and Siya were living in Eluxolweni.

Tiyabonga ran into the kitchen as Mama Rose and I were frying eggs for breakfast. He looked terrified--rifling through the cupboards, looking for a weapon.

Siya came seconds later, hitting and kicking his little brother until he was on the ground, curled up, having surrendered to the brute force of Siya. The two had to be pulled apart.

After the storm had cleared and tempers had calmed, I had asked Siya why he felt it was necessary to beat his little brother so badly. "He was being very rude," he replied without a moment's hesitation. "I want to teach him to be respectful because I love him."

"So you teach him by beating him and show him you love him by beating him?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied, smiling, then walked away.

I had thought to myself at the time-yeah right, another classic BS story just so you can beat the hell out of somebody because you're having a bad day.

But now, more than four months later, I was in this meeting. Siya was here without Tiyabonga: upset, angry, not knowing what to do because he couldn't talk to his brother.

The staff continued, mostly in Xhosa, but occasionally breaking into a bit of English "Do you want Tiyabonga to be that lawyer that we all know he can be? He's got the brains for it. Or do you want him to be a kicking, screaming, fighting boy? Because if he doesn't get help, that's what he will be."

Siya kept his head down. I think somewhere he knew what they were saying was true. He didn't like it-in fact, I bet he hated it, but he knew it was true.

"We're doing this because we love you both. We want what's best for you and Tiyabonga."

The meeting was heated-and, though most of it wasn't in English, it was clarifying for me.

Siya did love his brother. He was fighting, and fighting hard, to be allowed to speak to him on the phone. The meeting ended after Siya eventually came to terms with the fact that he couldn't talk to his brother for a while. Not forever-but for a while. He hugged the principal and one of the staff members before leaving the office with me.

Siya may have beaten his brother in front of me last June; perhaps that's the form of conflict resolution he had been taught at home.

He told me last June he did it because he loves his brother. I didn't believe him at the time.

I do now.