"That's cool man." - Eluxolweni Shelter boy talking about his attempted robbery of the shelter

Yesterday was quite the day-though it began like any other day at Amasango.

I pulled up in Jane's car, turned off the engine, and just sat there for about ten seconds, looking around; at nothing in particular, just scanning everything around me. I see the kids through the tattered fencing that surrounds the school, I see the teachers scurrying about and making their way to the office to sign the register, I see everything, but I'm not yet in the whirlwind. I'm not yet being hugged, being sworn at, being asked to get medicine, having to walk through fights or seeing kids tuck rusty knives, nails and barbed wire into their pockets. I know it's all coming, but I also need these couple moments each morning where I just sit in the car and watch. It's all just a couple feet in front of me, yet oddly far away. It's a morning routine I have each time I drive Jane's car.

Yesterday morning, as I was savoring my last couple seconds of tranquility, I saw the 17-year-old boy who tried to steal from the shelter sitting on a broken bench just outside grade five. He was squinting. The sun was shining brightly into his eyes, but he still saw me and waved.

I didn't wave back. I didn't expect to see him. I didn't particularly want to see him. I thought he'd still be hiding away, but he wasn't.

Though he didn't take anything from me, he tried to take from a place, and from a group of people, whom I've grown very close to during my three trips here. The house parents, the kids, the gardener, everyone at the shelter has really become a kind of second family for me-a highly dysfunctional second family, but nevertheless a group of people who I really feel at home with. I eat breakfast, lunch and dinner with them on the weekends. I sleep at Eluxolweni on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays and I'm treated like one of their own. He tried to steal from Eluxolweni: a place that has been so good to me--and even better to him.

I cut my peaceful time in the car short and got out. I picked up my school bag and turned the zip pockets so they were flush against my body-making it more difficult for people to open them and steal from me. I scanned Jane's car to ensure nothing valuable was in sight, shut my door and pushed the button on the key fob to arm the vehicle.

I walked in and he came up to me.

"Did you see the shelter?" He asked.

"Yes, I did." I kept walking. I didn't really know where I was walking, but I knew I didn't want to be around him.

"Do you know who did that?" he asked me with a smile.

"You," I said.

"That's right," he looked at me and was still smiling.

I couldn't ignore him anymore. He was following me. I turned and looking at him, said, "can I talk to you for a minute--alone?"

He came with me to the side of one of the buildings.

I opened my bag, got out a bunch of old papers, curled them up and hit him on the head over and over and over and over again.

"Why did you do that?" I demanded.

He looked up with a smug look on his face, and before he could respond, I hit him again with my papers.

He thought it was a game, and rightfully so, I was behaving like a child. I gathered my composure, put the papers under my arm and asked again. "Why did you do that?"

"Because I'm the devil." he said with a smile.

"Are they going to kick you out?"

"No. I just have to tell the truth and they won't kick me out."

"Oh," I said, half-relieved, half wishing this boy would have expressed a bit more sadness about what he did.

"Did you see that window Jason? And those bars?"

"Yes," I said. They're all bent back and the window is shattered."

"Yah," he replied, giving me a thumbs up. "That's cool man. Look at my arm." He pulled up his sleeve to show some cuts on his hand and arm, presumably from when he broke the glass or when he hopped the fence topped with barbed wire.

"Good, I'm glad you got those cuts. I wish there were more of them and that they were worse. You certainly deserve them."

He looked a little hurt at what I had just said, and it struck me at first, but I really didn't care. I was telling him exactly how I felt.

"Are you sorry at all for what you did? If I ran the shelter, you'd be walking out in handcuffs and shackles with your clothes tied around your neck to a waiting police car."

I said that to him. I don't really know if I meant it. I'm glad I don't have to make those kinds of calls. I love this kid, but I would have been so angry--and even angrier now since he was showing no remorse. He was recounting the events of Saturday like I should pin a medal on him. He wasn't at all ashamed about what he had gotten caught doing.

Sunday, I was really angry with him.

Sunday, I was scared he'd get tossed out of the shelter and have to go back to the township.

Yesterday, I was still really angry with him, but I was somewhat relieved Eluxolweni was going to give him a second chance.

Yesterday, after he showed no remorse about breaking in, I almost wish they did kick him out.

He tried to steal. He didn't get anything, but if he could have gotten his hands on anything in that store room, he would have taken it and sold it.

Eluxolweni has been his home away from home for years. It's clothed him, fed him, kept him out of the rain and has tried to keep him out of trouble--and he couldn't be more proud of his contribution to the place: some bent back burglar bars and a shattered window.