"My name's Claudette. I'm 71. I drive the number 9 school bus, same route for sixteen years. Pick up kids at 7 a.m., drop them at school, repeat at 3 p.m. Most days it's just noise, backpacks, and asking kids to sit down forty times.
But I see patterns.
Like the boy in seat 14 who started getting on with wet hair every morning. Then soaking wet clothes. Then barefoot one day in October.
I pulled over. "Sweetie, where are your shoes?"
He looked down, embarrassed. "Water got shut off at home. Can't shower. My shoes got moldy."
Nine years old. Walking to the bus stop barefoot because his single dad lost his job and couldn't pay the water bill.
I drove to Walmart after my route. Bought him shoes. Size 3. Left them on his seat the next morning with a note, "Found these on the bus. Must be yours."
He wore them every day after that.
But then I noticed others. Girl wearing the same stained shirt three days straight. Boy who never brought lunch, stomach growling so loud I could hear it from the driver's seat. Kids who smelled unwashed, kids with holes in their backpacks.
So I started keeping things on the bus. A plastic bin under my seat. Clean socks. Granola bars. Soap. Deodorant. Hair ties. School supplies. I'd leave items on seats like I "found" them. Kids would take them quietly, never asking questions.
Parents started noticing. One mom stopped me. "My daughter came home with new crayons. She said you found them on the bus."
I nodded. "Lost and found."
She cried. "We can't afford school supplies right now. Thank you for not making her feel poor."
Word spread somehow. Other parents started leaving things. Backpacks. Jackets. Lunch boxes. "For the bus lost and found," they'd say. I'd distribute them to kids who needed them.
Then something bigger happened. The boy with the shoes, his name's Tyler, his dad got hired at a factory. First paycheck, he brought me $40. "For the lost and found," he said. "So other kids can find things too."
Now there's a whole system. A "bus pantry" at the school. Supplied by families who can, used by families who can't. No applications. No proof of need. Kids just take what they need from the bin, like finding lost items.
Other bus drivers started doing it. Twelve drivers in the district now. Feeding kids. Clothing kids. Giving them dignity disguised as coincidence.
I'm 71. I drive a yellow bus full of loud children.
But I learned this, poverty rides the school bus every single day. It sits in seat 14, seat 22, seat 7. And most people never see it because hungry kids get really good at hiding.
So pay attention. On buses, in classrooms, at pickup lines. Some child is barefoot. Some child is hungry. Some child needs someone to "find" exactly what they're missing.
Stock a bin. Leave supplies. Make poverty look like luck.
Because no child should feel ashamed for needing shoes."
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Let this story reach more hearts....
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Credit - unknown
@EricLDaugh The files could not be released because it was an ongoing case. Once Ghislaine got convicted, the files can now legally be released. Stop clowning with that fake BS outrage.
@elonmusk Wonderful image!
If only you stayed out of politics your reputation would have been intact and your companies would have benefitted from your committed attention.
🇿🇦GIVE THAT MAN A BELLS - GARETH CLIFF NAILS IT
“Politicians are parasites and they produce no value.”
Gareth Cliff didn’t whisper that. He said it out loud, in front of cameras, and didn’t blink. And for once, someone said what millions of South Africans have been thinking for years, but few dare to voice.
Let’s not water this down: he’s right.
In a country drowning in corruption, captured SOEs, crumbling infrastructure and R5-trillion in national debt, it is not some unknown virus or international sanction that’s killing the economy. It’s career politicians. It’s people with no measurable skill, no private sector experience, no understanding of economic consequence — making billion-rand decisions that the rest of us are forced to live with.
And still they arrive with blue light brigades, business class flights, taxpayer-funded accommodation, VIP protection, and an unshakable belief that they’re doing the nation a favour simply by showing up. Gareth’s comment, “they should be paid a pittance,” is generous. They shouldn’t be paid at all unless they earn their place by contributing real, measurable value.
And yet, we have MPs and ministers who walked straight from campus protests into Parliament — zero work experience, zero economic track record, zero real-life grounding — deciding on legislation that affects energy policy, taxation, education, and constitutional reform. It's no surprise that South Africa is being run into the ground by people who’ve never built anything in their lives.
Gareth puts it clearly: “You should only be allowed to go into politics once you’ve achieved something.” Start a business. Feed the homeless. Serve your community. Create jobs. Solve real problems. Not write slogans. Not memorise talking points. Not chant and pose.
Because politics was never meant to be a career path for the unemployable. It was meant to be a burden of service — something you did after you proved your worth, not something you chose because you had no other options.
Let’s be honest: how many politicians in South Africa today would survive even a single month running a private company? How many would make payroll? Navigate taxes? Deliver service? Balance a budget?
Now think about this: these are the people writing laws for the rest of us.
They regulate businesses they’ve never run.
They tax income they’ve never earned.
They manage infrastructure they’ve never used.
And they fail, again and again, with zero consequence.
The ruling party has turned politics into a self-enrichment industry. And no, the opposition isn’t clean either — too many are waiting for their slice of the same pie, not looking to throw the table over. And in the middle of it all, the citizens who actually pay the price — the builders, the doers, the risk-takers — are told to stay quiet and trust the process.
No. The process is broken.
And Gareth Cliff, love him or hate him, just spoke what too few have the spine to admit: our political class is parasitic. And unless we stop feeding it, it will devour everything.
Give that man a Bells. He earned it.
Who is regulating these things and deciding these prices…so just to park and collect for 14 minutes. You pay R15 in Mynlyn…also in OR Thambo Airport you Pay 70 just for over 16 minutes. Is this right? I am not fighting I am just asking. Another Dialogue🫣