It's like a continuous bad day, out there.

I am very familiar with the displaced members of my community, they know me by my first name, and I know theirs—every single one. I have often felt very close to the homeless in the sense that I am one paycheck away and one bad financial decision away from their exact situation. From the lack of shelter to not knowing what I would have for supper.

It’s easy to scoff at the thought and undermine how far inequality stretches and how important it is that we generally make well-thought-out choices for the next generation.

These homies had dreams, hopes, and ambitions just like you and me. Some had aspirations of creating a better life, some had a college education, and some even had a day job. Some come from stable homes that they could go back to if life were all that simple. No one wakes up and decides that they are going to sleep in a box in front of the laundromat every night. No one wakes up and is okay with being surrounded by flies on a hot Pretoria day. No one actually wants to beg.

Then it’s like, instantly, everything changed. Misfortune occurred. Undesirable choices were made, and a bad day became a bad week, turned into a bad month, turned into a bad year, and ultimately a bad life.

Bet money if you have a conversation with anyone randomly right now regarding the homeless, they will say something like, “But these people have homes; they like it on the streets,” and you, reading this right now, may even have the same belief that they like the lifestyle, the drugs, or that they are lazy even. Yeah?

Just think for a moment. Think of the kind of country we live in where extreme tragedy is a mundane part of our stories as humans. Where poverty and suffering are some kind of virtuous token that we “must” earn to be deserving of a good life, think about and imagine the kinds of experiences those around you have endured growing up and are still enduring. Please think of how deeply traumatized we are as a people. Is it that hard to imagine that the systematic oppression that we grapple with daily can have far-reaching consequences far BEYOND your unequal paycheck in comparison to your caucasian counterparts? It could never be.

Mental illness in black communities is treated like a joke. Homies went manic and, unfortunately, could never make it back. Coupled with drug use and harsh conditions, tell me what else, besides a hopeless situation, would be the result? Crime can never be justified, but I think that many of us think we are above many things that desperation hasn’t led us to consider.

Sure, we will all face the consequences of our decisions, we couldn’t even shield each other from them, even if we tried or wanted to.

If you can, please spare a homie some change, something to eat, your old sneakers, jerseys, or anything to make the bad day a little better. “He’ll just sell it for drugs,” and so what? Do you think you could manage homelessness sober? Try going just 48 hours in extreme conditions without a shower, the comforts of wifi, a toilet, clean clothes, or scavenging through smelly bins for anything edible, and tell me if you wouldn’t want to take a hit too.