Personal Narrative-Sacrifice

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The buzzing sound matched the fast pacing of my heart. As the soft yellow glow began to warm my arms through the windows. My attention turns to the white silky clouds of the African sky. I am nervous with anticipation to see if expectations of my country will be fulfilled. I am sitting next to my mum; a reserved women with sun kissed hair that has a wildness to it that doesn't match her personality. Sitting to my other side fast asleep is a brown haired boy quietly wheezing with every breath he takes. Me and my brother are polar opposites I have never understood him and the feeling has been mutual. The last person in my four seated row is my father. A man that is diligent in defeat, although this is something I would only learn later on in …show more content…
History vibrantly protrudes off every curve that is sculpted in line with dutch architecture of the time. As the blue waters fade in the distance behind me I look forwards to see random scraps of metal and dusty road of orange soil, that for a monet pulls me back to Australia. Sheets made of tin and random metals begin to morph into small square shapes as we drive around the bend of the road, looking like a abstract metal art exhibition.

I see it all, exactly how I remember it, small homes made of metal scrapes that have just been stuck together. There is dogs with protruding bones roam the streets and children with tattered clothes and faces covered in dust which seems to highlight their bright smiles. The slums have always captured my attention as I could never thathm how people could live with so little. My mind races back to Australia and all that we have and take for
…show more content…
I can't really explain to you why it had such a big impact on my life but this image engraved in my mind will never leave me. The car rollings along the dirt road when I see three figures, first a tall women with worn skin and clothes, a face that is battered by what appears to be age but would rather be malnourishment and a hard life should probably is only a few years older than me, the second two figures are small with limbs that are thinner than sticks but round bellies. Their round bellies are not caused by eating but rather the opposite. The disease is known as Kwashiorkor and brought upon by severe diet protein deficiency. They stand under a little hut constructed from wood and sell rocks that they must have picked up along the road. Instantly I turn to my mother and ask if we can stop and give them money. Thinking ‘just imagine what they would be able to do with $50 Australian dollars’. But to my absolute shock and horror my mother says ‘No Danelle you can't it isn't safe’, I can't believe it. On top of the cream leather seats in the middle of the car are a stack of food consisting of crispy good. I turn to my mum and say can we at least give them food we have so much they have nothing but again my mother says no. I will not ever forget the look in their eyes as we drove away. Me a girl with everything she ever wanted had simple driven away. I have never been a religious person but in that

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