What am I bid?
Suddenly I find myself in a giant hall. Surrounding me are thousands of young people, battered, bruised and broken. Then a voice says: “What am I bid?”
A young girl stands out before the crowd of leering, sneering men. “What am I bid for this piece of flesh?”
The men start to cheer and shout figures: “Ten…Twenty…Fifty…One hundred.”
What can I do, God?
I start to bid. I have to save her. The cost becomes huge and I begin to waiver. Can I afford this? What price will I pay? The dream stops. I’m alone again. But the faces are real enough: Sharon being sold into prostitution; Sipho with a revolver in his mouth; Monique covered in cuts and bruises; Jan falling into crime; Sarah alone and desperate; Monwabisi, heroin needle bulging into his vein.
The men start to cheer and shout figures: “Ten…Twenty…Fifty…One hundred.”
What can I do, God?
I start to bid. I have to save her. The cost becomes huge and I begin to waiver. Can I afford this? What price will I pay? The dream stops. I’m alone again. But the faces are real enough: Sharon being sold into prostitution; Sipho with a revolver in his mouth; Monique covered in cuts and bruises; Jan falling into crime; Sarah alone and desperate; Monwabisi, heroin needle bulging into his vein.
“What am I bid?” The voice shatters the silence. The auction is on again. The bidding has begun. It continues day and night until the end. Most of the bidders desire only use and abuse. Satan drives them on.
And so I find myself in the auction. Will I watch or will I bid? The price of a single life is huge. The currency is prayer. The cost is massive but the prize is glorious. A life for a life. “What am I bid?”
And so I find myself in the auction. Will I watch or will I bid? The price of a single life is huge. The currency is prayer. The cost is massive but the prize is glorious. A life for a life. “What am I bid?”
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