We walked into the HectorPietersonMuseum and all fell silent, it wasn't the bluey-grey pictures on the wall, or the rain pouring outside, it was the feeling of dread, sadness and unease. As we walked further into the museum I looked out a window and saw, not plants or flowers, but black gravel with a great many red-brown brown bricks that were all printed with one name of a child who died between June 1976 and December 1976, and there were over five hundred of them!
For no reason at all, sometimes one just knows when something is going to be distressing, and thats just how I felt. Walking along with a couple of friends we stopped to look at a photo, it was a picture of a man carrying Hector Pieterson and his sister running alongside. I imagined how it must have been like for her, probably grief-stricken, sad and alone. I couldn't imagine how I would have felt if that happened to me.
Leaving the HectorPietersonMuseum I felt heavy hearted and later in bed I felt guilty and grateful. Guilty, because I had been ignorant about how bad Apartheid had been and grateful because being at the HectorPietersonMuseum reminded me of poor people and how they lost their homes. I really am glad that I got to see the HectorPietersonMuseum and finally realise how bad our past was and how I should learn not to be prejudiced in the future.
