Searching For an Answer That Refused to be Found
The beggars don't make me sad all the time. The little beggars on the corner by the airplane at Parliament invariably make me smile.
When Tareek sees me he calls to Forida, who beckons Shilpi. "Hey, it's our friend!" "Friend, how are you today?" "I am fine, and you." "I am well." After that they just grin at me until I find something else to say.
"Today is so wet. Do you like it when it rains or when it is hot?" They all answer differently, and laugh at each other's replies. They offer me candy to buy, and I refuse, "You KNOW I don't give." "Yeah, we know." Sometimes they throw the candy into the CNG as I pull away anyways.
When other beggars crowd in the kids have to move away, protesting all the while "She doesn't give!" I ignore the other beggars and soon the little kids are back. "You didn't give, did you?" "I never give." "I knew it!" By this time the CNG driver has stopped trying to wave away the kids harrassing his fare, and is watching our interactions with amusement.
Sometimes an older boy will get too close, "taking liberties" as it were. My friends get mad at him. "Get away!" "Oh, he is a bad man," they tell me seriously. Then they're back to staring, grinning and giggling. I ask about school, siblings, new hair cuts. They ask about Ali. "Where is your foreigner friend?" or "I saw your friend last time the lights changed!"
When it's time to go, I leave happy. A sad-happy that tugs at my heart, even as my lips smile.
Last week when I went by their corner my kids weren't there; instead there was an army of women with babies and men with dislocated shoulders. Where were my friends? I wonder about "turf" between the beggar gangs, or if the gang controllers just switch them around sometimes, checking to see if profits could be better.
This week my kids are there again, but the lights haven't been right for conversation. I will ask them about it next time if I remember.
When Tareek sees me he calls to Forida, who beckons Shilpi. "Hey, it's our friend!" "Friend, how are you today?" "I am fine, and you." "I am well." After that they just grin at me until I find something else to say.
"Today is so wet. Do you like it when it rains or when it is hot?" They all answer differently, and laugh at each other's replies. They offer me candy to buy, and I refuse, "You KNOW I don't give." "Yeah, we know." Sometimes they throw the candy into the CNG as I pull away anyways.
When other beggars crowd in the kids have to move away, protesting all the while "She doesn't give!" I ignore the other beggars and soon the little kids are back. "You didn't give, did you?" "I never give." "I knew it!" By this time the CNG driver has stopped trying to wave away the kids harrassing his fare, and is watching our interactions with amusement.
Sometimes an older boy will get too close, "taking liberties" as it were. My friends get mad at him. "Get away!" "Oh, he is a bad man," they tell me seriously. Then they're back to staring, grinning and giggling. I ask about school, siblings, new hair cuts. They ask about Ali. "Where is your foreigner friend?" or "I saw your friend last time the lights changed!"
When it's time to go, I leave happy. A sad-happy that tugs at my heart, even as my lips smile.
Last week when I went by their corner my kids weren't there; instead there was an army of women with babies and men with dislocated shoulders. Where were my friends? I wonder about "turf" between the beggar gangs, or if the gang controllers just switch them around sometimes, checking to see if profits could be better.
This week my kids are there again, but the lights haven't been right for conversation. I will ask them about it next time if I remember.
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