Beggars
Beggars confound me, confuse me, anger me, and immediately arouse my sympathy, and often my guilt. My guilt button presses oh, so easily — white toward black, have toward have nots, healthy toward the handicapped, American toward Vietnamese, and doubtlessly many others. The anxiety of going out and having to run a gauntlet of beggars has sometimes made me a prisoner.
While some beggars are whiney and pathetic, others are demanding and insistent. But sometimes I have been impressed by the dignity and humanity of beggars I have encountered. In one instance, while waiting for a train in China, an old man and his wife came into the small waiting area. His wife was blind, but she sang for us and then they both walked around from person to person to collect what was offered. Since our train was late, my Chinese friend sat and talked to the man who explained he had been a soldier who fought for China, but had now been forgotten by his country.
There are beggars who want to sell you something you may or may not want. They make me feel I am their last hope in life, holding their fate within my hands. My backpack usually bulges with such items.
Some beggars stick with you like glue while walking down a street until you finally give them some money. There was such a beggar lady who finally got some money out of me. Then, noticing how much trouble I was having lugging my luggage, she smiled and good-naturedly shouldered a bag all the way to my hotel.
Often I have tried to lighten a child beggar’s life by offering some money along with a balloon, or a gaily-colored postcard to connect with the little child that still might be within. More often than not, I see the light come on in their eyes and they briefly become a playful child again.
Over a one-week visit to Hangzhou (China), I walked along the SuDi near “my bench” several times. I was approached each time by an elderly man who only had one hand. I gave him money each time. He became my daily greeter with a little smile and nod of his head to say “thank you.” One day I saw him at a later time of day. He was walking and talking with a friend. Miraculously, he now showed two hands protruding from the sleeves of his jacket. Apparently, I saw him after his “work day” had ended.
However, there are many beggars I see who were either intentionally or unintentionally maimed. Asia gives few options to their handicapped but to beg. I usually give to them and feel proud that the U.S. offers so many services to disabled people.
Con artists are more dishonest and sophisticated beggars. Once, when I was on my own in Hangzhou, a small, wizened, countryside lady half my height and weight was selling fruit in baskets that she carried on her shoulders. Some instinct told me she was going to cheat me, and yet my mind and my actions were not in synch. I had often watched my Chinese friends haggling endlessly when buying, insulting the quality of the items or insisting the hand-held scale was inaccurate. I didn’t try that and just accepted her price. When I went to give her the money, she noticed a bill of a larger denomination in my wallet and indicated she would give me change for it. I had seen a Chinese friend refuse to accept money from a back alley moneychanger in Beijing because of the way he counted out the money. She palmed the money and counted it out in the same way. While my mind slowly grasped that she had shortchanged me, this magician/thief quickly disappeared in spite of her bulky burden of fruit.
It embarrasses my Chinese friends when beggars surround me. They ashamedly apologize for their countrymen and fumble in their own pockets or angrily send them off. It is uncomfortable for all of us. No matter in which country, in spite of my friends’ warnings that begging is a “scam,” I have come to the conclusion that I give because it makes me feel better than not giving. I can remember the dirty faces of begging children in Vietnam and China to whom I did not give — and I still feel sorry to this day that I didn’t.
So, what does it really matter that the same dirt-encrusted little baby is passed around during the day from beggar woman to beggar woman? A little money goes a long way in terms of strengthening my image, my country’s image, and that of my tourist kin in general. I am lucky to be healthy, to be able to travel, to live a life of my own choosing. Giving to beggars seems a small way of appreciating that I do not have to beg. And, quite to the contrary of the fakes my friends warned me about, I have read that some people do credit begging with actually getting them through hard times.
This is an excerpt from my book, Memoirs of a Middle-aged Hummingbird, published in 2006.
Tags: Beggars; con artists, Travel
