"Une Poignée de Poussière"
Suley said: I had a longer response to your last post, but I accidentally navigated away from the page and lost it. oh well. I agree with what you're saying, though. The street beggars are not the "real" poor. "Real" poor people are everyday people who just don't have much. They work and mean well and want to live normal lives. Unlike street beggars they more often than not have their wits about them (ie they're not chemically dependant or mentally ill). I think those who are truly poor have pride and dignity and try to make their lives better through hard work.
Well, I must say, sounds a lot like me but I totally agree with you! Too bad though, I would have loved reading the longer response.
Jenelle said: Now *that* is a great question...Unfortunately I don't have an answer.
J, please see J. Star's comment below. I believe it answers well the question.
J. Star said: There are degrees of madness. Degrees of inability/ability to function. There are paranoid schizophrenics, but there are also just people who have drank themselves stupid. One of those might realize they have to beg to survive, one of them might not...
Heather said: I agree with all that was written above, that the real problem here in the US is that there are people who work 4 jobs and can barely feed their families. I would venture to say that for those who suffer mental illness or have chemical dependency, those are conditions that will not change over time. Those poor will be with us for as long as we are here. And the street beggars stateside are very different than those in Niger or India. Esp. in the case of Mistry's novel... I still think everyone should give to the poor, because if you do not give, they will take, eventually. But giving should be as in the giving to a soup kitchen or a place that is set up to provide for the homeless what they need.
Heather, giving to the poor is not the problem. That's what anybody, human enough and who can afford to, would do. The point is, you have a lot of people out there who deserve not what you will give them. The point is giving intelligently. That would imply an awareness about who might be the real needy and whose only last resort is begging and who might just be posing. Like Suley said, the real poor do not beg. They have dignity. They work hard and have as much as 4 jobs like you say and who are still unable to make ends join. The soup kitchen solution is the ideal. Since they're begging, apparently, in order to feed themselves why not offer them the food. At least, that prevents the chemically dependant from indulging in whatever it is they indulge themselves in. they do that in France a lot. You have the Resto du Coeur (lit. Restaurants of the Heart) chain which provides food for the homeless. Every year, the French People (Singers, Actors/resses etc...) tour the country doing concerts. The money goes to the Resto du Coeur.
BTW, your link seems broken.....
M said: You're from Niger? A friend of mine is there now doing a survey on the famine. Crazy stuff.
I personally almost never give money to people on the street (except for buskers/musicians). This is due to a true story. Once, a few years ago, my mom was walking down the street and a very tired-looking woman came up to her with two grubby kids and asked for some money to buy the kids food. My aunt had had foot surgery the week before, so my mom was actually carrying about $100 worth of groceries. She handed the bags to the woman. The woman threw (actually threw) the bags back at my mom and said "what the fuck is this?!" and stormed off.
What? Sorry, I'm rambling.
Anyway, some realize, some don't...
No am not from Niger. I lived there. The best years of my life. Six incredibly-unbelievably-beautiful-crazy-years. My childhood. That's where I attended primary school. I miss Niger. What's going on there is crazy. I have a friend, he's a reporter. He told me the other day that inspite of everything happening there, the government is insisting on saying that THERE IS NO PROBLEM.
And M, you're rumbling not. When we were living in Saudi Arabia we had the same experience. It was worst actually. This woman knocked the door. She had a kid with her. Told my mum all about how miserable she was and that she had absolutely nothing to cater for her daughter's needs etc. My mama went in and collected a couple of clothes, covers, food, anything she could think might be of use, some money, put the stuffs in a bag and handed it ti the very grateful poor woman. Shut the door.
At noon Dad got back home for lunch and prayer. He came back carrying the bag and some of the clothes given to the (now in inverted commas) poor woman. They were strewn across the stairs. My mum understood not. She went to the next door neighbours to relate what had happened. They were appalled. They couldn't believe they'd been such fools. Not their fault. They had a retarded daughter. She was the one who'd answered the door when the poor woman rung the bell. She took a look at the kid and it made her day. She pretended she was a guerisseuse (lit. someone who cures diseases). Assured them she could cure the kid. They were so happy, they took off necklaces, rings, bracelets, the five elder sisters and the mother. They couldn't believe their good fortune. All in gold. Took the woman's (invented) phone number. Shut the door and waited with rekindled Hope. Hope never came Back.
Suley's, comment reminded me of a short story I'd read in a book called Une Poignée de Poussière (lit. a Handful of Dust) by Amadou Hampaté Bâ when I was 10. In Niger. Am narrating it here in my own words.
Once upon a time in an African village lived a rich man in a huge beautiful house. Every morning as soon as he woke up, the rich man would open the curtains and the windows of his bedroom. He'd look at the sky, at the world marveling at the beauty of life.
Every morning, a poor man who lived in the village would pass walking by the gates of the rich man's mansion. Soon the rich man noticed him. He was curious our rich man. He would look at the passing poor man and speculate of the man's life, what he did, where he went, did he have a family. Soon started watching for the poor man's allers et venues. Of course, he didn't know then that the man was poor. This unawareness did not last long. He investigated and was told that the man was poor. That he went every morning in the bushes looking for wood he'd sell at the market. That was his only mean of subsistence for him and his wife ad three children. Our rich man felt sorry for this brave poor man who carried himself around with so much dignity. He would never have guessed that this man sold wood for a living. He decided he had to do something to help.
The next morning, our rich man woke up early and went out in front of his gate to wait for our poor man. A little while later he saw him coming down the road. Peace my Brother! he called. Our poor man stopped and answered likewise.
Brother, started our rich man I see you everyday going down this road. I've heard about you. They tell me you're an honest, God fearing and brave man. Brother, I would be very grateful if you'd allow the sinner that I am to do good by helping you. Help me? asked our poor man I gain enough to feed my family. There are many people who are more worthy of your help. Brother, I insist! Please do not refuse. Anything you ask for I'd give you. You're praying God for Mercy and Blessings on me and my family would be the greatest reward.
Our poor man thought a bit. Smiled. Looked hard at our rich man and said I accept!. Our rich man beamed and hurriedly thrust his hand in his pocket lest the poor man would change his mind. Wait, said the poor man calmly, you said you'd give me anything. What I shall have would be on my terms. the rich man looked worried yes?. The poor man smiled again and said I shall be needing a handful of dust only. I'd be very much grateful if you'd give me a handful of dust. The rich man brows furrowed. He knew the man was not crazy. A handful of dust? If that's what the fellow wanted,then be it. Still perplexed, he bent down, took a handful of dust and poured it into the poor man's raised palm. The poor man thanked him profusely and went to attend to his wood cutting then selling business.
The days went by, the weeks. Every morning the poor man would stop to claim his handful of dust. Less than two months later he stopped by. The rich man too. They stared at each other. Peace! Peace! our poor man waited. Our rich man stood staring. Our poor man raise an eyebrow inquiringly. The rich man, who now, did not look happy at all thrust his hand into his pocket and took out a handful of notes. He took our poor man's hand and placed in the money. Look here Brother, I proposed to help you. Here is some money. This i can help you with but am not going to bend down every morning and give you a f.... handful of dust. You want your handful of dust, you bend down and take it yourself! Am not going to take this anymore!! Understood??!) Our poor man smiled calmly. Returned the money. Thanked our rich man and went to the bushes to collect wood.
The moral of the story? I have mine. Let me hear about yours!
