Please, Mum
Two more days of Cairo under my belt and I maintain my first impression: clean and green. There's been a definite and successful attempt to make the city presentable. And I haven't seen anyone peeing on the street here! (Some foreign country, possibly France, is trying to push for the creation of public toliets and baths in Egypt. But what a friend pointed out is that the mosques function as such. There's one on every street and it's free and open to the public. I remember a car trip in Malaysia where I had the occassion to learn this, with much relief.)
Back to Cairo.
My first day here I let a tourist tout take me under his wing. The downtown streets are crawling with men who attempt to led you to their papyrus shop or get you to take one of their tours. I haven't actually noticed them as much now (maybe that was part of the cleanup efforts!) But Ayman appeared at my shoulder, full of his lame jokes and play on words that I'm sure he uses over and over and over (though I, too, have my own arsenal of phrases and expressions I use repeatedly). I needed to get a chip for my phone to work here, so I let him lead me around. The first two places didn't have the one I wanted and while we waited for the third store to open, he invited me to his father's perfume shop across the street for some tea. Why not? It was air conditioned and I couldn't turn down a cup of tea. I sat there, looking at the rows and rows of bottles, enduring his attempts at being funny. He asked if I wanted to try some, but when I said no, he didn't pressure me at all. I got the phone chip afterwards. Unfortuantely, when he asked for my number, I couldn't dodge the request by saying I didn't have one!
He never once asked for money. Had this been in Ghana, I wouldn't have let him take me to get the phone chip because most likely he would have only been being helpful in order to get 'dashed.' (Does that sound jaded? Or am I just being realistic?) Here, knowing the system, I knew this wasn't Ayman's angle. I could have done it on my own, but why not let someone else assist? And do that oh so very Tourist in Cairo thing of having tea in a shop. Egyptian hospitality, sa'?
In the last two weeks (Cape Town and Cairo), the only people who have asked for money have been beggars. They didn't do it because I'm white or a foreigner, but because they were asking everyone for money. Sitting at an outdoor cafe in Cape Town, eating a slice of cheesecake, a woman and her young daugther walked by. The girl's eyes got as big as saucers when she saw the cheesecake. She had a Coke in her hand, but it had probably been fished out of a trash can. I felt guilty, ashamed by the comparative extravagence. Which is worse: ordering the cheese cake in the first place or not being able to finish it?
The last night in Cape Town I holed up at a youth hostel; the fam left a day early (strange to be the one seeing Mom off...usually it's the other way around). There were no blankets and I hadn't brought a sleeping bag. It was maybe 10-15 C (50-60 F?) that night and I was freezing! I layered on all the clothes in my pack. 8 shirts, 3 pairs of pants, 2 skirts, and 4 pairs of socks. I used my tiny towel and sarong as blankets, but all that didn't do much good. But here's the thing: it was for only 1 night. I knew this suffering was limited and at least I had a bed under my back and not concrete. What about the girl, wrapped in a blanket, that asked "Mum" for money. The sight of each and every beggar (and even the singing, dancing "rubbish man" who stood at the traffic light collecting garbage from your car for small change) was painful to Mom, so unaccustomed to poverty. (In Iowa City, we get only the occassional war vet standing outside Walmart with a sign: Will Work for Food, Anything Helps.) I felt hardened, used to shaking off the small hands that would grab you on the streets of Accra, the mothers with babies in their arms circling the restaurants in Cambodia, the elaborate stories cooked up by the homeless in New Haven.
A realization that there was nothing triumphant in an ability to look the other way, to ignore, to see through.
Last month, at a Canada Day BBQ in Ghana, we began talking about giving to beggars. I mentioned that in the 6 months I'd been in Ghana, I had not once given money to a beggar (after it came out of my mouth, it felt like a confession). Food, yes. They were surprised. "But you're volunteering, which is your contribution or donation," Kelly offered. That had been my own mental defense along the way. But I think there's more to it than that. The attitude of entitlement that is rampant in Ghana puts me off. Also, if I start to give, I'm afraid I won't be able to stop. What makes one beggar more worthy than another? Yes, I'd be more inclined to give to a handicapped person or a woman with children, than a seemingly able bodied man. But what about all the refugees in Egypt that I know personally. Their names, their histories, their pains. Giving money to a person with a name, rather than just a passing hand, means a loss of anonimity. Expecting appreciation, acknowledgement? The selfish alturist?
I'm reminded of a travel story by a young American woman that I read years ago, before I knew I'd end up in Ghana, called Somebody's Heart is Burning. While volunteering in Ghana, she meets a man traveling on the same boat for a few days. She writes:
My reactions to beggars, to poverty, has been something I've been intending to write about for over a year. I guess I haven't done it till now because it's something I'm still struggling with.
Back to Cairo.
My first day here I let a tourist tout take me under his wing. The downtown streets are crawling with men who attempt to led you to their papyrus shop or get you to take one of their tours. I haven't actually noticed them as much now (maybe that was part of the cleanup efforts!) But Ayman appeared at my shoulder, full of his lame jokes and play on words that I'm sure he uses over and over and over (though I, too, have my own arsenal of phrases and expressions I use repeatedly). I needed to get a chip for my phone to work here, so I let him lead me around. The first two places didn't have the one I wanted and while we waited for the third store to open, he invited me to his father's perfume shop across the street for some tea. Why not? It was air conditioned and I couldn't turn down a cup of tea. I sat there, looking at the rows and rows of bottles, enduring his attempts at being funny. He asked if I wanted to try some, but when I said no, he didn't pressure me at all. I got the phone chip afterwards. Unfortuantely, when he asked for my number, I couldn't dodge the request by saying I didn't have one!
He never once asked for money. Had this been in Ghana, I wouldn't have let him take me to get the phone chip because most likely he would have only been being helpful in order to get 'dashed.' (Does that sound jaded? Or am I just being realistic?) Here, knowing the system, I knew this wasn't Ayman's angle. I could have done it on my own, but why not let someone else assist? And do that oh so very Tourist in Cairo thing of having tea in a shop. Egyptian hospitality, sa'?
In the last two weeks (Cape Town and Cairo), the only people who have asked for money have been beggars. They didn't do it because I'm white or a foreigner, but because they were asking everyone for money. Sitting at an outdoor cafe in Cape Town, eating a slice of cheesecake, a woman and her young daugther walked by. The girl's eyes got as big as saucers when she saw the cheesecake. She had a Coke in her hand, but it had probably been fished out of a trash can. I felt guilty, ashamed by the comparative extravagence. Which is worse: ordering the cheese cake in the first place or not being able to finish it?
The last night in Cape Town I holed up at a youth hostel; the fam left a day early (strange to be the one seeing Mom off...usually it's the other way around). There were no blankets and I hadn't brought a sleeping bag. It was maybe 10-15 C (50-60 F?) that night and I was freezing! I layered on all the clothes in my pack. 8 shirts, 3 pairs of pants, 2 skirts, and 4 pairs of socks. I used my tiny towel and sarong as blankets, but all that didn't do much good. But here's the thing: it was for only 1 night. I knew this suffering was limited and at least I had a bed under my back and not concrete. What about the girl, wrapped in a blanket, that asked "Mum" for money. The sight of each and every beggar (and even the singing, dancing "rubbish man" who stood at the traffic light collecting garbage from your car for small change) was painful to Mom, so unaccustomed to poverty. (In Iowa City, we get only the occassional war vet standing outside Walmart with a sign: Will Work for Food, Anything Helps.) I felt hardened, used to shaking off the small hands that would grab you on the streets of Accra, the mothers with babies in their arms circling the restaurants in Cambodia, the elaborate stories cooked up by the homeless in New Haven.
A realization that there was nothing triumphant in an ability to look the other way, to ignore, to see through.
Last month, at a Canada Day BBQ in Ghana, we began talking about giving to beggars. I mentioned that in the 6 months I'd been in Ghana, I had not once given money to a beggar (after it came out of my mouth, it felt like a confession). Food, yes. They were surprised. "But you're volunteering, which is your contribution or donation," Kelly offered. That had been my own mental defense along the way. But I think there's more to it than that. The attitude of entitlement that is rampant in Ghana puts me off. Also, if I start to give, I'm afraid I won't be able to stop. What makes one beggar more worthy than another? Yes, I'd be more inclined to give to a handicapped person or a woman with children, than a seemingly able bodied man. But what about all the refugees in Egypt that I know personally. Their names, their histories, their pains. Giving money to a person with a name, rather than just a passing hand, means a loss of anonimity. Expecting appreciation, acknowledgement? The selfish alturist?
I'm reminded of a travel story by a young American woman that I read years ago, before I knew I'd end up in Ghana, called Somebody's Heart is Burning. While volunteering in Ghana, she meets a man traveling on the same boat for a few days. She writes:
Two weeks had passed since the day a devout man with cracked feet and glowing
eyes had asked me for my shoes. I remembered the disappointment I'd felt when
he'd asked. I'd taken him for an angel, and there he was behaving like a human
being. I realized, suddenly, that I'd spent much of my time in African befuddled
by the notion that if a friend asked me for something, it rendered our entire
relationship suspect. But what friendship isn't a balancing act, an
ever-shifting dance of altruism and self-interest? How naïve I'd been, to
imagine that any human exchange could take place in a vacuum, let alone between a person with shoes and a person without.
My reactions to beggars, to poverty, has been something I've been intending to write about for over a year. I guess I haven't done it till now because it's something I'm still struggling with.
posted by Jill at 7:02 AM
4 Comments:
"A realization that there was nothing triumphant in an ability to look the other way, to ignore, to see through. "
Your sentence moved me. It made me think about similar situations where we think that we are acheiving something but when we look at it through someone else's eyes we realise that our point of view was biased and one sided and so narrow. It is as if we were blind and suddenly we can see. Although this is not related directly but that is why I apprecaite friends that critisize me and tell me what they really think about me because that is how I learn to be a better person. However hard it may be to face the truth about myself.
it is slightly contradictory when you don't like dashing in Ghana but then comment on taking advantage of the Egyptian who offers services for free. What is the difference between someone who wants a tip vs. someone who wants something for free?
You mentioned that you are volunteering there... it seems like that would be doing a lot more to solve the problems of those people. If you give them a dollar, they'll eat, and it will be gone. If you volunteer in a place that helps them get a job, they'll have money to eat for the rest of their life. Make sense?
How idyllic. And you feel better about yourself that you could help someone. Benevolence is never pure. Using is using no matter what angle it is looked at. Make sense?
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