Today something happened that I thought would be worthwhile
to share with you all. This may be a lengthy, and boring, post but I ask you to
read the whole thing.
I have not written much, if at all, on this blog about
people asking us (meaning AU students) for money. While I haven’t written about
this on this platform it’s something I’ve thought an incredible amount about
and have written quite a bit about in my journal. It’s not that it doesn’t happen
– but I wanted to present these stories in a way that were able to break some
typical beliefs that people seem to have about ‘Africa’.
For anyone who has ever travelled to any large city
individuals asking you for money is nothing new. However, the environment in
the developing world while slightly similar still holds its differences. First
and foremost people are a lot more direct. They will approach you and either 1)
ask for money right away or 2) begin telling you their story then eventually
ask you for money. Both of these have happened, and both happen frequently.
They happen when I’m walking to class in the morning, when I’m walking in the
afternoon with my groceries, and even when I’m in a taxi. Usually if I’m in a
group (and because of the gender breakdown the odds are I may be the only male)
they will approach me. Undoubtedly the fact that I am white immediately makes
me a target for these schemes. It is obvious to people we are not from here,
and we are perceived as rich foreigners – even though most of us are “broke
college students”. What also stands out
is the number of children asking for money or food. They have approached us and
asked for money, pointed at our pockets, and then asked for food. While I
frequently say I’m not the biggest fan of children, this tears me apart inside.
But we have to stick to our instructions: do not give them money, and I don’t
really carry food to offer them.
(Some of you may be asking why we are not allowed to give
them money. There are many reasons, and each is incredibly complex but there
are two main ones that we must be aware of. First, when we reach into our
pocket to pull out money it reveals where we keep our money and very easily can
reveal how much we are carrying. This makes us an obvious target for pickpockets.
Secondly, it’s not uncommon for these children to be trafficked by an adult and
forced to do this. By giving them money we are supporting child traffickers.)
During my time here in Nairobi we have already learned some
survival Swahili, in addition to “sheng”, which is the slang. Our Swahili
instructor taught us a phrase to use: sina chapaa leo. This means “I have no
money today”, with chapaa being a sheng word for money. Our instructor told us
that by using slang we are not only able to connect with the kids, but also to
let them know that we’re not just tourists, we can speak Swahili, and we know
what goes on. Our security coordinator Victor also recommended to me that we
call the kid’s boss or chief, a sign of respect to these kids spending their
days on the streets. Now this brings me to the story inspired me to write this
post.
Today I went grocery shopping after class, and on our way
back as I was walking with two of my female classmates we were approached by a
young boy, in tattered clothes, who came up and asked me for money. He was
probably around 10 or 11 years old. This was the first time I felt fully
comfortable in my Swahili skills so I said “sina chapaa leo, boss” to which he
pointed at my pocket and asked for money for food – in Swahili. I was able to
pick up enough to get what he was saying, which made me more comfortable in
talking with him. I responded “sina chapaa leo, boss. Pole”, this time adding
in sorry. He asked a third time. By now the girls were ahead of me as I had
slowed down to talk to the young man. I responded this time “pole boss, pole”.
I was sorry. I wish I could help him. He just looked up at me. I knew it was
time for me to get going and this interaction needed to wrap up.
I looked back at him and extended my arm for a fist pound.
He looked at my fist I had outstretched his way.
He smiled at me. Then, gave me a fist pound.
He smiled again and gave me a thumbs up, then skipped away.
For the few seconds following I could help but think I had
made a connection with him. I not only had used my language skills to let him
know I was not just a tourist, but also addressed him in a way that a friend
would address him.
I can’t help but hope that he understood I wanted to help
but just couldn’t. Forgive me if I am romanticizing, but it is connections like
these that I cherish more than anything else. We come from two completely
different environments, but in a split second we connected. Over a fist pound
and a smile. I was able to break a barrier today. This is an interaction I will
never forget.
Good Job. I like the fact that you did not encourage his actions and at the same time you did not demean his actions either.
ReplyDeleteWyatt, You're such an inspiration. I've had a particularly challenging day and needed a "faith" lift. Thanks for sharing. Keep making those connections.
ReplyDelete