Sitting in an air-conditioned Ola cab on Saturday evening in
Bangalore's notorious traffic, I was heading to a friend's party when an
older gentleman in a long white kurta and a white cap approached.
Clutching
his long walking stick, he looked close to my grandmother's age — she's
in her early 90s. His feeble back seemed about to give out. His hands
and shoulders shook as he extended his hand to the cab window. He
motioned between his mouth and my window, clearly asking for something
to eat.
My mind raced and so did my heart. I debated: to give or not to give?
My heart said yes, YES!
But
my mind ran through phrases I have heard: "You give him a handout or a
hand up. Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day, but teach him how
to fish and he will eat for a lifetime. Does he really need food, or
will he use the money for alcohol or drugs?"
Before I could
decide what to do, the traffic cleared and the cab sped away. I glanced
back at the man, now struggling to cross the busy highway, tightly
clutching his walking stick, taking one step at a time.
I have
had many sleepless nights lately not just about him but about everyone I
see in poverty around me. I hail from Uganda but am living in
Bangalore, India now. Both countries have about the same economic and
social challenges. I thought I had figured this begging thing out. I do
what I can to help. For children I either buy them food or buy the pens,
pencils and other paraphernalia they are selling. For the elderly, the
differently abled, the hungry barefoot man on the street, I try to share
a meal the way I would with my friends — to the bemusement of onlookers
and the confusion of the restaurant owner.
But on Saturday night, I faltered when I faced the elderly man.
My
cab fare was 350 Indian rupees. That's about $6. I keep thinking how I
surely could have spared a meal for this man. I could hardly hold my
tears back thinking about him. What if this were his last day and all he
needed was a decent meal? What if he were truly hungry and begging was
his only option? What if? What if?
Where is my humanity? What has happened to me?
Many
of us struggle with these questions. For me, I feel a personal tie to
the people I see begging and selling trinkets. I have been in a similar
position. While my paternal grandfather had wealth in the form
of cattle and land from serving as a royal guardsman for the King of
Ankole, my dad and his siblings lost it all during political turmoil in
the late 1970s. They were forced to squat on other people's lands. My
mother had cattle and land, but both of my parents and four of my
siblings died by the time I was 10 years old. My uncle kept all but four
cattle from me. I had almost nothing.
Fortunately, I had my grandmother, whom I went to live with.
But what if I had not?
What if when I went to sell eggs and milk to earn money for school fees, passersby looked the other way?
What if I was afraid to travel 300 miles alone to ask the president of Uganda for a high school scholarship?
What if I never met American sponsors who afforded me a college education?
So much of life is chance, and sometimes you can be the chance for someone else. You can help make their life better.
For
this reason, I give to people I see on the streets. And I don't just
give pennies. For a grown man or woman, I give enough for a meal. For a
child selling merchandise, I buy enough so the child can afford that
book or uniform so he or she won't be kept out of school. I
don't presume to be building a different social order by offering alms
to the poor. I know that to eliminate poverty, many issues must be
addressed. But I hope that by opening my heart, I let others know I am
unhappy about the injustice in the world and I am doing my part.
Some
people may think I am gullible. Perhaps I am, in some cases. But that
is the choice I make to show solidarity with all human beings. The next time I see someone like the man at my cab, I will not hesitate but will listen to my heart and give. What will you do?
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