Beggar Boys

As I headed for the bus to take me back to Nairobi, a boy beggar approached me, his hand outstretched. Thinking he was obviously wanting some money, I kept my gaze forward, not even breaking stride. He half jogged alongside me, offering to carry one of my bags for me. I said that I was fine and didn’t need his help. After I got situated on the bus, I realized how rude I’d been to this person looking for a small job to stave off his hunger.

I don’t believe in giving handouts (although this doesn’t mean I don’t ever give out money) since I’m doing little to solve the problem and a lot to make myself feel better. While many people beg for a living, few choose to and I had denied one who had even offered to help me. I had missed the point: It wasn’t that I could use the help; it was that he needed the money.

We stopped in another town further on, and another beggar boy approached me for money. I again refused, yet thought of sending him to get me a mandazi, a Kenyan donut. I chickened-out, however, blaming my inability to translate my words into Kiswahili when he most likely knew English anyway.

In the next town we stopped for lunch. Walking out of a small store with food and a soda in hand, I looked directly into the eyes of two small boys standing some distance off on the side of the road. They did not explicitly ask for money or food, but their faces said everything. Still, I could not bring myself to go to them. I thought, “If they approach me, then I’ll give them what I have.” What bullshit! I had already refused two others; what made these any different?

I wish I could tell a story with character development, but life isn’t scripted. I pray that God is moving within me; that I may move boldly as I live more humbly.