I spotted them coming down the street and knew it was going to happen. They didn't ask anyone they passed for money, probably because they had spotted me, the white dude in the shiny SUV, and they were making a beeline for me. I was preparing myself mentally for the encounter. Entrenching myself, building that little psychological fortification that we all throw up when faced with beggars, as they hurried toward me. Maybe I'm the only one what does it?
What if they're really just making a bunch of money by begging?
What if they use the money for something else?
What if they lie to me?
What will I do for lunch if I give them my change?
Why was my stinking window rolled down!
What if...?
They arrived at the side of the car and hit me up immediately. They didn't want money they wanted milk for their baby brother. They truly played the part, looked the part, and oh how they smelled the part. My initial response, "Sorry, I don't have any money." Yep, I lied. I had some shiny coins in my pocket and even a bill or two but that lie came right out instinctively. Thank God they didn't bite. They'd been lied to before. Probably a lot.
Omar, thirteen, jumped right into their story. Their family had fled Daraa a year ago, when their father died...after being shot in the head. Mom, a seventeen year-old sister, Omar, his one-year old brother and his nine-year old brother, Salam, who was listening to his brother's spiel while hanging onto the side view mirror. No school, no work, no rights. It wasn't an outlandish story because it was it sounded very similar to the dozens of stories we've heard from Syrian refugees. I relented a bit and gave him some change. It wasn't much but it really was all the change I had. However, that bill in pocket was burning a hole into my guilty conscience. A quote from Matthew Henry that I'd stumbled upon recently while studying came to mind.
All these questions, no really they were fears" were ridiculous. Here were two boys, two extremely vulnerable boys, asking for a dollar or two and I was worried if I was getting ripped off. How ludicrous! So, I asked Omar to go to the store and buy me a Diet Pepsi with the change I'd just given him. I'm not sure where the idea came from. It was a dumb idea really. He looked at me funny but Arab hospitality kicked in. So, he ran off to use 25 of the 50 cent that I'd just given him to buy me a Pepsi. Salam's eyes followed his brother, then looked at me incredulously.
"I'm hungry. I haven't eaten today." he said. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a five. "If your brother comes back and brings me a Pepsi, I will give you this." and stuck the five onto the dash. His incredulity increased tenfold.
Minutes later, Omar came jogging back, griping the coldest Pepsi you'd ever felt tightly in his hand. As he handed it to me, smiling I picked up the five and handed it to Salam. He started crying. Big, round tears down his grimy face. "Now go take that to your mother!" I said. And off they ran without so much as glance.
"It is better to feed five wasps, than to starve one bee."
"I'm hungry. I haven't eaten today." he said. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a five. "If your brother comes back and brings me a Pepsi, I will give you this." and stuck the five onto the dash. His incredulity increased tenfold.
Minutes later, Omar came jogging back, griping the coldest Pepsi you'd ever felt tightly in his hand. As he handed it to me, smiling I picked up the five and handed it to Salam. He started crying. Big, round tears down his grimy face. "Now go take that to your mother!" I said. And off they ran without so much as glance.
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