An Exercise in Trust (or: An Offering to Karma)

I did something ridiculous last week. I knew it was ridiculous, but I did it anyway to test something – though I’m not quite sure what. A man approached me on the street between Internal Affairs and Foreign Affairs, where I was walking to catch a ride home. He started talking:

Hello, Miss. Can’t you please help me. I am from Uganda. I am a teacher, I teach grade school students. I am here for a conference but (I actually forget these details – but something went amiss with conference planning…). I was expecting a daily stipend but the office is now closed and I can not collect my money until Monday, and then I will go right to the counties. Please help me with some money – $40 – so I can have a place to stay tonight, I have no where to stay, I know no one here. I hear that it is very dangerous here at night. Please, save a man’s life. I will come to you and drop the money next week once I receive the stipend. I can give you my passport if you need it. You can hold it until I return, please please, help me. Help me. Save a life!

I know this sounds horrible, but to be honest, I was a little annoyed. It was Friday afternoon, I just wanted to get in the car and go home to shower for happy hour, I didn’t have any US dollars on me, there’s something unsettling about having a grown man beg you to save his life, and I didn’t really believe the story compleeeeeetely. It’s not the worst thing ever, but it’s sad? frustrating? misguided? that any African can see me and think I have much capacity to help them. In the Gambia I was once brought in the room of a dying, wrinkled old woman (who was so cute and had been rather nice to me) and asked to “do something.” I was really upset – and just remember shaking my head and saying, Mi waawa hydara. I can’t do anything. I wanted to help, but I just couldn’t do a thing. She was really old and dying. I couldn’t change that with my Advil and Neosporin. I was utterly useless. Sometimes that’s hard to explain. I am starting to tell people here, “I am almost in as much debt as Liberia. I really can’t give you money.”

Ah! But this man, he was rather persistent. He was begging me. He kept saying, “Save a man’s life!” Alright alright alright just stop saying that! Admittedly annoyed, I took a second – ok, so what if I was ever in this position? Traveling, get your wallet stolen or something, no where to stay, no money, no contact info in the country, no way to get money from home. Essentially desperate. Honestly, in my travels in Africa, my nationality and appearance give me almost instant credibility (along with the misconception of wealth/ability to heal dying people I mentioned before), so if I went to someone with money and promised them to re-pay them if they just could help me out temporarily, it probably wouldn’t take long to find someone. I would be saved by someone. When I go out into the world, I count on karma to take care of the serendipitous meetings of people who know the things I need to know, and can show me the places I need to see, and can help me, direct me, take me in, feed me, save me.

Hm. I have benefited from blindly trusting handouts, and car rides, and advice in multiple countries. I took a deep breath, and totally accepted the fact that there was a good good really good chance I was being taken (there were strong strong correlations with the pregnant wife in hospital story that you could hear on the Barra ferry in Gambia every time you crossed, and which may have been true some of the times…..). Anyway, I embraced the potential loss of money, and I gave him most what I had – about $2000 Liberty – almost $30 bucks.

I would be so happy if he brought the money back and my inclination to doubt could be blown out of the water. I would love it if he came to my office tomorrow. It has nothing to do with the money, $30 bucks gone, I’m ok with that. But it’s strictly about his story: was he telling me the truth? Was he sincerely stuck and in need of help? I still don’t know – a week later and he hasn’t shown up at my office yet with the money. I’m ok with that. I expected it, but I just really wanted to be wrong. (Though he could still show up sometime next week. . . . . . )