Africa has presented new challenges to many, if not all, of the members of my World Race squad. For many of us the heat is a challenge. For others, the mix of western culture and third world culture is unsettling. For me, the biggest challenge is discerning a proper response to the beggars. Few of the things I’ve encountered since leaving home have pulled on my emotions so strongly and caused me to wrestle internally.
In Albania, we encountered a few in the center of capital, but next to none in any of the other rural communities we visited. I remember tossing a few coins to an old woman because I had change that day, and I remember giving money to an Albanian who went by the name of Elvis.
There was also a large population of gypsies in Albania who are in a pretty terrible mess. They refuse to be integrated into Albanian culture, but the country also refuses to accept them. As a community, their unemployment rates seem to be over 70% and they live off of welfare and begging. Gypsy women will also gather large groups of children and will send them out as a begging squadron in hopes that people will be more sympathetic to dirty, skinny, begging children. Problem is, Albania has schools dedicated to gypsy kids, so the gypsy women are electing to have these kids beg instead of go to school.
We had a clear-cut vision of what to do with the beggars in Albania thanks to our ministry hosts… but things changed a little bit when we went to Greece. We were approached by more people, and the responses from most of my team were to turn them away. We have good justifications for turning away the beggars. Often, people are on the streets because the money they do/did earn went to alcohol and drugs. That shouldn’t be news to most people because it’s a problem present in humanity, not just Europe.
But as more and more people approached me, I was bothered when my internal turmoil wouldn’t stop. I thought of my reasons.
I have only have three digits worth of money in my bank account from selling a car that was given to me. The few bills I have are being managed by my mother and payed for by my parents (THANK YOU SO MUCH) and I (nor any of the other racers) have no source of income while on the race. Realistically, I’m off the hook, right? I mean, I don’t really have any money. If I give to every beggar who asks over the course of a year, I could realistically run out of money…
Right?
When I return to the states, I will most likely be sleeping either on a couch or bed that’s not mine, or in a hammock or tent outside of someone’s house looking for a job to pay back my off my credit card and my college debt. I can’t afford to give these people money. If it weren’t for my parents, I would be in a really sad state. (my income lost a battle with automotive repair expenses last year).
And yet, it deeply unsettled me every time I turned a beggar away. There was a twisting in my stomach and a burning in my chest that would not settle for some time.
Then we had a moment in Athens. We were waiting in a room in a train station for the next leg of our trip. Several of us had been sitting there for twelve or more hours watching the luggage, and we were pretty tired. A man walks in and started blabbering in a mix of Greek and English. Key words that I gathered were “sick”, “no work”, “drugs”, “train ticket”, something about his sister, and something about being late.
Silence.
I’m sure we all thought, “What do we do?” I know I did.
I don’t know how long we stayed silent. I really don’t. It may have been a minute, which seemed far longer when this Greek man was staring us down with sad eyes and desperation.
My emotions were a mix of irritation from the travel, irritation from being interrupted by a man with a language barrier, and a question floating in my face, “Are you going to help him?”
We started talking about it. Not about whether or not we were going to give him money, but about what he was saying. I thought he was asking for money for a perscription, hence the drugs, but one of my squadmates felt that he was asking for a train ticket. We agreed upon the train ticket… but we were still silent.
After another (seemingly) long and uncomfortable silence, I said, “I’m okay with it.”
“So am I.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Train tickets were cheap. Somewhere around the $15 Euro mark, so we pulled Euro coins out and Kelly Anne said that she would go and purchase the ticket for him just to make sure he was using the money for what he said. Jamison and I elected to go with her just in case.
As we started pooling the money, this man, whom we would soon learn was named Andreas, became flushed in a surreal sort of disbelief. We walked him to the ticket counter and helped him purchase the proper ticket and handed it over.
His flushed face gained a quivering lip, and soon he was openly weeping. “Thank you!” He said with a voice that was both amazed and relieved. His desperation was fulfilled. “Thank you!” He said again. Then he hugged me. “Thank you!” He hugged Kelly Anne. “Thank you!” He hugged Jamison, crying all the while. “Thank you!” Then he kissed Kelly Anne on the cheek. And then me, and then Jamison.
I’ve seen hungry people, and I’ve seen poverty, and I’ve seen provision in those times, but never before in my life had I seen such open gratitude (this was prior to our work in the refugee crisis).
That was an experience unique to Europe. I can’t say my team was a part of anything else as fulfilling and exhausting as that.
Then we got to Africa. Oh man, did we get to Africa. It seems to be a guarantee that we are approached by someone when we go into a city. They have a different mentality and a boldness about them that makes it a very different and even more frustrating experience. We had one man approach us and ask us for food, and when we gave him half of a small loaf of bread, he frowned and asked if he could have our chips (french fries) instead. Imagine our surprise.
We’ve also been openly insulted by beggars who we do not choose to give to, and have been on the receiving end of guilt-trips such as “God will bless you if you give to me.”
Many of us stuck to the advice of more experienced travelers, and politely declined the men who would hang outside of restaurants and ask people for money for bread. Problem was, the men would often follow us down the street repeatedly asking for help and then arguing with us. You can imagine how short our patience became.
I was walking back with a very small group one evening and was followed by one such man. I was concerned for the safety of the girls in the group, so I asked him to stop following us. He continued to do so, and I said quite sharply, “Stop!” and walked on.
My mind was a washed up mix of emotions again. I was so angry. I hate that I “had” to do that. I hate that I turned away another man yet again, and that there were really solid arguments supporting my actions.
I talked pretty extensively with members from my team, as well as the spiritual leaders for our team, and received some great advice for both sides of the argument, but none of it really placated my emotions.
Fast forward to Zimbabwe. We’re walking around Bulawayo and a man approached me. “Sorry. I have a question to ask.” By now I’m pretty familiar with the drill. We keep walking, politely decline, and go on with our mission to find new ministries for the World Race to partner with (spoiler alert, there was a ministry walking right beside me).
This man, Darak, followed me across the street (where we positioned ourselves in narrow gaps as cars zipped by), and did not listen to my polite decline. I admired his perseverance and decided to hear him out. He talked a little bit about his needs and how hungry he was, and I said to myself, “Why not?”. We are the Y squad 2015 route, and our hashtag is #YsquadYnot.
At the moment, I had the most American thing you could have in your backpack, leftover pizza and 2-liters of soda.
“Do you like pizza?” I asked
“Pizza? Yes! Yummy” He replied.
So I gave him a piece of pizza and he happily munched away while saying “Yummy” a few more times. The sad truth of the matter is, I know the satisfaction brought from that piece would only last for a few hours, and in memory of Acts 3:6, I gave him what I could give him.
“Do you know Jesus, Darak?”
“Oh yes I do, I pray to Jesus every day.”
(More often than not, when I ask random people like this, they turn out be Christians, or people who have heard something of the gospel. I’m either winning a statistical lottery, or I need to up my game, I guess.)
Good. I asked him a few more questions and listened to his story. He was hurting for work and considering going to a family who had helped him prior and get a certification for automotive repair. Turns out he also has a mental disorder, but I wasn’t able to understand what it was. He said something that really caught my attention, though.
“Sometimes I just wonder who I am. I just want to know how I am.”
Quite handily, this is a lesson I’m working through myself. So I told him, “I know who you are. You’re Darak, and you are a son of God, and he loves you very much.” To a heavily critical mind, it sounds like taking the easy way out. It sounds like it doesn’t explain much. It sounds like it doesn’t give much hope.
But it does. Oh, how it does. Darak’s face lit up. It was easily the brightest smile I’ve seen in a long time. He gained so much joy just from that simple piece of truth. I’ll tell you why. A son of God has the Holy Spirit within him to guide him, and we have an omnipotent father who will ensure our salvation and will provide for us here on this earth. It gives us the bible to use as a point of reference for who we are and how we should live. It also gives us the knowledge that we should not be afraid to pray to God and ask for the promises he’s given.
I told Darak to pray and ask for guidance for what he should do next, and then Matt asked if he could pray for Darak. He happily received the prayer, and we moved on.
God is a father who meets earthly needs and spiritual needs. I’m still confused as to how to properly handle every situation that is placed before me, but I know that God was preparing my heart using my previous experiences, and I hope that God used me to change Darak’s life by reminding him of the One we always need.
But Darak is far from the last person I will encounter. I would be curious to know how many people will cross my path asking for food in the next seven months, or the rest of my life, but I also expect that it would be an overwhelming number.
I’ve decided that I’m going to try and serve that overwhelming number. From this point out on the race, I’m going to purchase bread or granola bars or something and always have it in my backpack to give to those that ask, and if they ask for something else, I’ll see what I can do. Over it all, I believe that we have a God that gives generously, and I’m claiming to be a son of God saved by Jesus, so I should give as he instructs us to give, and trust God to work out the details.
Thanks, and God bless you.
