A neighborhood boy is sweet, and a friend has been giving him some food. He comes back often and whispers in our ear “la penny? La penny?” as he points to himself and then to me. He wants me to take him to the penny market. Maybe he’s expecting a snack, or maybe some body-spray. He’s cute, but I don’t buy him anything. I still don’t know where I’m at with this. Does he have a family? Am I enabling? Or is this right to keep buying things for him? I don’t know. Our pastor knows him, and tells us to watch our stuff – he steals. Turns out, the little laser pointer he’s playing with is a prize of theft. He’s little. Cute. Poor? Also, he’s stealing.
I walk back from intercession time at the church and I hear “hey! Hey!” Being Americans, we get yelled to most of the time we walk down the street, so I don’t turn around. Our little friend Farin catches up with me. He’s holding a gray plastic bag. He shows it off to me proudly: inside is body wash, shampoo, axe, and a little snack. I say “Forte beenay” to him— “Very good!” He smiles. Another boy, older, bigger crosses the street to us. He’s using a few English words and then starts yelling at Farin in Romanian. Farin looks scared, and tucks his bag behind his back. The other boy is yelling louder now, and tries to snatch away Farin’s new belongings. I say “nu, nu”, telling the older boy no. Farin looks at me. He’s scared and clutching his bag tightly. All the sudden, Farin takes off in a sprint across the street, followed by the other boy. The older boy is trying desperately to steal Farin’s bag. They run through a dusty lot before turning the corner. I can’t run and follow them. Farin’s gift has now become to him a curse. His prize possession of the moment is now a target, luring the older boy to bully.
No easy answers work here. Here I am, in one of the poorest regions in Romania (unemployment rate 50%!) There are no easy answers about poverty. About justice and mercy. About families and communities and missions and travelers and foreigners and children. Nothing here is a simple answer. Mostly I just feel sad. I pray for Farin, and for the older boy. So I walk home.
