Tuesday, July 24, 2007

A lively Ten Year Old Gypsy...

Maybe I should have never said that sentence but it seemed right at that time... This is how it all began...

I saw her from a distance as I was walking into the store, and there she stood, ran, smiled and played... Her hair was sticking to her scalp with a strange looking chemical, it caught all the dust but her eyes shined with innocence as she ran from once corner to the next... chasing one after another in search for a few coins here and there...

On my way out of the store, it was my turn... I don't know exactly why, but it seems I'm a magnet for beggars... I think once you make eye contact, you're doomed...

Anyway, she zoomed in on the potential money bag and held her small hands together facing the sky... my first response was, "what is that on your hair?!" completely amazed...
she said: "It's henna!", in her mind she must have said you dork, don't you know henna! I felt so stupid... she must have felt the same :) but I never knew it looked so ugly when it was applied... it was like a black brownish dusty thing... it was gluing her hair to her scalp and it looked rock hard...

Anyway, I kept walking to my car and the gypsy kid kept following me... it was along walk with the usual one sentence "a3teeny" give me! again and again and again...

20 more meters and just before I opened the car, I turned around, I looked straight into the kid's eyes glittering with curiosity... I was feeling a bit fed up, I said "you should tell your parents to send you to school so you will not grow up doing this for the rest of your life..."

At that point she started walking away and said: "but they won't let me..."... "bas ma bedhom" she said that with a voice that almost tore me apart...

The kid's voice almost choked, as if she was about to cry when she said that... and went running back to the stores gate...

It was one of those times that made the world spin... what if it was me! what is the fault of this gypsy kid!... what is her fault!

Sometimes we forget they are only kids... playing, begging, smiling and running with all the energy of kids... I will never forget those adorable eyes of a ten year old gypsy, the little hands, the hanna and the shattered dreams that made me feel so bad that night...

4 comments:

Miss sea lover said...

i know exactly what u r talking about, cuz i'v been in such situations, u get confused, whether to give them money and feel bad cuz u r giving motivation to go on doing what they r doing, or not to give them, and feel bad cuz maybe they really need it...i wish that gov. do something about it, i guess it will not cost that much of money to gather them, give them shelter. at least they will stop some ppl from giving birth to children just to make the bagge for money...but after all...who said life is fair..and simple...

Bilalٍ said...

First Abu Kilany, shwi Shwi 3aleen, mesh mla7geen blogs:)
Second, whenever i see one of those kids, i remember my relative, nieces and nephews, the plans there parents are planning for them, summer school, video games, going to restaurants, education, clothes and then i look at that kid begging at the street, what a huge different we have. But i don't give them coz i know they don't want to be here, they were forced by their father to come here and bring him a load of money, i encourage him by giving them.

M Kilany said...

Miss Sea lover,
The gov. will probably only kick those people out of one place to the next... But there is a very interesting case of banking in bangladesh... The bank was able to support such people in giving them small amounts of money to start small project and it made huge success... I think it was called the Grameen Bank...

Bilal,
I don't give them money for the same reason, I don't want to encourage them...

I guess when you become a parent you tend to see things from a different angle... one of compassion, you tend to think of your own kids...

Mohanned said...

Alla be3een ya garaba..When I read stuff like this I always curse halwa7ad..Elhom alla el a26fal, o alla yel3ano mn zaman.