Sina Pesa. (Sina Moyo?)
Sunday afternoon several of us walked downtown to find an ATM, internet, and some lunch. From our house in Old Town we walked two blocks over to Fort Jesus and then took a right onto the road that ends with an inexplicable statue (which is quite likely explicable if I'd bother to ask what it was about) in the shape of a golden trumpet.* From the trumpet* we turned right and headed downtown. Nevermind the fact that it was pouring rain outside.
We got a little bit lost by not turning at the second roundabout with a statue in the shape of a dolphin, but all in all it was a fairly successful adventure.
The streets were pretty empty, perhaps because it was raining or because it was Sunday . . . maybe because of both. A group of 10 wazungus walking in the rain certainly attracted a lot of attention. Within a couple minutes we had an entire entourage following us through the city streets. Some wanted to sell us umbrellas (smart), others wanted to show us the way to our destination (very helpful), others -mostly children- were asking us for money (heartbreaking).
"Je una pesa?" (do you have money) "Nina njaa." (I have hunger) "5 shillings for bread, mist-ah," these were the words encountered along the way. My normal response was "Sina pesa," or I have no money.
A bald faced lie.
It isn't that I haven't encountered these situations before, I definitely have. This was not the first time that that seemingly little-white-lie crossed my lips. I've run across this enough that it has become an almost impulsive response. Normally I just chalk those enounters up, for better or worse, to part of the ambience of life here in the developing world.
This time, however, it feels wrong . . . heartless even. I didn't even blink as I dismissed these kids in need. I imagined them running back to their homes loaded up with cash from gullible Westerners.
I was wrong.
Walking back from the Blue Room, where I checked my e-mail, ate a big burger and had complimentary ice cream I saw those same kids. I barely noticed them at first. Walking in the pouring rain, sheltered by my umbrella I caught them in the corner of my eye. They were curled up, three of them -asleep like cats- on the large window sill of an abandonded store in an empty downtown street, barely staying dry.
They were alone
I walked by
Turning a blind eye.
I did nothing nor do I know if there is anything I could have done.
Life in the city is not the village life I am used to. Where an abandoned or orphaned child would likely be taken in by relatives or neighbors in places like Tungamalenga, Iodi or Makambala here -at first glance- it appears that he is left to fend for himself. I hope and pray that this is not the case, but truly I don't know what to make of it all . . .
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*Update/Correction (6/9): Apparently the golden 'trumpet' is actually am Arabic teapot, a symbol and reminder of the days when Mombasa was ruled by Sultans from Oman. My bad; Pole Sana. The dolphin statues, however, remain a mystery.
We got a little bit lost by not turning at the second roundabout with a statue in the shape of a dolphin, but all in all it was a fairly successful adventure.
The streets were pretty empty, perhaps because it was raining or because it was Sunday . . . maybe because of both. A group of 10 wazungus walking in the rain certainly attracted a lot of attention. Within a couple minutes we had an entire entourage following us through the city streets. Some wanted to sell us umbrellas (smart), others wanted to show us the way to our destination (very helpful), others -mostly children- were asking us for money (heartbreaking).
"Je una pesa?" (do you have money) "Nina njaa." (I have hunger) "5 shillings for bread, mist-ah," these were the words encountered along the way. My normal response was "Sina pesa," or I have no money.
A bald faced lie.
It isn't that I haven't encountered these situations before, I definitely have. This was not the first time that that seemingly little-white-lie crossed my lips. I've run across this enough that it has become an almost impulsive response. Normally I just chalk those enounters up, for better or worse, to part of the ambience of life here in the developing world.
This time, however, it feels wrong . . . heartless even. I didn't even blink as I dismissed these kids in need. I imagined them running back to their homes loaded up with cash from gullible Westerners.
I was wrong.
Walking back from the Blue Room, where I checked my e-mail, ate a big burger and had complimentary ice cream I saw those same kids. I barely noticed them at first. Walking in the pouring rain, sheltered by my umbrella I caught them in the corner of my eye. They were curled up, three of them -asleep like cats- on the large window sill of an abandonded store in an empty downtown street, barely staying dry.
They were alone
I walked by
Turning a blind eye.
I did nothing nor do I know if there is anything I could have done.
Life in the city is not the village life I am used to. Where an abandoned or orphaned child would likely be taken in by relatives or neighbors in places like Tungamalenga, Iodi or Makambala here -at first glance- it appears that he is left to fend for himself. I hope and pray that this is not the case, but truly I don't know what to make of it all . . .
-----------------------
*Update/Correction (6/9): Apparently the golden 'trumpet' is actually am Arabic teapot, a symbol and reminder of the days when Mombasa was ruled by Sultans from Oman. My bad; Pole Sana. The dolphin statues, however, remain a mystery.
Comments
And I offer this prayer from Irenaeus (CE 125-202) for your spirit:
It is not you who shape God;
It is God that shapes you.
If then yu are the work of God,
await the hand of the Artist who does all things in due season.
Offer the Potter your heart,
soft and tractable,
and keep the form in wchih the Artist has fashioned you.
Let your clay be moist,
lest you grow hard
and lose the imprint of the Potter's fingers.
Just watched Blood Diamond this week - yet another reminder of how hard it is to know what is right to do in the face of the world's problems. But we are not alone, and this gives me hope.
Peace, Bonnie
I love reading these entries - not that the Waukesha entries weren't entertaining and equally foreign - because I know where you're coming from.
One shilling holds the potential to make a small difference, but the proactive sprawl of E. African Cultural understanding will probably do more . . .
I love that smell, by the way. And I miss it.
Is it possible the Arabic teapot is similar to Aladdin's lamp? (How that for infusing Disney into your cultural experience?)
Thanks for the wonderful descriptions. It helps that you frame what you experiencing with our shared experiences in Iringa.
Lubawa's book flew off the shelves at the SPAS assembly! My cover looks good -- except they took out the people behind RIchard and Amon Paula (like Amon's father!) and 'painted in' green tree limbs!) It is a book that will be mostly bought by those who've been to Iringa in order to read what Richard wrote about their churches & sister parishes!
Today's Gospel was Luke 7-8, dinner at Simon the Pharisee's house. Reflecting on the difference in table hospitality offered by Simon and the 'sinful' woman, I needed only to remember the welcomes of Tungamalenga and Pastor Alfred to remember the exuberant welcome. I hope you are welcomed often as well in uniquely different settings while you are in Mombasas.
Peace, Bonnie