Jane

I do not like poor people. I don't like how uncomfortable they make me with their naked need, how overindulged and selfish I know myself to be in their presence. I don't like how they destroy my illusion that I have some power to make things better. I do not like their unflinching witness that life is more often brutal and unjust and casually violent than otherwise.

I was on my way home from St. George's Cathedral Thursday night when a young woman approached me, asking for money for food. "You can even go in and buy it for me," she said, her way of assuring me she wouldn't spend it on drugs or beer, I guess. Now, it did flash through my mind that this could be one of those set-ups in which an unthreatening woman approaches you so your guard is down, but she's just the decoy and then her menacing partners in crime emerge from the shadows to rough you up and take all your money. But she was tired and young, no more than 19 or 20, and about 4 or 5 months pregnant (yes, Runako, I am as uncannily accurate in pinpointing pregnancy stages as I am at guessing children's ages. I am just that good), and I decided I would rather risk being mugged than be the person who turns away a pregnant woman. So I gave her 50 rand, which is about $7 US, and a pretty cheap price to pay to assuage your conscience. And in a move that is very uncharacteristic for me (VERY. I do not have the gift of evangelism) I prayed for her and her baby. Look, it's Ascension Day, you step up your game.

So I saw her again tonight, and she called out and waved to me. I walked over to say hello, but I really don't want to be bothered, so I lied and said all I had was 1.5 rand in change, which is, like, $.0004 US. And she nodded and said thanks and said, "Enjoy your evening, miss." Crap. I'm holding a takeout bag with chicken and rice, and I am going back to my hotel that finally got a heater installed in the room today, so it is toasty and warm and outside it is cold and rainy and I suck. I rounded the corner, and doubled back, and said, "What's going on?" And she told me her grandparents (parents are dead, you always wonder here if it's from AIDS) put her out when she got pregnant because they didn't like the guy. Then that guy left. "I hate his guts," she said softly. Yeah, me too. Her grandmother would take her back, she said, but her grandfather won't until she has the baby and gives it away and he doesn't have to be reminded of what a disappointment she was to him. And her eyes filled up and she said softly, "I hate my life. I can't keep living this way, begging for enough rand to stay at a backpackers' lodge."

I am so not the Christian for this, because I can't do the "But God loves you anyway, all evidence to the contrary!" thing. I am more of the "Yeah, I don't know why God lets lousy stuff happen. I keep believing He loves us through it simply because the alternative is too awful to contemplate." I would not make a good crisis counselor.

I asked her if she had tried the shelters, and she said she had but they were all full, which I have heard is a problem here; unemployment is at 25%. "I really do go to the shelters, miss," she said earnestly. Now it could all be a well-rehearsed story, and maybe she's just a skilled scam artist who honed in on the naive and well-meaning American. I can take that chance. I gave her 120 rand, less than $20 but enough to stay in a hostel and get something to eat, and she agreed to go to St. George's after services tomorrow; it's a very socially conscious church and maybe they can help her find a more long-term solution. Stop laughing at me, Runako, it was cold and rainy.

There's never a good answer to what to do in these situations because there's no good answer to why the weak and vulnerable suffer and always have. If I see her tomorrow, do I give her another 100 rand? For how long? I wouldn't do it in America because at home, I'd know how to get her into a shelter or a young mother's home. And in some cities like Calcutta, you'd be inviting every beggar in the city to follow you, although I'm not sure that's reason enough not to do it.

Anyway, if you have any ideas on how Christians ought to handle things like this, I'm all ears. Meanwhile, her name is Jane. Pray for her if you think of it. And if you want to wish bad things upon the boyfriend and grandfather, that would be OK too.