Kids and money

More thoughts on Ethiopia
Getting from my hotel to the Awassa Youth Campus was a challenge. It was a simple half km walk, but I found that every kid on my way was terribly curious about the pasty white woman with too many bags. Some kids would scream “FORENGEE” and run to me from across the street. I remember having the same reaction to ice cream trucks when I was their age. The greeting is really intimidating. Kids calling attention and drawing a crowd. Then they would put out tiny hands and say “MONEY.” They’d say it with expectation, without shame. That was unsettling. It was just weird and wrong. I wasn’t mad at them. I was mad at the idiot forengees who came before me and dolled out pennies to buy the momentary delight of these kids. For the record DON’T GIVE MONEY TO KIDS. Think about how you would feel if a stranger was giving pennies to your kids. Think about a country with no 911 system. It is a really dangerous for them. Still, I knew that the kids were going to do it. I had to come up with a way to deal with it positively.

My strategy was to take the economics out of the encounter. When a little boy yelled, “FORENGEEEEE!” I yell back, just as loud, “KONJO LEJ!” That is Amharic for “beautiful child.” The kids thought it was pretty cool and the adults walking down the street looked openly relieved that I was being nice to the little ones. When the kids would demand “MONEY!” I’d respond, “That’s not my name. My name is Renee. What is your name?” Then we’d go through a whole circle of introductions and handshaking. It worked really well. It took a lot of time. I learned quickly to just plan for it. Sometimes I’d encounter groups of kids who were already professional beggars. They were tough, but they were still kids. I’d stick with the no money thing, but my secondary strategy was to teach them a song. Lots of kids in Ethiopia now know “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.”

I would give money to some people—old people, disabled folks or skinny mothers with chubby little babies. Maggie McKay, and Awassa native, told me that these women breast feed long after the child is able to eat solid food because they have no food to give them. They starve themselves for their children.

I had to really think about my actions and reactions every time I left my room. The loss of anonymity is jarring. I had to shed the illusion that I controlled the way people saw me.