May you come to the attention of those in authority.
May your wishes be granted.
The first two seem simple enough, the last one was always a puzzler to me. Oh well.
Note: blogger is giving me fits with pictures again so I'm putting up a nice text blog today.
There is another SIM missionary couple here in town who are closer to my age. Luke went to DTS so we have the whole Dallas experience in common too. I'll blog about them later perhaps. The point is, I was at their house working on a few things the other day while they were out.
I was out at the far end of their large yard when there was a visitor at the back door. He had opened the bared door and the screen door and knocked on the door. When no one answered he sat on a part of the built in brick bar-b-que to wait. I decided I best hoof it down and see what was up. It was an old man wearing a decent but well worn set of clothes and a stocking cap. Africans get used clothes from the US and Europe. I'm not sure why they like stocking caps so well, with the temperatures pushing 90F, but they do. He had deep-set, blood shot yellow eyes and next to no teeth. With his short stubble, the description 'old coot' springs to mind. There was also a slight waft of booze about.
He started out in Kaonde which was unintelligible to me. I know enough to tell him that I don't know how to speak Kaonde. Just to be sure he understood, he asked me if I didn't speak Kaonde-in Kaonde. I repeated that no I don't speak Kaonde. Having come this far in Kaonde he launched off once again in Kaonde. I told him this time in English that I really didn't understand him and gave him a dumb look. Dumb looks are very useful, especially if you suspect that they are asking for money. Which he was. Seeing he was getting nowhere with me in Kaonde he switched to English. His tale of woe was that he had come into town to go to the clinic because a car hit his hand and he had a case in court. He showed me his hand which looked slightly puffy but not too bad. Wouldn't I help him because all he had was seven pin.
An aside note here. Zambian money is paper clipped together in groups of 20 notes. They call the paper clips pins. Why I have no idea. When the worst of the devaluation was going on the largest note was a K50. One bundle of those was K1000. The traditional way of counting is one through five and then you go to five and one, five and two and finally, say five five five and two, for seventeen. Usually at this point an African would just say that there are many. As you can see this is a cumbersome way of counting. The result was all Zambians pretty much learned to count in English even if that was the only English they knew. The thing was that most Zambians had never had a thousand Kwacha so, as their money devalued, they had to learn a new word. Now for whatever reason the "th" sound is somewhat difficult for them to say and thousand is a long word so a thousand is now a 'pin'. For those keeping track one pin is now worth about 20 cents US.
I tried to ask probing questions like "Why did you come to town with not enough money for bus fare back?" but got mostly rambling, evasive answers. I decided the thing to do was to text Luke and see what he thought I should do. I also sent the same text to my Dad. Dad called back and allowed as how it was a tough thing and Jesus said if you give someone a drink you had done it as to him. I mentioned at this point drink may have already being going on. Aha. Well the up shot was Dad was willing to take a risk on that up to 20pin.
Now Dad has a soft heart towards people. There is a beggar who comes by that Dad gives two sandwiches and a glass of water. The sandwiches have a quarter inch of jam in them, which is enough to give me early onset diabetes just looking at them but, that's how Dad eats them too, so there you go. That's not all, they also help out a family who's teenage retarded daughter was gang raped. The three men got her pregnant and gave her HIV and are thankfully in jail. Mom and Dad make sure that the baby is getting some better food. I could go on but you get the idea.
As soon as Dad and I were done talking I got this text from Luke. "Mali kafwako. (no money) If it is who I think, he comes often and drinks like a fish. Tell him we have no money". I asked his name...Johnathan. As I was texting that back his insistent begging became sobs and tears. Now I was really feeling bad for him. Then this text came from Luke. "Yup. That's who I thought. He's stubborn, but don't give him anything, even when he cries."
Well now, I'm a cynic and a bit ornery to boot. I decided to put it to the test. Up to this point I had been unwilling to give the guy a penny. I decided if he really did want bus fare I'd pay the balance of it. As we were walking the ten minutes or so up to the bus stop Luke and I were still texting back and forth. At one point this guy said how nice cell phones were and broadly suggested I buy him one. I told him to save his money and buy his own. He decided to shut up on the topic as it seemed he was going to get some free money from me although I don't think he quite knew what I had in mind. It did reinforce in my mind that all he really wanted was beer money.
As we approached the bus stop I asked again where it was he wanted to go, so that he would not change his story on me. Nope he stuck to that thing like glue. We found the bus no problem and the price was 30pin. I asked for his money. He reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out a few K1000 bills. I said "No, no where is that K5000 bill you had?" He put those bills back in his pocket and pulled out the seven pin from his pants pocket. I now made him pull the money back out of his shirt pocket. There was one stay K500 that clung to the K1000 bills he tried to shove back in but I made him give that up too. All told he had eleven pin. I made up the other nineteen. I told the conductor I wanted a ticket and that he was not to refund this man any money without finding me first and giving me mine. I kept the ticket to be sure. Hard experience has taught that bus drivers NEVER refund money so I felt pretty safe. Telling a bus driver to not refund money is like telling me to not join the ballet...yep a safe bet. As it was he was the last person on the bus before it was full so they shut the doors and drove off.
Now we have a gracious God who meets us where we are. God loves a cheerful giver and knows I'm a cynic. As that bus pulled out I can honestly say I was glad I had made a small gift into this man's life.
As it happens, although the bus was parked near the road, the exit to the parking lot was back behind a gas station onto a side road. On the other side of that road is a place that sells ice cream so I decided to get one. As I was walking across the gas station parking lot the bus pulled in to get gas. Our fellow yelled out the window asking how he could travel without his ticket. Well, the conductor was right there and knew where he was going. I made my way over and had a word with the driver and conductor. Johnathan was now out of the bus and quiet hot. He was yelling this and that, telling me to keep my money and so forth. The problem, as I saw it, was his brain is dissipated by a lifetime of drinking and his thinking could not get out ahead of ours. No sooner did he say forget the whole thing than he remembered that his money was involved in the deal too. To add to his problems the bus driver stood firm and did not disappoint my expectation of never refunding money. Gas, having been bought, he was urged back on the bus-without bags or baggage, and off they went. I just looked it up, the place he was going is about 115 miles out of town. Somehow his face, as he departed, didn't look as happy as you would expect for someone whose wishes had just been granted.
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