Beggars are a nuisance
at any time: they are always there when you don't want them to be, obstructing
your path and thrusting their alms bowls into your face. They usually come at
you in a swarm, like flies congregating on cow dung: the blind, the deaf, the
physically disabled and the-plain-just-beggars – and the pretenders who put on
a Nollywood winning act to convince you there's something wrong with them when
there isn't. Overwhelmed, you fight them off and send them on their way.
You are often too angry
at their aggressiveness to show any compassion: they believe it's their right
to beg for alms and your obligation to give. So you brush them aside.
I was in a charitable
mood when this old blind beggar tottered up to me. He was bent with age, his
face wizen and his skin shrivelled. His eyes were long gone and flies danced on
his cataracts. The white cornea of his eyes reminded me of a ghost. Sores
covered his arms and legs and his protruding bones suggested he hadn't had a
proper meal in a very long time. His clothes were all tattered and old. He was
skeletal, finding his way around with a stick and crying out for alms in a very
pitiful voice.
I fumbled in the
cavernous confines of my bag looking for some money to give him, pulling out
phone, make-up bag and other what-nots.
" Nice Iphone
Madam", he mumbled, forgetting his act.
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