Should you give money to beggars?
Down a dusty street from our house in Niamey (the capital city of Niger, which has the dubious honor of being the least developed country in the world) is a bakery called "Les Delices" where you can buy a baguettes for thirty cents, a croissant for fifty cents, and a small assortment of pastries. The bakery does such a brisk business that the line sometimes spills out the door.
My girls and I stopped at Les Delices this morning to grab a few croissants. "Hello Madame," I heard someone call. I looked up to see a crippled man in a wheel chair smiling broadly at us. Sometimes he sits on a piece of cardboard, his gnarled feet and legs crossed in front of him. Without his wheelchair he has to anchor his arms and drag his paralyzed body behind him. I always notice this man, with his strong arms and intelligent look.
I said hello and we went inside. Even though it's overwhelming sometimes, I try to acknowledge beggars, to greet them and make eye contact. "Good luck to you," I say, or "I hope things get better for you." I want to pretend they aren't there — squint my eyes tightly enough to make disappear — but I can't walk by someone in need without noticing that they are as human as I am.
At the same time, I feel deeply torn about giving beggars money. The crippled man outside the bakery is one of literally thousands of beggars who live on the streets of Niamey. Many are older blind men who are led around by young children. The blind person keeps a hand on the child's shoulder and the child does the asking, coming up to each car at the stop light, bunching his fingers together and then bringing his hand to his mouth, a gesture to show that he needs money for food. Sometimes they recite verses of the Koran, as a reminder, perhaps, that charity is God's will.
When my friend Sue went to India she gave money to everyone. The poverty she saw made her feel privileged to be an American, and desperate to help. She spent two weeks traveling and emptied her pockets everywhere she went.
I believe in helping people but I'm not sure money is the right way. When someone begging buys a dime bag with the money I've given (this has happened), then I'm supporting the illegal drug trade. Of course I have no right to tell someone how to spend their money, or even to tell them how to spend my money. But I do have the right to choose not to give to them.
In Ashland I offer to buy a bag of groceries or a sandwich. Three-quarters of the time they refuse. In Italy one summer we were followed around by a beggar who insisted we give him Euros. I told him I'd be glad to buy lunch and he started insulting me, yelling that the food I would choose would be no good. So I suggested he come choose himself. "Give me money," he screamed. "I'm hungry. I need money!"
The scale of poverty and destitution here in one of the poorest countries in the world surpasses what most of us can imagine. When I offered a bag of almonds from the Co-op to some village children recently, they swarmed me, pushing and shoving each other to get some. When you give someone food here they usually gobble it down before you've had time to say goodbye.
It's true that if you give a man a fish he eats for a day, but if you teach a man to fish he eats for a lifetime. But if you don't give or teach a man anything he goes hungry.
I saved a 200 CFA coin from my change for the croissants. The handicapped man pedaled his wheelchair up to us, hand outstretched. I gave him the money but forgot to smile. I want something better for this man. I want to teach him to fish. But for today 200 CFA was all I had to give.
The author/editor of three books, Jennifer Margulis lives in Ashland with her husband and three children. She is spending the year teaching and doing research in Niger.
