Before leaving the house, I make sure I have my debit card and I put a small bill in each front pocket. Living in a new city presents a number of new challenges. I’ve had beggars approach me several times in this city, and I haven’t figured out how to best respond to them when I’m out walking (not that I have it exactly figured out in my city, either, but at least I have a general practice). Having a small amount of cash in my pocket feels like a helpful plan. It’s a quiet afternoon – a few hours before iftar (the fast-breaking meal) – and there are virtually no cars on the streets. As is typical, many middle-aged and older men are sitting outside of the buildings where they work as caretakers.
I don’t find what I came to the store for, so I just buy a few veggies and some milk. As I approach the cash register, I see a little girl, six or seven years old, standing outside. I know why she’s there, and I decide in my mind to give her one of the bills. I finish paying for my groceries with my card and walk out. I hand her the bill, saying a typical Ramadan greeting. “I don’t want money, I want this,” she says, pointing to a box in the window of the store. I don’t know what’s in the box, but before I can ask, the store manager shoos her away. “Get out of here!” he says to her. There’s clearly a history between them, and I have just stepped into it.
The girl starts crying loudly and looks past me toward an older girl who is approaching us. I feel overwhelmed and confused. What was so clear in my mind a minute ago – to give the girl some money – is no longer clear. I don’t understand what is happening, and we are drawing the attention of those standing around. She starts begging incessantly for the box. “I can’t,” I tell her in Arabic, not even understanding what she wants from me. The other girl now approaches me and insists that I give her something like I had given the little girl. I reach into my other pocket and pull out the other bill. The little girl goes ballistic, screaming words I don’t understand. Apparently the bill I gave the older girl was more than the one I gave her. She is screaming and begging, and a store employee comes out to try and get her to leave. I begin walking, knowing that she is drawing the attention of anyone on the streets or near their windows. She walks very close to me. I try to reason with her, explaining that I don’t have any more cash with me. She continues screaming and pursuing me, kissing my arm, begging. If she was bigger, I would be afraid she might actually hurt me, I think. The older girl follows, trying to convince her to stop. All the men on the street were watching us.
The older girl is clearly trying to keep the little one from continuing her pursuit, and I advance a few paces ahead of them. I hear a thud and a scream. I turn around to see the little girl pushed down on the quiet street, screaming all the more. An older man sees me stop and waves me on. “imshi, imshi” (“go, go”) he says, knowing that this is my chance to clear myself and stop drawing attention. I keep walking and listen as her voice fades.
I turn the corner and am halfway back to my apartment. My heart is racing. Not only do I feel bad for the girls, but I don’t know if I did the right thing. She (and, by default, I) had drawn the attention of the store employees and every neighbor on the block. I feel a sense of shame come over me. Shame for the girls, who will certainly be mistreated by those who saw the event happen. Shame for myself, because I don’t know if I did the right thing or if I could have avoided the situation all together. I keep walking, thinking that I probably won’t visit that store again for a while.
As I walk, a teenage boy crosses over to my side of the street. “Excuse me,” he says politely. He’s not dressed poorly or dirty like the girls were. “I’m hungry.” I apologize and tell him I don’t have cash with me. “I’m hungry,” he says again. I open my bag and offer him the milk and vegetables that just bought. He shakes his head. “I don’t want vegetables,” he says, smiling. I know I can’t turn around and go back to the store, and I don’t have any cash to give him. I tell him I’m sorry and walk on. And as I walk it hits me – of course he’s hungry, isn’t everyone? It’s the middle of the afternoon and the entire neighborhood is fasting. Plus, there are no restaurants open where I could have bought him something to eat.
I walk the rest of the way back to the apartment with my head spinning. Lord, what should I have done? Could I have responded differently to the girls? Should I have bought the little girl whatever was in that box? I imagine my ideal self, the clear-headed servant I wish I was, and see myself approaching the store manager and quietly finding a way to meet the girl’s need. But I didn’t do that, because I was overwhelmed and confused. I wonder, too, if the little girl was putting on an act of drama, or if she was truly that desperate. Is she fasting? What about the polite boy, what did he expect me to do? What could I have done?
I arrive home, put the milk in the fridge, and sit down on the couch. I feel shaken.
Lord, what do You want me to see from this experience? I’m learning to ask that question more regularly. I take a deep breath and lean back in my chair. I write as I listen for the Lord’s voice. I hear just one thing:
Hunger makes people do things that are out of the ordinary.
The little girl’s dramatic insistence that drew so much attention and probably got her in trouble – it’s an extreme response. The polite boy’s crossing of a cultural boundary – approaching a young woman who is a stranger – was driven by hunger.
Spiritual hunger, too, can drive extraordinary action. People whose lives have been completely bound up in a religious and cultural system – if they’re hungry enough – may take desperate measures to be filled, looking for hope online or by contacting a Christian they met once. I sense the Lord’s prompting: Pray for that hunger in your Muslim friends.
So today, even as I am still shaken by these encounters with physically hungry people, my heart is stirred to pray that the spiritual hunger of Muslims around the Arab World will be stirred so deeply that they begin seeking the only One who can satisfy. Please pray with me – let’s ask God to stir spiritual hunger during this month of fasting.