I like this...

Street kids and philosophy By Adam Katz May 22, 2005

I don't know where to start here.

The good old United States of America spends approximately $30 billion in foreign aid each year. We spend the same amount, $30 billion, on pornography.

I've been traveling for so long that I've truly forgotten what life in America is like. It often makes it difficult to write as I often leave out critical details because I forget how different life is out here.

Only once in a while am I reminded. My friend George sent out a group email, which listed the items for sale at his garage sale. I was shocked. I could not believe that anyone owned that much stuff. And, that was just what he was selling.

No offense intended toward George - this just shows the difference between the typical American and the typical African.

For the last year and a half, I've lived with one small backpack. Some of the people that I've encountered have owned far less, like the kid who worked in my hotel in the Omo Valley. He owned one pair of boxer shorts and nothing else.

For what are your possessions but things you keep and guard for fear you may need them tomorrow.

And what is fear of need but need itself?

Is not dread of thirst when your well is full, the thirst that is unquenchable?

I grew up cold-hearted in Oakland. I never gave money to panhandlers. Perhaps once a year I'd buy a burrito for someone on the street. But in Addis, I began giving to the beggars every day. I started giving for the simple reason that the locals did too.

I gave embarrassingly small amounts; just a few pennies. But it's a complicated balance between generously giving what you can afford, and upsetting the economic balance. In some countries, educated people like doctors stop being doctors because they can make far more money hustling tourists on the streets.

I did my best to give like a local, and soon I started to feel like I was being treated like a local. The beggars stopped hassling me. They'd just smile and wave when I walked past. If I had change in my pocket, I'd give them some.

But a bigger change came over me. I began to really see the beggars as people. We create whole sets of rules for whom we should give money to. Don't give to able-bodied men, as they should be able to get a job. Give to women with children... but be suspicious because she might just be renting someone else's baby to get more money begging. Never give to children because they should be at school.

When I arrived in Addis, I was thrilled to find a program that sold meal coupons for the homeless. For US$0.50, you can buy 8 meal tickets and give them out to beggars. I bought some and immediately regretted it. I felt incredibly condescending handing out these coupons. I am no better than these people. I should not be forcing them to spend the money that I give them in the way that I wish. They should be free to do whatever they want with anything that I give them. If they want to spend it on booze or drugs, so be it. I myself have wasted far too much money on alcohol. Who I am to judge others?

But it was the beggar kids who really touched me... as they probably touch everyone who spends a while in Addis. It was hard not to laugh when the 5th kid in a row repeated the exact same script, "mother father dead - give money." It was overwhelming, surreal, and there was no way of knowing if they were telling the truth or not.

But slowly, I learned that they were probably all telling the truth. I learned this through becoming friends with some of the smiling beggar kids who hung out on my street. And on rare occasion, the script and tragedy would be slightly different like the girl who told me, "mother dead, father very old, sister sick." I gave her some money.

The view from my balcony looked down upon brothels, but on cold nights it also looked down on a pile of kids huddling together in an attempt to stay warm. It was occasionally tough going to sleep in my nice warm bed knowing they were out there. I regularly gave them small amounts of money. I did consider giving them a large amount of money on my way out of town, but did not think that it would make any long-term difference. The one bright spot was one day seeing staff from my hotel's restaurant giving these kids a big bag of leftover scraps. Those scraps are the only thing that gave me any hope that these kids will make it through this winter, the next one, and the one after that.

And there are those who have little and give it all.

These are the believers in life and the bounty of life, and their coffer is never empty.

There are those who give with joy, and that joy is their reward.

It is well to give when asked, but it is better to give when unasked, through understanding.