February 10, 2011
-
On the Bus
I have many adventures on the bus/Kombe. I am doing a lot of back and forth traveling. Stories like sitting 8 people to a Kombe (Volkswagon bus) seat. Like having my sandal stuck in the door, and not being able to get my foot out of it. Like sitting 4 people in the front seat, meaning that the person next to the driver has to straddle the stick shift.
This time I was on the bus. There was standing room only, and an old man with shaggy white hair and beard was making his way along the seats. In one hand was a straggly old stick he used to navigate around people, making his way from the front to the back, and his other hand was extended.
Beggers on the bus are routine. Most of the time they give you these little pieces of paper that say something like “please help me, every little bit counts.” And then you give them back the paper with some change (if you want). It is rather annoying. I always get that “Do I give/not give?” agony in my stomach. Something about this blind man struck me, and I quickly got out my moedas (coins), and tucked them into his open hand.
In the tight space that it was, he stopped as he felt the coins, and began to sing towards me. I was not expecting this. And there was nowhere to hide. Rather embarrassing to be squished with a bunch of people in a bus with a blind man singing his heart out to you—to whoever the random person was who put money into his hand. The song lasted for a what seemed an eternity, and then he moved on.
Maybe it is just me, but when I see needs like that—someone on the side of the road, in the bus, in front of the store—I want to make it go away. Give and forget. Think that somehow, the problem doesn’t exist anymore—forgetting that it never was a problem—it is a person. I think I need times of being stuck with nowhere to run, and to listen to the song, the story, the person.
