Beira Beggars

It was time to protect our fleet of steel and plastic workhorses so John, Cindy, Phil and I drove four of them along with Jeronimo into Beira looking for the local insurance agency. We were a curious convoy as we weaved in and out of bicycles, people and a variety of potholes. Nothing bureaucratic moves quickly in Moz so we waited outside among the pedestrians, beggars and street boys while Jeronimo negotiated inside. When it became apparent the electricity was off and it would be a while before the paperwork could be completed, I decided to converse with one little waif trying to con me into some metacais.

This young boy, who couldn’t have been more than six, came up to me displaying a perfectly rehearsed theatrics worthy of an Oscar. Admittedly, he was good. His skinny legs supported his tattered shorts and his shirt barely hung on his boney arms. He quickly shoved his dirty hand in my face with great expectation. I looked beyond him and saw an older boy eyeing his friend critically as if he were the director in this five minute drama. Abruptly I interrupted his lines to interject a few of my own. Where did you come from? Where is your mother? Your father? Where do you sleep? He blinked at me quizzically, either because of my bad Portuguese or because he had never been asked those questions by his audience before. He shyly answered that he had no mother. He then acknowledged he had a father but his father had sent him away a long time ago to beg in the streets. The older boy, realizing the script had changed came over to protect his interests in what was apparently a syndicated relationship. I peppered him with the same questions and discovered that although this boy was possibly ten or eleven, he had no idea when and where he was born or how long he had lived on the streets. His mother and father died long ago and he called these streets his home. For a brief moment my eyes envisioned our adopted son at exactly this age nineteen years ago living this desperate lifestyle in Hanoi. It sickened me to recognize how customary this has become. And more so as AIDS continues to spread.

We parted friends a few minutes later but not without my pocket feeling a bit more empty as well as my heart. Lord...please help us to have wisdom to know what to do for these millions of orphans that are trying to find their way on this long and lonely path.