*****
I am moved today to write a line or two about begging. I do not see a lot of it on my forays into Diriamba and Jinotepe, or even Managua. No more, surely, than one encounters on an average street in any North American city, This is a country with incredible poverty, though, where even able-bodied people can find it impossible to obtain jobs that pay more than subsistence wages. Most of the individuals I see with an upturned palm are blind or missing limbs, or elderly and infirm. There are zero jobs for them; how else may they keep body and soul together?
During my first year here, I made several visits to the Department of Immigration in Managua. It's a big space, with numerous numbered windows to serve people wanting exit visas, emigres like me who want residential status, and visitors who want temporary visas. There are sometimes long lines, and there are a couple of people who work the lines of standees, looking for donations. One is a very old tiny toothless lady, to whom I regularly gave something. My lawyer, who usually accompanied me to Inmigración, conjectured that she might be comfortably well-off, as numerous persons cross her palm with folding money. I doubt it, but I don't mind the thought that she may do pretty well, in fact.
There are a couple of legless men in Diriamba who sit in particular doorways, with cups in hand. They do not beg, per se, there is no murmured verbiage or longing looks. Their obvious disabilities speak for them, and they do all right, I think. In this land of people who must juggle expenses and regularly do without, I have been impressed with the number who give what they can to these disabled neighbors. Spend a minute or two on the opposite corner, and you'll see nearly every passerby drop a coin or two.
There's an elderly woman who regularly stations herself at the door of the supermarket in Diriamba. She has no cup, and does not actually ask for money, but it is clear that she is needy. I always give her something, quickly, unnoticeably. She is my sister, I think. I'm the lucky one. There but for my pension and Social Security go I. And this kind of basic need is not grounds for social shunning. It happens to all kinds of people, and if there is no safety net, reasonable people must try to offer support.
I have traveled abroad and been warned about responding to beggars on the steps of some big church or at a famous attraction where tourists congregate. Throngs of beggars are unnerving and scary, really, and I can understand why we're advised not to encourage them. But somehow, when I see the quiet, rather reserved behavior of unfortunate individuals for whom there is no alternative but to accept assistance, I want to be on the side of being helpful. I actually budget for it.
In Nicaragua, I have learned that over-paying (i.e. giving a bicicleta driver 20 cordobas rather than the 10 he asked) is both smug and insulting. But I also understand that even little donations, offered with respect and simple human caring, can be the difference between sleeping well or hungry.
* At present, the cordoba is worth about three cents.
