The Foreign Service Journal, November 2003

60 F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L / N O V E M B E R 2 0 0 3 T he other day, I went to Tamana Pharmacy here in Dhaka. Before leaving the pharmacy, I extracted four 10-taka notes from my wallet. Outside, I quickly handed the bills to the four beggars who had been waiting for me. Wails of entreaty came from two beggars I had failed to notice. Now my dilemma was whether to tell my driver to leave or to give in to the pleas for additional bak- sheesh. I chose to drive off knowing that I could not possibly give to all. Bangladesh assaults the senses, and it is impossible to remain neutral in this country of high need, so we all develop strategies to cope with the beggars who tap at our windows as we wait in the congested traffic. Forewarned of the pimps and rings of professional beggars, some choose to only give to estab- lished charities organized by NGOs, churches, and mosques. Others pre- fer to give to certain categories of beg- gars: the old, the children, the dis- abled, or the mothers with children. Still others do not give to beggars at all and are content with the belief that they are doing what’s best. I believe that for those to whommuch has been given, much is expected in return, but how does that translate into practical action? I am no closer to the answer to that question than when we went to our first post in Islamabad in 1989, and I was still a novice at the art of being a memsahib. My husband and I were at the Juma Bazaar when I noticed a woman in a burka with her hands out- stretched. Tim warned me not to react, but my impulse was to reach into my purse. As soon as I had given to the one woman, I was surrounded by six more shrouded women all imploring me to give them money. They were stroking my face and arms, communicating to a foreigner in the only way they knew how. I was taken aback by this sudden physical contact and was immobilized, not by any fear that they would do me harm, but by the strangeness of the encounter. Tim rescued me by shooing them away. In Egypt, the official governmental response was to have beggars perform some sort of service, however small, which allowed them to retain their dignity. One, an old man who sat cross-legged along Road 9 and sold tissues, never said anything, but he usually gave me a small smile. The day before we left Cairo, I had a desire to see him smile in a big way. I gave him 20 pounds, and I was rewarded with a beautiful smile. My discomfort with my personal strategy here in Bangladesh stems from a chance encounter with a for- eigner whom I’ll call Bob. Although he works for a contractor, his major impact on the country comes from meeting people’s needs. It’s as simple as that. He spends his weekends buy- ing plastic buckets for people to wash with, shoes for the shoeless, and food for the hungry. He has paid for eye and leg operations. Everyone in need knows who Bob is and where he lives. He has managed to counter all my personal roadblocks to giving: I don’t speak Bangla, but neither does Bob. I don’t want people coming to my home, but Bob doesn’t mind. I can’t meet everyone’s needs, but Bob man- ages to meet most of the needs of the people who come to him. So, what are we to do? Do we real- ly accomplish anything by giving 10 taka? Can I be like Mother Teresa or like Bob? There are no easy answers, and perhaps I shouldn’t expect any in this land of complexities. But I keep looking for them. ■ I believe that for those to whom much has been given, much is expected in return, but how does that translate into practical action? Pam Anderson is the spouse of USAID FSO Tim Anderson, with whom she has been posted to Islamabad, Cairo, Washington, D.C. and Dhaka, where she currently teaches business-English writing skills. The stamp is courtesy of the AAFSW Bookfair “Stamp Corner.” R EFLECTIONS Hit-And-Miss Giving B Y P AM A NDERSON