How Can I Help You?

Tonight I met a woman begging for money along a lamp-lined avenue with her two children. Initially, the lamps aroused my interest more than did the destitute family. They were a rarity, well-built and well-maintained. By contrast, the woman’s face faded into those of the countless other beggars I had already passed today. On second glance though, she seemed a little more shy, a little less likely to ask again, a little ashamed perhaps. She asked softly and I didn’t see in her eyes or her childrens’ the contempt that usually comes from a life of begging amidst an endless swarm of rich white foreigners.

I had just refused two other children with that same look of contempt. Normally, had I been in a market, I would have offered to buy them some food. Walking along the street late at night though, I simply didn’t have the energy for it.

The problems of street youth here are similar to those at home. Living in a poorer country, the only difference is that crystal meth, cocaine, and heroin, have been replaced by glue sniffing. I was thinking about something a friend I met in Sihanoukville had told me. “I never give money to children. It could go to glue or to someone exploiting them. I keep with me the toothbrushes and paste from a dozen hotels. I give these to children who don’t ask. It’s a surprise. It’s something they know is just for them. Every mother and every child for whom I’ve done this has been both incredulous and overjoyed. Sometimes, if I can, I buy them food. I make sure that they decide what they want though.”

It seemed like good advice. I turned, walked towards the woman, and told her in Khmer, “Money, I can’t. Have you all eaten dinner yet?” “No, we haven’t eaten,” was the reply. “I pay,” I offered, “Please come.” I motioned for her to follow to a restaurant across the street.

Stretching my language abilities to the limit, I asked her to tell the cook what she wanted, and asked the cook how much it cost. The woman kept trying to talk to me. It was too difficult. I couldn’t understand a word. I paid for the meal for her and her children. “I have no rice,” she ventured as I began to pocket my change. I handed it to her. “Rice,” I said. Feeling slightly awkward, I smiled, told her she was welcome as she thanked me, and left quickly.

The disappointment in her eyes as I left had been genuine. I’ve come to recognize the other kind. The awkwardness came when I realized too late that though the money I gave her was enough for nearly two kilograms of rice, I had just spent three times that on a single meal. Had I trusted her to manage that money herself, she could have stretched it into several meals for her family. I suspect she had hoped to convince me to let her do so, or at least to use the money more effectively myself. I, on the other hand, felt rushed, confident in my plan, and embarrassed by the language barrier.

It seems to me an apt analogy for some of the pitfalls of development work: A well-intentioned foreigner decides to help. The motives are genuine, a desire to do good, and a desire to feel good about doing it. The approach is pragmatic: Let the recipient decide what they want. Unfortunately, there are always constraints. The use of funds is restricted to choices that the donor feels is appropriate. There are barriers to the recipients offering genuine feedback on what they think of this process. Maybe the donor cannot understand. Maybe he or she assumes he or she knows best. Maybe it’s both. The end result is that some good is accomplished but not nearly as much as what might have been.

What could I have done better? Sadly, not much. I didn’t know this woman and still don’t. She might have a drinking problem. She might be keeping her children from going to school in the hopes that cute faces garner more money. I don’t know what my money would have been supporting. I could have bought rice to feed the whole family for a week and still not have solved their problem. Eventually, I or my money would no longer be there.

To really help her and her children I would need to give them the resources to keep themselves secure. Finding the woman a job as a housekeeper, though paying only fifty cents a day, could help her to support her family. Teaching her children to speak English, a skill that would help them to find work in business, tourism, or government might be another option. Both would have taken far more time and resources than I, with my fitful desire to help, was willing to give. This was not unreasonable on my part. On a larger scale though, it’s what can make development so difficult.

There are a huge number of problems here but also a massive potential to do good. Realising that potential requires that commitment and a willingness to listen exist amongst everyone involved. I don’t know how much I helped that woman and her two children tonight but they certainly helped me. Sometimes it’s good to be reminded just how easy it is to think one is listening to the poor while all the while ignoring what they say. Given my goals here, I can’t think of a more important lesson to learn.