The other day we were loading groceries into the car at a
large hypermarket and were approached by a young woman asking for something. This is not an unusual occurrence in any big
city. Here in Warsaw they are usually
dark featured Roma wearing phony pathetic looks. Gypsies.
As soon as you make it known you won’t give them money they drop the sad
act until they see some other poor sap to work. We’ve seen the same couple with the same baby
in a carrier for the 2 years we’ve been here.
Amazing how a sleeping infant never moves or even grows in two
years. I’ve even seen that same woman
dressed as an old woman sitting on the sidewalk begging. I’m not naïve enough to think there are no
economic or cultural conditions that have created this situation but I never
give Gypsies money. However, this was
different.
Because of the regular occurrence of Gypsies approaching us,
my first instinct is to pretend I don’t speak any Polish and disengage as quickly
as possible. I purposely use improper grammar
and no accent at all. When the young woman approached I was reaching
for the cart to return it to the corral.
She said something about help in Polish and I responded with the equivalent
of “she don’t speak Polish”. She asked
if I spoke English and I looked at her.
I tried to disengage but something in my heart melted. In broken English, she asked for help with
money or “to feed”. No one ever asks for
food….. I was confused but on autopilot. I pushed the cart away while my husband
finished loading and closed the trunk.
He didn’t look at her at all.
Something wasn’t right.
Something felt very wrong. I
tried to offer her the cart because it gives back a coin. I’ve had panhandlers, usually a drunk, ask me
to return the cart so they could have the coin.
I stopped myself. It felt like an
empty gesture. This girl was maybe early
20’s with pretty blue eyes. She wasn’t
dressed in the usual overplayed raggedy clothes and she didn’t have the overly
pathetic look. I’ll never forget her
eyes. There was desperation in
them. There was fear in them. Her request didn’t feel rehearsed.
When I returned to the car she had moved on and was tentatively
walking towards another person loading their car. My husband pulled the car away. I said” lets give her all the coins in my
wallet”. (There is probably at least $10
worth of coins in my wallet at any given time.
Cashiers don’t like to take the coins.
Don’t ask my why.) He said “you
know we’re not supposed to give them money.”
We kept driving. I told him “I don’t think she’s a gypsy” but by then it was too late. We were already on our way.
He hadn’t seen her.
He hadn’t seen her eyes, her desperation, her fear. Looking back, I know in my heart she was not
a gypsy, not a scammer. I think she
really needed help and we just closed our trunk full of food. She haunted me all night and still does. What kind of human beings are we? It rained all night and wondered where was she sleeping while I was cozy under my down comforter? Where was her family? What had happened to her that she had to
resort to approaching strangers in a grocery store parking lot asking for
something to eat. What if she were my
daughter?
I send up a prayer that someone helped her or that I can find
her again and connect her with the Volunteer Mission here in the city. My heart breaks for her and I will look for
her everywhere I go now. Maybe I’m wrong but I don’t think
so. From now on I will follow my gut and
look into their eyes and I will know the difference.
