She Was Not a Gypsy

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.