Beggars Can be Choosers

Phoebe and Precious.

“Please, I and my sister need money for school fees. Our father pushed us out of the house with our mother when I was five years old. He got another wife and lives well. But we have no house. We sleep under the bridge and can barely eat.”
Precious peered into the bus and tried to meet the eye the passengers. She held out her hand and tried to look as pitiful as she could.

“Please, my friends, my mummies, and daddies, you have children like us at home. Please, we need to eat and we need to go back to school,” Phoebe said, inching away from her junior sister, she edged towards a female passenger in the front seat who looked kind.

“Please ma, nothing is too small. We plan to save to go back to school--”

“Shut up there,” a male passenger leaned around the kind female passenger to shout her down. “I don’t know what this world is turning into. Parents sending their children to the bus stop like workers to go and beg.”

“They have no shame,” another passenger said from the back. Within seconds, Phoebe and Precious became the topic of their conversation.

Source: Pixabay

Precious gave Phoebe a sharp glance. They weren’t getting anything out of these people. Some days were like this. Some days the passengers would practically shed tears on their behalf and give them enough money to last a week.

Today wasn’t going to be one of those successful days.

“Where’s that your mother?” the passenger in front beside the kind-looking female asked. “Maybe your father pushed her out because she’s a beggar and a liar.”

Precious gave Phoebe the eye and began edging towards the next bus.
From the corner of her eye, Phoebe studied the passengers entering the next bus and noticed the beautiful cut of their clothes and expensive shoes. She gave Precious a discreet nod and began edging away.

The man leaned forward and clamped a hard hand on Phoebe’s arm, forestalling her.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked. “To beg in the next bus? Don’t think I didn’t see you.”

“The government should do something about these beggars,” a woman declared from the back.

“They should drive them off and throw them somewhere," another piped up.

“I think there’s a spirit that controls begging and they can’t stop.”

Phoebe tugged at her arm, but the man held fast. She gave her younger sister a look of alarm. They needed help out of this one.
Tears trailed down Phoebe’s cheeks. “Please, let me go.”

“So you can go and beg?” the man asked.

“Yes,” Phoebe said, “if I don’t beg, how can me and my sister eat?” She sniffed back tears. “Do you think is everyone that has a place to sleep and food to eat?”

The passengers grew silent, the man’s grip slackened, but Phoebe barely noticed. The sun beat down on her head and the smell of filth and despair clung to her, seeming to heat up under the rising temperature and her panic.

The man drew back and his eyes softened. “Where’s your mother?”

Phoebe swallowed hard. “I--”

“There she is,” Precious said, pointing a finger in the vague direction of their ‘mother.’

Phoebe understood. The advantage of living on the streets was getting to understand human nature. They had time since all they did was ‘people watch’ and beg. To make money out of begging, you need to understand humans, study them and know those most likely to feel sympathy and part with their money.

The man only wanted to be sure there was a ‘mother’. He wasn't interested in who their mother was.

None of the passengers paid Precious’ pointing finger any heed but their suspicious sneers and angry expression disappeared.

“Our father chased her away because she’s sick and…” Precious’ voice broke and she turned away to brush back tears.

“We have to take care of her now,” Phoebe said softly, “and to do that, we have to--”

“Beg,” the kind looking woman said.

The driver got on the bus. He gave Phoebe and Precious an impatient look. “Useless children, step away from the bus.”

Phoebe turned away. It had to be the next bus after all.

“Wait,” the man in front called, “here.” He pushed money into Phoebe’s hand. “Eat and by drugs for your mother.”

Phoebe gasped at the amount. One thousand naira. Jesus. She raised eyes shining with gratitude. “Thank you so much.”

“Here,” another beckoned Precious forward, “buy some shoes.”

The kind woman in front handed Phoebe an envelope. “I hate seeing children on the streets. There’s enough money there to care for your mother and rent a house. At least, start from there.”

Uncaring of the filth in the littered bus stop, the two sisters dropped to their knees, thanking and praying for the woman.
Long after the bus drove off, Precious and Phoebe remained rooted to the spot, shocked at the amount of money the woman gave them.

“Let’s count it,” Precious said.

Phoebe shook her head. “Let’s go to Mama first. The last thing I want is to lose this money.” She eyed the milling crowd with suspicion.

Just before they entered the huge gutter beside the bridge where they slept, Phoebe stopped. Precious glanced at her in question.

“Come on,” she said.

Phoebe shook her head. “You know we don’t have to do this.”

Precious raised her eyebrows. “Do what? Come on, I’m hungry.”

“We don’t have to beg and tell all those lies anymore.” Phoebe held out the envelope, watching her younger sister with pleading eyes. She took a deep breath. “We can use this money exactly like the woman suggested and get out of here.”

“Are you alright?” Precious got in her face. “This is our life. Begging is what we know. You call it begging, I call it making a living.” She glanced away impatiently and stamped her feet. “Come on, I want to catch that long bus. They give a lot of money there.”

Phoebe sighed and followed. “Can you at least promise to wait let’s discuss this between us after Mama leaves to see those useless boys?”

Precious curled her lips in derision. And Phoebe fought back another sigh. Here at least they were in agreement. It was one thing to be a beggar. People did it. Half of the Lagos population were beggars, they just had different styles and approaches to it. But a beggar, a drunk, a thief and a prostitute?

It was inconceivable.

She was ten years old when she understood they were different. Families had two parents, a father, mother with children. From watching the ‘good’ families and begging from them, she learned to be constantly drunk wasn’t normal.
As a child, she thought humans lived under the bridge, in a gutter, until she grew up and saw men and women in beautiful cars.
Phoebe lowered herself cautiously into their tiny corner of the wide gutter. A blind woman and her crying baby, their neighbor, struggled to get out and leave for the work of the day-- begging.

But Phoebe understood. The woman couldn’t see. She wasn’t faking it like some people thought beggars in Lagos did.
She really couldn’t see.

Phoebe moved to help.

“Sit down,” her mother said with a glare.

The blind woman placed her babe on the bunched rags that served as their bed, placed both hands on the edge of the gutter and tried to heave herself up and over the ledge. Phoebe climbed over. She reached down to grab the woman by the shoulders. Grunting with effort, she dug her feet into the ground and pulled. By the time the woman made it over, they were both panting with effort.

The woman reached for Phoebe’s hand and missed. Phoebe took her hand. “Thank you, my daughter. God bless you.”

Phoebe lowered herself into the gutter and picked the squalling baby. She pushed the babe into the woman’s waiting hands, and moved to join her family. Immediately, strong fumes of alcohol hit her nostrils.

Mama had been busy.

“So, Precious told me about our new fortune.” Mama grinned, her yellowish teeth shiny with drool.

Pain hit her right in the middle of the chest as she turned to stare at her sister. “Yes,” she whispered.

Mama held out her hand. “Hand it over.”

Resigned, Phoebe handed over the envelope. She moved to the blind woman’s corner and bedded down.

She had to leave.

Thirty minutes later Mama left with the money.

Precious eyed her sister out of the corner of her eyes. She needed to apologize. Phoebe was right. Not about the begging, but handing Mama the money to spend on drinks and boys.

She inched towards her sister, saw her set features and tight shoulders and realized an apology might not be enough.

Not this time.

“I’m sorry,” Precious said.

Phoebe rose without a word and began arranging the blind woman’s corner. She didn’t bother with their side because Mama would soon be back.

And she won’t be alone.

Precious inched closer. “Phi--”

Phoebe raised a hand, eyes flashing with ire. “Don’t talk to me, not today, and not tomorrow. I have a lot on my mind.”
Later that evening, as they made their way to the bus stop, Precious cursed silently. Mama had returned with a boy and the money was gone.

Phoebe was still not speaking to her.

They stopped beside the first bus. Precious rushed forward to get ahead of her sister. Perhaps, if she did the bulk of the work today, Phoebe might forgive her.

Lagos, Nigeria
Source: Zouzou Wizman

Precious held out her hands in entreaty. “Please sir, ma, we need money for school fees. My father gave us the money and we lost it. Please--”

“Shut up,” a man said from the back. “Liars and beggars. You will suffer one day for all these lies you’re telling to hoodwink people.”

Precious turned to the man. “Please sir, it’s not our fault. You see, when we were returning, some boys jumped on us, and grabbed our bags--”

The man burst into laughter. “But yesterday you said your mother was sick. So today the story is a group of boys. At least you mentioned the school fees part.”

“Precious,” Phoebe hissed.

Precious frowned. They could still win them over. “Wait,” she said.

“Were you not the one that woman gave the envelope with your useless sister?” the man asked.

Too late Precious recalled the man from yesterday who had been antagonistic at first but later gave them some money.

“THIEF,” someone called from the back.

“Driver,” the man said, “open the door. I want to teach these children a lesson. Do you know--”

Phoebe grabbed Precious and ran.

When they got to the other end of the bus stop, Precious bent over struggling to catch her breath. The same man from yesterday. Gosh.

It rarely happened that they begged the same person twice. But when it did. It was usually a nightmare. If Phoebe hadn’t acted fast, the whole passengers would have turned on them. As it were, they could still hear the calls of ‘thief’ and ole from the passengers.

Precious glanced at her sister. “Thank you.”

Phoebe’s lips curled and her eyes flashed, but she said nothing. Precious sighed. She did deserve the silent treatment.

Phoebe walked towards a flashy looking car. Precious followed. Usually, after such a close call, they would return home.
But they needed money for food.

Phoebe leaned towards the car. “Ma--”

She broke off. Precious glanced at her in question. Was she shy?

She gently pushed Phoebe off and leaned forward until she could see through the window. “Please ma, we need--”

She broke off to stare at the kind woman of yesterday in dismay. For a full minute, benefactor and swindler stared at each other. A look of disappointment crossed the woman’s face. She reached out to the side of the car. The glass on the open window slid up. Without a word, she drove off.

Precious stared after the car. “I’m sorry.”

She glanced at Phoebe. Tears trailed down Phoebe’s cheeks.

She brushed back tears. “I’m leaving.”

Precious didn’t ask where. “How will we survive?”

Phoebe shook her head. “We will. We are not blind or lame or stupid. This has gone on long enough. We must find a way.”

Precious sighed. “OK.”

Phoebe gave her a sharp look. “You don’t have to come with me.”

Precious shook her head. “I should stay with Mama?” She laughed. “Even beggars can choose.”

Phoebe nodded. “We just need hundred naira to buy pure water and hawk it. A bag is one hundred and twenty naira. We sell at ten naira each and we have--”

“Two hundred naira,” Precious finished. Her lips twisted in a wry smile. “That’s your plan.”

Phoebe shrugged. “Do you have a better idea?”

Precious shook her head. “Even your plan is built on* begging*. Did you really think we can just escape our destiny?”

“Let’s try this woman,” Phoebe said. “We will be honest. Tell them what happened and trust it will be alright.”

Precious gave her an arch look. “We were five years old when we entered the streets. Now, we’re fifteen. That makes it ten years and you’re still naive about human nature.”

Phoebe glared. “What are you talking about?”

“You tell someone you used to steal before but now you want to turn a new leaf but he should trust you with his money. If you were he, would you believe you?”

Phoebe clenched her jaw and angled her chin upward. “We are doing this the right way.”

Precious sighed. “Alright.”

They approached the first bus. Phoebe and Precious glanced at each other. The weight of their decision and the direction of their future waited before them. It made this outing, not another day at work begging, but the very beginning of their lives.

Who would go first?

Precious swallowed and moved forward. She would use this opportunity to make amends. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Phoebe met her gaze. “I understand.”

With a smile of gratitude and relief, Precious approached the first passenger. She ran her tongue over dry lips. “We--ah- we used to do a very bad thing.”

The next words stuck in her throat and she stopped. Phoebe moved forward. Precious gave her a quick glance and shook her head. She could do this.

She took a deep breath. “W-we used to do a bad thing.” Precious stared above their heads, avoiding their piercing gazes. “We used to lie and beg for money--”

“Yes, I knew I recognized you immediately,” a man said.

Another passenger leaned forward. “Is it not those two girls? Where’s the second one, your sister?”

“Thieves, ole.”
“Ole, ole, ole.”
Tears of shame prickled her eyelids and trailed down her cheeks. Precious hung her head and let herself drown in their insults.

“Precious,” Phoebe hissed.

Precious didn’t, couldn’t move. Why did she feel this has happened before? Like she’d stood beside this same bus, with the wrath of more than twenty people breathing down her neck and her sister calling to save her? She deserved this. Phoebe shouldn’t even be here.

Not if Precious had listened.

“Precious,” Phoebe inched forward and grabbed her by the hand.

Precious pushed her off with all her might, determined to suffer this for them both. But she pushed too hard. She watched in horror as Phoebe fell to the ground, slid with the same momentum until she landed at the edge of the road.

Her throat muscles tightened, cutting off her air supply and suffocating her. She saw stars. Her palms tingled and she went cold all over. The insults from the passengers disappeared and a weight of desperation, an evil kind of fascination gripped them all.

Her throat muscles loosened and strengthened entered her quaking legs. “PHI,” she screamed.

Phoebe scrambled off the road, inching as fast as she could on all fours. She almost made it.

Almost.

But a bike came rushing out of nowhere.

Precious screamed and ran towards Phoebe, waving madly at the bike man. But the man didn’t see her.

She covered her mouth and watched as the tires ran over Phoebe’s legs with a sickening, bone shattering crunch.

Precious stopped. The world stopped moving.

Phoebe raised her head and their eyes met.

I’m sorry.

Her eyes darkened with pain and Phoebe screamed.

Everyone seemed to move at the same time. In seconds, a crowd gathered around Phoebe. Her blood curdling screamed rent the hair, raising the hairs on Precious nape until the individual strands stood trembling on end.
She stood beside her sister, shaking convulsively. Precious knew she should be strong, but she couldn’t control the shakes. They seemed to come from somewhere deep inside her, spreading circling tongues of fire into her heart.

The ground beneath them glowed a sickening red. Precious leaned over and vomited. Air rushed past her ears, drowning the sound of Phoebe’s screams. The crowd began to edge away.

Precious looked around helplessly.
Who would help her?
“Please.”

A flashy car stopped beside Phoebe’s damaged legs. The door flung open. A woman leaped out. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The woman directed the passengers to carry the bleeding, screaming Phoebe to her car.
Precious remained rooted to the spot. Mouth dry, hands and legs trembling profusely she stared at the blood seeping from the side of the car.

Phoebe’s blood.

A violent heave wracked her stomach. Precious leaned over and wretched.

“Come with me.” The voice crackled with tension and urgency.

Precious glanced up, the smell of blood and vomit and fear threatening to buckle her. “What?”

“Come with me. I’m taking her to the hospital,” the woman said.

Precious blinked. The woman’s face came into focus.

The kind woman from yesterday.

This is a story close to my heart mainly because of its human right implications. Each day I leave my house, I see these kids roaming the streets begging, chasing after cars on major roads, hawking. What can we do?
I honestly have no idea since it has become almost an epidemic. But the fact remains they need help and better awareness should be brought to this. It's almost as if they are invisible.
They are not.
This is not just a story.
Please resteem and leave your comments below.

What can we do?