I've been robbed

It’s a nice day. The sky is a rich blue foiled with cheerful puffy clouds. Although sunny, it is not too hot. Everywhere hangs the sweet pheromones of flowers.

Cycling back from the university where I work on an ad hoc basis, half way to my house in an alley, I’m stopped by a man. I expect him to smell of alcohol, but he doesn’t. (My prejudice is rebuked.) There’s a tinge of sweat on his black brow.

I’m not in the mood to chitchat – this is the n^th time today that I’m cycling to and fro between the institute and my home. I’ve been in a bad mood the last couple of days and don’t feel sociable. And, I wasn’t looking forward to cycling back home again, but I did look forward to spending time thinking stuff over. Not life changing subjects, nonetheless, they are my subjects.

And now I’m interrupted. He waves me to a stop from afar. There’s no way I can ignore him. I’m clearly not the Good Samaritan my religion expects of me.

“Hmmm?”

“Hello,” he says. “Ek’s nie snaaks nie.” It’s a peculiar introduction even in Afrikaans. Directly translated: I’m not strange, although a better translation would be: Don’t think me strange.

I’m not thinking him strange. I know the type all too well. I know he is going to beg for money. He will start by first telling me some sad story. Then he willthen make some emotional appeal to help him out. Some would agree that the rich have an obligation to support the poor. Does the same rule apply for the poor to supply for the poorer? Even before he begins I interrupt with “I don’t have any money”. It’s a lie. I do have some money. And so does he. It’s all relative. He assumes I have more money than he has and so I am morally obligated to give him some of mine. He tells me about how he came from somewhere far, and it is already late. He makes it a bit personal by asking me the time. “It’s four o’clock.” He continuous with how far he still has to go. He says he needs money for a taxi.

I’m on a bicycle, I think. I don’t have money myself for transportation. What makes you think that I have money for you?

I remember a nightmare I had years back. I’m in my house. The house is empty of furniture. I’ve probably sold everything for rent or food, or I’ve given it away to beggars. Outside more beggars are banging against the doors and windows. I’m terrified. What else do they want? The clothes of my back? The meat of my bones?

“Net ’n paar sente.” / Just a few cents. It is a straight lie. He doesn’t just want a few cents. A few cents will not be able to pay for a taxi.

“Sorry I don’t have any.” I add to our untruthful discourse. I do have a few cents. There are coins in my pocket. A could have given it to him, just to have him beg for more. He would tell me that it is not enough, even though he did ask for a few cents. It will never be enough. The more you give the greater their need.

“Sorry I can’t,” I repeat and I ride away. I feel guilty.

As I’m already a few yards away I hear him shout from the back: “Yeah, fuck off! Go!”

There’s no retaliation. It’s not in my nature to retaliate. But even if I wanted to it would be to my disadvantage. The law do not allow violence against provocation. I can’t even verbally retaliate. He is a black man and I am a white man in South Africa. A verbal retaliation would be seen as a racist attack – especially because I’m white and his black. It doesn’t matter that we both are probably both living under the breadline. That I don have a fixed job is of no relevance. It’s not about in-come. The court will see my skin colour and assume that I’m racist.

It’s an unfair harassment. I try to think what would have made it better. If I gave him money? I wouldn’t have been happy about that either. I don’t have money to share.

[What would Jesus do?]

It’s robbery, I suddenly realise. Had I given him money, money that I did not wish to give, it would have been the same as robbery. He coerced me into giving up something that I didn’t want to give up. Since he did not succeed in his emotional manipulation, he abuses me verbally.

And I am left with no options but leave it be. As I said, I’m not the type of person to retaliate, but at least I want that option. There’s no freedom without the option to do otherwise. As one radio commentator said, “South Africa is a democracy, but not a liberal democracy.”

The sky is not saturated with a beautiful blue anymore. The once puffy clouds have turned into cancerous ulcers. The sweet summer fragrances smell of deceit.

No less money, yet I have been robbed.