Dirty little hands

There are a ton of kids who beg on street corners in Bamako. Some attend Koranic schools, where part of their training is to beg for alms to learn humility. Others work for Koranic masters in name only, maribouts who take all the money and don't give the them any religious training or support. And some of the kids are just homeless and trying to eat.

It's hard, but better than South Africa in certain ways; yes, there are 8-year-olds who are homeless, but at least they're not also addicted to sniffing glue.

Anyway, there are a couple kids who've set up shop on a street corner near my house. A friend who lives nearby sees them all the time, and gives them fruit or jokes around with them when she doesn't have any food with her. The other day, we were sitting in the car at the light, waiting for it to change, when the following exchange happened:

Eight-year-old kid through the open car window: Give me a gift, please.

My friend (teasing): Oh, I'm so sorry. I don't have a gift for you today. Do you have a gift for me?

The kid gets all bashful and disappears for a second. Next thing we know, he reappears, his little hand reaching through the window to give her a coin.

And that was when my heart broke that day.

On that sad note, pictures from my garden: