Beggin for a Little Bit More….
Writing by Jes on Thursday, 23 of October , 2008 at 9:13 am
I’m not too sure if at the moment, if I am truly conflicted. It may be perhaps my nature and what I WANT my nature to be are two different things. My auntie recently called me selfish, and did it out of love…as a moment for self-realization and I had to agree. I just know that the money I have worked hard for, I have the right to choose where it goes and if it is to gratify my well-being so be it. I don’t like crying over a dollar spent out of stupidity, and I have done that recently…not understanding the tipping status quo of a third world country.
Understand, suffering and poverty is part of the climate in Liberia. It’s a country coming back from a civil war. To explain it in American terms…It’s a New Orleans without the conscience of President Bush but with help of an underfunded Red Cross. If Katrina victims got nothing and had to build up, you would see a struggling process. Some people are a little better than others, but the only ones who are living it good are the ones who can go anywhere they truly want to be. Mostly everyone is trying, and everyone has a hustle, some are lucrative, some are legit, some are just prayers, but it is whatever gets a bowl of rice on the tables at night.
Today, the security guard smiled at me and then told me he was hungry. My first reaction was, “Me too.” But looking into his eyes, I realized it was more to this statement. He was asking me for money, he was asking me for lunch, he was asking for a handout…and I didn’t even know his name. I rushed off to my office in a mix of emotions mostly in an attempt to hold my tongue at what would be a breach of contract in my A.M.E. Godly setting.
I don’t think the next position of statements are a proclamation like my other blogs…its just I guess a rant….
Okay, I understand that I get a little more cash than others…but I ain’t no Beyonce up in this piece. This man asked this to a woman who spends 40 Liberian dollars on lunch (75 cents US) because I am on a budget. Because I carry myself a certain way doesn’t make me obligated to help YOU. As well, for the last week, YOU ain’t been on your job the way you supposed to be. You are the security guard. One of your man jobs is to greet the president’s car and remove the blockers so we can park. For the past five days, the kids on the street have been doing it because they were tired of hearing the horn blow because we were looking for YOU. I think that you should do the job you have CORRECTLY, before you ask me for a little something extra.
Then, If I am choosing to feed a nation…what puts you up on the priority list? I rather hook my secretary up with lunch who walks down the street and peddles deals for me, or my driver, or my housekeeper, or hell the negro who stares at my ass to long, just because it made me feel good. You say “Good Morning” and you mumble that so I can barely hear you, and I always say “Good Morning” in return. I pretty much call us even.
In fact, yeah I get bombarded with the clubbed feet men at the grocery store wearing masquerade masks of depression and downtimes. Yet, I am more willing to give the man with the sawed off leg something because he is also selling oranges and directing traffic. Not the one who is calling me his sister and talking about his kids, to which he gets advice “Stop Screwing, and I haven’t given my blood brother nothing in three years.” I give towards the effort of a person, not the hand pushing outwards.
I put it this way. When I was heading into my freshman year of college, I asked my mom for a vehicle. She laughed and showed me the bus terminal in Tallahassee. It was cool, I understood. Freshman year, I pulled a 3.7, started a part-time job, began working at the radio station, and moved to a campus apartment. This time when I asked for a vehicle, I showed her how much money I saved up during the course of time and proved myself as being able to receive anything she graced me with. I rolled off in the Nissan Stanza. I didn’t do it all on my end, my mother’s generosity is what closed the deal. My tenacity at my job is what started the talks.
So I walked back in the office and gave the boy some bread and a water. Probably not the meal he expected, but I gave what I had and let him know that I hope he was really hungry because he used his “Feed Me Card” for the year and this was it, but I have noticed that he doesn’t do the type of quality of work that is expected in his position and that maybe why he isn’t getting enough to eat. That if he completed his work to a satisfactory level, he may elevate himself to where one day he wouldn’t have to succumb his pride for a piece of bread.
I think that was over his head.
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