Anyone who has spent time in the developing world will be familiar with what I decided to term the Pied Piper effect, the involuntary entourages of small children, who tug enthusiastically away at coat tails with one hand, whilst upturning their other in a gesture of optimistic supplication. Stock phrases such as ‘Gimme Pen’ or ’ One Dollar’ pepper the African, Asian and South American air. Giving does little to relieve the frustration. It was during a recent trip to Northern Ethiopia that I began to think seriously about what “charity” means for me. It is not about alleviating guilt. The true source of charity lies in the idea of community.
Everyone develops their own method of dissolving the clusters of children who pursue them like Hamlyn’s entourage. Some ignore and push through the hoards, hoping the children will tire of the baiting and return to playing with their friends. Others shoo them away. In moments of sympathy, small change is tipped out of pockets into tiny hands. Then there are the moments of extreme generosity when free hotel pens may even be exchanged.
But this is not genuine charity. Giving to these children is born of frustration. Of wanting to be left alone. It is the same urge that makes me avoid the clipboard toting chuggers (charity muggers) soliciting for direct debits on Fleet Street. Whether on the streets of London or the streets of Africa, giving in this way is neither genuine nor heart-felt.
I, like others, care little for the umpteenth child I have seen that day. Nor for whatever cause is being touted by the clipboard activist. If I give small change, a pen or even my bank details, the exchange is born of guilt, not philanthropy.
‘They go and spend it on a Coca-Cola’ I was told by a city tour-guide ‘ Either that or on sweets. They are just kids, they don’t know any better.’ I understood immediately. There is nothing wrong with children chasing after tourists. It is a universal trait in children toseek out the opportunity for a treat. But for many adults in Ethiopia, the practice is an affront not simply to their pride as parents, but as Ethiopians.
I misjudged my budget for a weekend trip to the Monolithic Churches of Lalibela. With the remainder of my money nestling in the safe of my hotel room back in Addis, some 200km away, I found myself walking 15km, in the rain, to the airport the morning of my flight.
By chance the town’s guides were driving to the airport that morning to collect clients. On their way, they saw me staggering down the road, soaked. They picked me up, took me to the airport, fed me a hearty breakfast of injeera (Ethiopian sour bread) and lentils outside the terminal, before proceeding to have a whip round. Between the fifteen guides, they collected just over $15 which they handed to me for a taxi ride from the Airport in Addis Ababa and food during my journey. It was a striking gesture; it was clear that I didn’t need the money but would have caused offence had I not accepted it. As a stranger in their country, the community saw to it that I was safe. It was a sincere group act of charity towards a stranger.
That experience taught me that for me, charitable giving is not about being backed into a corner and guiltily dishing out pennies because you can. Charity is the coming together of people as a group to support someone or something that has neither the means nor proclivity to do so themselves. It’s about a community supporting strangers in need. This act can in itself, bind communities together.
There will always be children tugging on sleeves to see if they can get a dollar, and it most likely does little harm to give one. But that is not charity. Binding people together with a common outlook creates communities. It is through these communities that the true spirit of charity is able to resonate.