What's your story?

“Dame un cordoba,” the little girl said, extending a tiny, dirty hand. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the 50 centavos I had, worth about 3 cents, and hoped she would believe me when I said it was all I could give her. It wouldn’t be a good idea to go digging through my purse on a busy street. I was with my friend Gabriel, who was taking me on a walking tour of the old part of Managua, but as I hurried to keep pace with him she followed me.

“It’s all I have,” I told her apologetically. I still wasn’t sure the best way to handle begging kids on the street, but I knew that dishing out money right and left wasn’t the best strategy. In Seattle I make a point of stopping and talking to homeless people, but I’m more cautious about talking to strangers in Managua. At least that’s how I rationalized it during our quick encounter. I suppose smiling and moving on was the easiest option.

She brushed her long brown hair off of her face and turned to Gabriel, again asking for a Cordoba, which is worth about 5 cents. He paused for a minute and pointed to the statue on the street corner where we were standing.

“If I give you money, you have to tell me a story about that statue over there.”

“What?”

“Tell me a story. I’m giving my friend here a tour of the city, and we want to hear a good story about the city. You can make it up if you want. Just be creative.”

Her face changed from surprise, to confusion, to delight, to mischief. “Um… my friend will tell you a story,” she offered. Just then another little girl walked up, about the same age, barefooted, holding a window squeegee which she was using to clean windows of cars stopped at the stoplight, in hopes that drivers would tip her a Cordoba or two. Window washers, vendors, and street performers account for the occupations of many of Nicaragua’s poor, who find creative, informal ways to make money.

“Tell me a story,” Gabriel said again. He sat down under the shadow of the statue, showing that he was in no hurry, and the girls shyly joined him, all giggles and grins, as he began to ask them questions to get conversation going.

I don’t think they ever got to telling us a story. But I do know that for a few minutes on a busy, dirty street corner in the middle of Managua, two little girls took a break from their weekend labor and got to be kids again- smiling, laughing, interacting with someone who showed interest in them. We both managed to find a few more cordobas to give them for lunch. I still don’t know the most socially just way to deal with giving money to begging kids. But I do know that I will not let myself make excuses again to treat them as anything less than the precious, beautiful children of God that they are.

The next time you are faced with a homeless person or just someone who needs a listening ear, I challenge you to sit down and learn something from them!

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