Street Urchins

With the continued migration from the countryside to Addis, beggars continue to escalate around the city.

Returning Rasta, Mrs R tells me in no uncertain terms that the bars in the evening are teaming with them every night, as they drink through their hand-outs.

Children on the streets also continue to grow in number in their selected patches. My weekly grocery shopping trip to Allmart is getting worse, and the hassles around Bole are getting unbearable.

I won’t give money to the kids, but i am always willing to lecture them about the importance of education. Mum’s, who use their offspring for additional effect, watch on hopefully, only to berate their kids when they come back empty-handed.

Ms J tells me of a recent encounter with a seven year old boy. The kid is asking her for money, and she asks him why. He tells her he is hungry. “Then why are you asking for money?” she responds. “You can’t eat money.” He informs her his parents are dead and she tells him to meet her tomorrow morning and she will bring him some breakfast. The boy doesn’t look too excited about the prospect and slouches off. 

A watching Cabana (security guard) approaches her and asks her what the boy wanted. Ms J tell him the story, and he scoffs loudly. I know his mother, he is just after extra pocket-money. Ms J is nonplussed and catches up with the boy. She then bollocks him out for being a liar and a cheat, and asks him how his parents would feel if they knew he was telling strangers that they were dead? He looks totally horrified and scuttles off very fast. She hasn't seen him since.