Conned by a crooked, sweet, big old lady

Hailing from the once-great and still-proud Zulu nation, I was brought up in a home where good traditional values were taught and guarded jealously. Among these values was respect for your fellow man, in generally, but most importantly was respect for your elders. The matriarchal female in the traditional Zulu homestead was always the most revered, the most respected, and one would do anything at one of these wise women’s direction.

My mother is one such woman. At 69 years old, she is well set in her role as director of the home for the well-being of the entire family. I am very fond of my mother, as you can imagine, though in a very respectful, arm’s-length, no-hugging-and-kissing-even-on-the-cheek type of way, as is the customary and the traditional Zulu way.

It is because of the respect and admiration I have for my beloved mother and all older women that my heart stirred me into action when I was getting into a Minor bus in town on Sunday after a fruitless search for some much-needed electronic equipment. I saw a large African woman in her old age struggling to get into the bus.

She had a walking stick with her, which she used to push herself upwards on to the stairs. What followed was about two minutes of pulling from those good Samaritans inside the bus to get her in. You could tell by the way that she was dressed that this old woman with kind, soft eyes had had a hard life, she had seen her fair share of rainy days, life had taken a hard toll on her person.

When she finally made it up to the top of the stairs, all the while breathing heavily, with the help of all of us, she clumsily dropped a R2 coin on the driver’s counter using the same hand that was holding her walking stick. All the while she was thanking us and loudly praising her saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ, for our kindness. However, the bus driver was not amused or moved by all this; she demanded the difference of R1,20 that the old lady owed for her journey, which costs a total of R3,20. She wouldn’t move the bus until the old woman coughed up the R1,20.

Fearing this situation getting out of hand and the embarrassment I would have felt at witnessing it unfold, but mostly from the goodness of my heart, I offered to pay the difference for the old lady, which was R1,20. This was greeted with more praising of the Holy Father and his manifestation in human form, Jesus Christ, by the old lady. This made the Sumo blush as he graciously accepted the much-needed blessings.

We all came down from the emotional high of being unified in the common cause of getting this woman into the bus as comfortably as possibly by the driver’s seemingly heartless and unrelenting questioning of her morality. The driver was a younger black female, also with a welcoming smile and warm, kind features that made us all surprised at her callousness in handling this sweet old lady.

The bus driver proceeded to tell how she had witnessed the same old lady conning a couple of security guards on North Beach a few weeks ago when she drove that route. She went on to say that the old lady had told the security guards the story that she was from Johannesburg and was in Durban looking for lost family. She had said she had no way of getting money, but needed to get to Tollgate where she had some relatives. The security guards had helped her find the bus terminal and gave her a small donation.

Apparently this is the same story she had just relayed to a security guard who was waiting with her for the bus on this day two weeks later. He had also just given her a small donation towards her quest.

Apparently this lady’s full-time occupation is conning people into feeling pity and being charitable towards her. The bus driver knew her well and went on to remind her of all the times she had witnessed the old lady conning people in buses and so on. This is how this sweet, helpless-looking old lady makes her living, by using people’s sympathy against them and towards her financial end.

It seems that begging has become a choice of employment for a growing number of people from all corners of our society. What troubles me is the guilt that these street-corner con artists use to get your sympathy and relieve you of a few coins at a time until they’ve reached their daily financial target, which they will use as they please — most probably for recreational drugs and alcohol, I assume.

Although most of the people who beg are genuinely in need of the help because of the high unemployment rate in this country, which we all know about, there are also those who have taken advantage of our inherent kindness as a generally caring nation. There are those who have chosen to make begging a career choice, those who have not explored any other options for employment but have rather chosen the easiest way out — being a career beggar.

As I sank into my seat in disillusionment, realising that I had just been taken by this sweet-looking old woman, I got to thinking about all the other con artists I have come across. The rest of my journey was taken up by thoughts of these people. Below are a few categories of beggars and their chosen mode of cash extraction through guilt induction that I have been confronted by in the past.

White AA-Displaced Male
Obviously affirmative action is implied as the reason why these individuals are without employment and I love how it is only those white individuals who had vehemently rejected the apartheid system who were then victimised by the new dispensation. They all feel that they have been betrayed by the system since they never supported the old regime and this is why you should give them some money.

“Please, dude, give an oke a break!”

Angry Indian Fella from Chatsworth
I always see this one coming a mile away, but because the Sumo is naturally slow, I can never get away in time. How these guys operate is by stirring your sympathy using the story that they are from Chatsworth and have been mugged and they just need a few coins to top them up so that they can get a taxi home. Oke, if you have been robbed, why is it that you smell of alcohol and why is it that the robbers didn’t take your cellphone and watch? And do you get robbed every week?

When you point out these glaring discrepancies in these fellas’ stories, you are greeted with anger and are labelled a racist and told of your inherent hate for Indian people.

“Please, fella, give a larney a break!”

Angry Disabled Black Mfowethu (Brother)
Obviously having sustained his injuries during the freedom struggle, you should only be too happy to give this guy a small portion of your salary, which you earn as a result of your newly found freedom for which he fought and was subsequently maimed. You owe him for the life of blissful employment that you now enjoy as part of our country’s emancipation.

Should you refuse, you will be called a traitor and a coconut; you will be accused of betraying the blood of all those who died (and were maimed) so that you can have a future, a future you now refuse to share with this self-appointed representative of the very same freedom fighters who sacrificed so much for you. I particularly dislike these individuals as they dishonour the memory of our most revered heroes for their selfish, underhanded financial gain.

“Please, mjita, give an outtie a break!”

Woman with Children at the Traffic Lights
These individuals really grate my nipples! Using and teaching kids to beg, Come on, there’s no other way?! If you raise a child begging, you destroy any bit of self-esteem that child could have ever had. Growing up poor is hard enough, but now you take away any opportunity these children might have had for a better life — which they would have had to work very hard to attain in the first place — by eroding their self-esteem even further. By doing this you take away any possibility of them positively altering his future.

Sympathy for the children is what is meant to move you to part with your money. The kids are made to look as needy as possible for maximum effect. They have to spend all day in whatever weather there is, begging for money for their parents. It sickens me to my stomach when I see those innocent children being subjected to such a life — if you can call begging on the streets a life. They have no say in their disposition and will do as directed by their parents to get something to eat that day.

In some of these cases these children are being abused and exploited by their parents. Where’s the shame in the parents who let their flesh and blood do the work which they should be doing? Where’s the parental care — providing for your children, giving them a future, where is that? We hope that not giving money to these children will result in a decline of such abuse of the said children. We hope, if the practice is no longer lucrative, that these children will no longer be exploited like this. We hope.

“Please, mama, give the children a break!”

As I disembarked from the Minor at my stop, I shot a stern stare back at the sweet old lady who had just conned me of my hard-earned R1,20. I looked into her eyes, wanting to chastise her for using such underhanded tactics to get money. She looked straight back at me, defiantly, as if she were telling me not to judge her for her actions. To tell me that she never stole from anyone, to tell me that people, including the Sumo, chose to give their money to her willingly. She never looked apologetic for her deeds.

It is sad that our people, all our people, have to subject themselves to such inhumanities to get something to eat/drink/snort/smoke at the end of the day. Life is not perfect, but it shouldn’t be this hard either. Much more needs to be done to allow more of our people to have a livelihood. We should all endeavour to build a united South Africa where people can live with dignity and pride.

I rest, R1,20 lighter
The Sumo