Nampo Garcia- A Street Kid Story

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October 9, 2024, Manila- (Any connection between the characters in this tale and real people is purely coincidental.)

I felt the blade at my back,as I retrieved the cash from the ATM. “Now, you will give me the due that you refused, back at the Light Rail station!”, snarled a voice at the other end of the knife. “Will I, now?”, I responded, in my best fake Irish brogue. I looked at the wad of bills, then glanced over at the small pair of hands to my right, cupped and ready.

I tossed the folded bills to a chuckling, triumphant street boy. The hapless beggar took off after Nampo, dropping his knife and momentarily forgetting about me. The boy, little more than 3’8” and 50 pounds soaking wet, ran around the floral planter that graced the front of my hostel, all the while holding the cash, in a teasing manner, as the half-addled thief continued to pursue him, like a cat chasing its own tail.

Nampo knew the drill. He ran up to the hostel’s security guard and stood still, until I came up the steps. His meal depended on not running afoul of Steven Morales, who had often graciously provided the boy, and his little sister, with one of the hostel restaurant’s signature burgers or at least one of its ample rice bowls. Tonight, though, as Steven handcuffed the foolish beggar, I took Nampo inside the cafe, and for once, the Chinese owner did not wince and start fussing in Mandarin, about “a mouse being in the house”. Nampo had a full meal and was allowed to take an order to go, for his sister, who was waiting at their makeshift cardboard and plywood hut, off Dominga Street.

“Uncle Rama”, Nampo queried, as we ate, “do you have a friend like me, back in Bengaluru?” “Actually, I have several such friends, Nampo”, I responded. “You see, not so long ago, I too was sleeping under rattan and cardboard, frequently crying myself to sleep and keeping one eye open. The street bandits back in India are not so easy to elude, as the drugged up fiends here in Manila.”

“Not all the thieves here are drugged up”, answered Nampo, “in fact, the only reason I can leave Shakira alone is because we have Auntie Jinja looking after us. Her son, Raul, is also here, visiting his mother and taking her to see a doctor, for her diabetes. Raul said that if he needs to take his mother back to his house in Sucot, we will go with them-and he will make sure we go to school every day.”

I felt relieved at this news and as I walked Nampo back to his encampment, thought of how lucky this resourceful little boy was, to have found Jinja, and by extension, Raul, in the first place. Then again, it was Nampo’s heart energy, taking care of little Shakira, and his pluckiness at cultivating a security guard and a tourist as his friends, that most appealed to my own heart. As it happened, Raul had gone to the hardware, on P. Ocampo, and purchased a few folding chairs. His mother was sitting in one, and he, in another. The dutiful son beckoned me to sit for a while. “Would you care for a cup of iced tea?” “That would be heavenly”, I replied, taking the last empty chair, as Nampo sat down on a bean bag seat, which Raul had also purchased. Shakira was asleep on a small cot, covered with a clean sheet, again provided by the dutiful son.

This night would pass safely for the makeshift family, and soon the four of them would head past the Ninoy Aquino International Airport, through Paranaque to the seaside community of Sucot. I would be heading home to Karnataka, in a few days, and thought that I would make more of an effort to help the urchins in my home city, in honour of Nampo and Shakira.

(The street children of Manila are definitely winsome and engaging. It is their sheer number that prevents meaningful individual assistance, but there are a number of organizations, such as Children International, which I use as a vehicle to help two families, and Save the Children, that can provide assistance to destitute children and their families. Nampo and Shakira are fictional characters, but there are people who fit their description all over the streets of Metro Manila-and other Philippine cities.)

Metro Manila, Day 7: The Envelope Girl

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September 17, 2024, Manila- The little girl clutched her assigned supply of envelopes and note cards with one hand and held onto my arm with the other. She desperately wanted to get some pocket change, which I could have spared-but for the fact that a boy appeared, also carrying envelopes and note cards-and it is pretty much guaranteed that ten more “vendors”, along with a few pickpockets, would have surfaced, in short order. I walked along, with a platonic friend who is like a sister to me, and the little angel still clinging to my arm. No one got anything from me, and after I said “Palaam” (goodbye), at the corner, the pair hung back, looking surprised, but resigned.

Many of us, in the course of our lives, are like the Envelope Girl and her partner in grift. We hope for something from another person-whether it is commerce, approval, friendship or even some level of romance. Sometimes-oftentimes, we can get what we want. On other occasions, the answer is “No”, or “Maybe, just not right now”.

I have been both seeker and sought, plenty of times. Growing up, I was a well-liked, but never loved, adolescent-a permanent resident of what is nowadays called “The Friend Zone”.

There is no Friend “Zone”. There are only friends, those towards whom one feels fondly, with whom one is glad to share good times, thoughts and experiences. There are levels of friendship, from “acquaintance” (whatever that is) to a marital bond-and many levels in between. I can’t, however, recall any person in my life who has been consigned to a limited, stifling place in my world. There have been false friends, whose design was either transactional (like the street urchins above) or vengeful(their whole shtick being to teach me a lesson). Those have been let go, blocked/deleted. There have been those who have been physically attracted to me, but the converse has not been true-and we have managed to build solid, platonic/fraternal bonds. The same is true of many to whom I have been drawn-and the converse has also been true.

At the top of the scale, there are two: Penny, my departed wife, and a person to whom I have made several references, of late. Penny was, when we first met, immediately in full-on attraction mode, (as was I, to her). That settled into a period of retraction, during which she had space to deal with residual feelings towards former beaux, a dalliance with a more dashing suitor and sorting out all manner of conflict between making a commitment and having “freedom”. My feelings never went away, but I stayed in the background, as long as she needed me to. After 18 months, we were married, had a solid, if sometimes stormy, wedlock and I was by her side through it all-including thirteen years of physical and cognitive decline, as I have described in earlier posts.

I met K last year, and had the same immediate attraction. Time will tell, if the friendship will approach the level that Penny and I reached. There are many variables, and all I can say is that my feelings aren’t going away, even as my person gives her the space that I gave Penny. A beloved soul deserves no less. Our lives will continue, will remain full and our goals-both mutual and separate-will be achieved. No two people, no matter how drawn to one another, can possibly meld into a unit where one is indistinguishable from the other. “Between them is a barrier that they overpass not.”-Baha’u’llah.

It has been a wonderful ride, to this point. I’m here, if she needs me.

The Real Story of Santa Claus and Coal

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December 15, 2019-

Legend has it that Santa Claus sends his snarky sidekick, Black Piet, to put a lump of coal in the stockings of children who have been naughty,during the year.  I learned, this evening, that this is just not so.

The Big Guy and his Missus put in an early appearance this evening, at a Red Cross gathering.  He told a young man who complained of having received coal in his stocking, whilst he was a young street ruffian, in Chicago.  The young man did tell St. Nick that he had mended his ways, and Santa acknowledged that this was the case.

Santa went on to explain, about the coal.   “I don’t always give children what they want, but I do give them what they need.”, he offered, “When people needed coal to heat their homes, I made sure they got several lumps.”  Children living under hard circumstances, frequently act out, and Santa said he takes care of their home life, first.

That did my heart good, and shows that Santa Claus is not just a purveyor of belly laughs and trips down the chimney.  He really does look out for our best interests.  Black Piet? Why, he is a Red Cross volunteer, who goes down each chimney, to make sure it is firewise.