Tag Archives: thieves

The Road to Diamond, Day 150: Hard Lessons

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Posted by on in Assistance, collaborating, Community, distraction issues, impediments, Inner Struggles, Personal Values, Social, Spiritual, Striving

April 27, 2025- It was reported this morning that a Chilean man, involved in the theft of luxury goods, had been arrested in connection with a theft from a government official, last weekend. The thief apparently got more than was bargained, with some of the items taken making it easy for him to be tracked down and captured.

This is frequently the way that such heists end-and games of cat and mouse only favour the perpetrator when his/her caper is “sponsored” by someone else who is in power or in whose favour s(he) stands. There are few thieves and grifters who are favoured by the leadership team now in power. Those who might be hiding behind the leaders are likely to find themselves facing justice, “thrown under the bus”, if you will, and sooner rather than later. The central concern of any elected official, or appointed officer for that matter, is to keep on with the stated mission. That means staying in office, and keeping the power to accomplish said mission.

There has long been a catalog of tales that tie those in power, in almost every country, to that nation’s underworld-and every country has a criminal element. It’s not just the rich and powerful, either, who have a soft spot for rogues. Folk tales celebrate thieves and ruffians. Robin Hood was among the earliest, followed over the centuries by Dick Turpin, and the Slovak, Juro Janosik. There was Claude Duval, the Gentleman Bandit of Normandy, who charmed the ladies even as he robbed their coaches. Americans are of two minds about Butch Cassidy, Jesse James, “Billy the Kid” Bonney, Bonnie and Clyde Barrow, and Al Capone. There are many who style themselves as “The Teflon Don”.

Maybe this is all a matter of us coming to terms with our own lower nature. There is something about sticking it to the rich and powerful that seems to appeal to those who see themselves as struggling. Here’s the deal, though. We invariably get back what we dish out. In the eyes of the Divine, is there really much difference between people who are wealthy and those who are destitute? It seems more a matter of who is deserving of merit and who is deserving of a hard lesson. None of us can make that judgment, as individuals or even as ad hoc groups.

Having been a victim of thieves, who were later caught and punished, my sympathy in this case goes to the government official. I can only hope that, as I have been since that loss, seven years ago, she is more careful about safeguarding that which is hers alone.

Nampo Garcia- A Street Kid Story

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Posted by on in Assistance, children, collaborating, Community, Education, Family, impediments, Inspiration, Matters of Faith, Personal goals, Personal Values, Service Activities, Social, Spiritual, Striving, Travel

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.)