WAHIB AND JOHN

As we pull in to our campsite for the night, which is a national animal preserve, two young boys, just pre-teen, run to greet us.    Wahib and John know the Dragoman truck, the company with which I am traveling.    Based in the UK, Dragoman offers long-haul overland travel to the remotest places on earth, providing only a fully-equipped and adapted Mercedes truck, a knowledgeable driver and group organizer, the latter charged with getting us from starting point to end point with as little hassle as possible.     He negotiates no group politics and conducts no entertainment.  He bargains the bribes (or refusal to pay them) at the ubiquitous police checkpoints, chooses the best camp sites and tries to keep us on schedule, local conditions permitting.   He decides where and when we food shop and camp.   Wahib and John greet the truck 2-3 times a year as it makes its way east to west then back again criss-crossing West Africa and, contrary to the truck’s unofficial rules, they are permitted to mingle and interact with the group.

Wherever we may be on the open rural road, whenever we stop for a meal and set up our table and food, basic as it is, we always have an audience.    Word spreads fast through the village that a truckload of foreigners has just arrived over the ridge.  The locals leave their huts and schools, workplaces and chores and run to witness the very unusual sight of white people passing through nowhere on their way to somewhere.    We drove 8 hours yesterday through northwestern Burkina, heading to Mali, and did not pass a single vehicle.  As we eat with a small crowd standing only a few feet away in a semi-circle around us, scores of pairs of eyes watch our every bite, hungry and hoping for a small scrap.  But “The Rule” for travelers now throughout Africa is “no handouts” of any kind – no food; not even leftovers, no money, no candy, no pens, no discarded articles of clothing.   “The Rule" is harsh, heart-breaking, and fails to harden the soul against the extreme poverty all around us.    We are constantly debating the pro’s and con’s of "The Rule" and look for ways to work within it without violating it, but we always come to the same conclusion:  "The Rule" is right.  If we share our food with the crowd around us, the next time the Dragoman truck or any other foreign traveler comes through, the crowd will be larger, and will come from points even further away.  If we give, rather than throw away our scraps,  there certainly will not be enough for everyone – how to choose who in the crowd receives and who does not?   Maybe we can give to the children only?    but if we do, the next time the children will be left home.   Should we simply leave our leftovers behind, in a neat, clean pile and let the hungry figure it out themselves?   The experience of those who know is that fighting among the people then breaks out and their very fragile equilibrium is destroyed, if even only temporarily.  Sharing and hand-outs seem to foster dependence as the locals will look to whites, even more than they already do, for their salvation – Ethiopia is an extreme example of this dependence.   The only way to soothe our conscience is to know, that at least this year, is a year free of drought,  and that the people are merely hungry, not starving.   They have lots of mango, cassava and banana to eat, although protein, dairy, and other food groups are rare and the craving for variety and subsistence in the menu is strong.

Wahib and John however are the exception to The Rule.   We played Frisbee and Hangman with them as the sun was setting (they beat us at both games).   They seemed to know, before we knew ourselves, when we had had enough of the game, when we needed to shower, when we needed to wash our filthy clothes or begin preparing dinner.   They disappeared minutes before we tired of the chore or the game; standing on the sidelines, watching and waiting to be called in to service, to answer a question; “where is the hot water switch?, when will the warthogs go home?”  Their English was good, they were polite.   A dropped  $5 note or ipod, was picked up and returned immediately to its owner.  The laundress who works for the park came to our site to chase the boys away but  Steve, the group leader, told her the boys could stay.   She insisted that they would steal and pester.   Steve knew these kids better.

When we ate dinner they disappeared to the shadows, without being told to do so,  sitting patiently beside our wash bowls, behind the truck.   As we ate and bantered, we had forgotten them in the dark, that they were there, quietly looking away so as not to intrude on our privacy.  Only when we began to clean up did they gently take my dish and begin scrubbing the food scraps, carefully rinsing and drying.   

We saw that Steve had prepared two huge plates of food before we even began to eat.  Sausage, rice, cooked vegetables, and lots of bread and butter.   The plates were covered and placed in a corner, given to Wahib and John only after we had finished our own meal and the dishes had been put away.    The boys ate, slowly and deliberately, in the darkness behind the truck.   But the moon was full and we saw that they were happy.