To travel to NFC, seven of us piled into a five seater Toyota Corolla. One twin on hubby's lap and the other on mine. As we passed people on the streets, we saw the strangest sights. Our back windows were equipped with mesh so we could look out but outsiders could not look in. It was a good thing because the look on our children's faces would single us out.
Sights You Never Forget
-Monkeys being pulled on a leash, wearing sunglasses and a skirt, doing tricks so their owner could make money
-Women with malnourished babies crying and banging on our car window
-A family of eight piled on a motorbike with a five month old on the handlebars winding throughout traffic
-Transvestites begging for money with their makeup running down their faces in the heat of the day
-Men walking down the street, holding each other by their pinky finger
...these were just a few examples that caused awe and mixed emotions within the girls.
At one point, they would shut down and remain speechless. The environment was overwhelming. But despite the shock factor, we had the urge to give money whenever we deemed it necessary. We learned to pull down the window only a crack to pass small bills to the needy. The caveat was that if you opened your entire window or door, you risked having your purse stolen or robbed at gunpoint. All our relatives advised us not to give anything because street begging was an organized business.
Squeeze me? Yes, rich business men would cripple the poor and send them to the streets to make money and take a portion for their profits. We saw many maimed people from old men, to small children. Knowing that if we gave to one they would all come in hoards did not stop us. I could not drive past them, especially the women with small children. A part of me refused to believe the story and I went with my gut and good intentions. We asked about charitable organizations and did see some lineups outside reputable businesses where the owners would give out meals to the poor. Our 10 suitcases were filled with old clothing and shoes on our arrival and we consulted relatives where to donate it all. One revelation that perturbed me the most was that the majority of the aid sent to Pakistan during the earthquake was never received. The tents and warm clothing were diverted and sold on the black market.
It was no wonder that the rich became richer during that time period. Figures. Corruption had always been at the core of all levels of government since I had visited in the late 80s. My relatives complained about it then and even more now. We passed by Modeltown, a suburb where many of the govt ministers and officials owned property. And damn, was their property a sight to see. Thousands of square feet, lush gardens, high walls and luxury cars in the car park, all guarded by the local police and gunmen. It burned my blood driving by the deputy, minister and government official estates. And only across the street, would we see the dichotomy in the country. Slums, mudhuts and children by the side of the road, begging for money, food or clothing. I swallowed back tears and sat back in my seat, feeling helpless and guilty. Here I complained daily about the heat and loadshedding while these poor, small children braved the daily heat, with no clothes on their backs, let alone food in their belly. I looked at the girls. Their glum faces said it all.
I tried to divert my attention. What would this new development NFC be like? Where were we going to? Another posh city with poverty at the fringes? Again, safety was my priority and I just wanted to make sure we got there in one piece....
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