March 31, 2008...8:56 am
Begging Rackets
As a visible foreigner in Liberia you are constantly assaulted by beggars. They use a variety of means trying to get at your money.
The first is the “Pretending to do something for you” – version. This is probably the most frequent and typically takes the form of offering to watch your car “I take good care of car bossman”, or pretending to signal the car out of a parking spot. The latter is practiced very well by the cripple brigades at One-Stop Shop and Haikal Trading Center. As if reversing out into traffic would not already be difficult enough, now you also have to watch for a one legged man hopping around the car on crutches, and avoid running him over.
Then there is the “brute force” approach, perfected by the boy at the corner of Main Street and Benson, who always rubs the stumps of his arms on your window. Furthermore we have the dumb version “Good Friend, good friend, give me some money”.
And finally there is the master discipline of begging, the con-artist version. It requires at least a story and acting skills.
Whatever approach used, in dealing with them there are only two choices. Either give them something, or never give them anything. I prefer the second version, because I feel absolutely no responsibility for their fate.
Instead of molesting me, they should go and beg at the doors of those “Big Men” and women of the passed Liberian regimes, who have put the country in this miserable state and made millions for themselves in the process.
In addition, giving is a one- way street. If you give a beggar money once, he will henceforth regard it as his right to receive money from you, and will get rather angry if at one point you do not want to continue to give him. Also, if you give one person 5 Dollars, tomorrow there will be three guys asking for five dollars each. That is not the kind of conditioning that brings a nation forward. It just keeps on breeding welfare mentality.
So, my advice for anybody being gang- begged in the streets of Monrovia is: Don’t give anything. It makes the life easier for all of us “whites”.
Here are my favorite begging stories, all of the con-artist variety. Following in the tradition of Dave Barry I hasten to add that I am not making them up:
1) My wife died and I need money to take her body from the hospital to the funeral home.
Definitely one of my favorites because it was done so convincingly, and nearly got me.
This one was played on me by an older man, maybe fifty years. He showed up at our gate, presented a ID from the Liberian Customs Service and asked for 20 USD because his wife of twenty-three years marriage had just died at the hospital and he needed to take her to the funeral home. He did a very nice job, complete with tears, but what made me suspicious was that the hospital he mentioned was at the other end of town, a one-hour drive away. But, I did not want to be too harsh, and so I offered that we would take our truck and drive the body of his wife to wherever he wanted. Judging by his reaction that was not the outcome he had envisioned. After trying one more approach for the money, he left.
2) I have to buy books and pencils for school.
A classic, so I am really surprised that I was never hit by this approach.
This one did not happen to me, but to a friend of mine. She was apprehended at the door of a supermarket by a child with a list of items for school, asking her for money to buy pencils and notebooks. She did not wanted to give him money, but decided to buy a pack of notebooks for the child instead. Everything was fine until the same child approached her at the same store three days later with the same story, asking for money to buy pencils and notebooks again. She told him a few chosen words.
3) Jesus told me to watch your sheep.
Maybe a little unusual because it requires the victim to have a sheep, parrot, monkey, or other pet.
Once I came home to my little hut in the evening and was about to open the door, when suddenly out of nowhere an old wizened woman appeared and told me that she wanted 40 Liberian Dollars from me, because Jesus had send her here to watch my sheep. There was indeed a sheep at my house. It did not belong to me, but to a friend. The sheep had been roaming the compound freely for at least four month, and I am sure would have survived the day without the assistance of the old witch, but who am I to argue with Jesus. So, after some haggling I finally gave her 20 Liberian Dollars and hoped to get rid of her that way. She left in the end, but not before calling me a “wicked white man”.
4) My wife is sick and I need 10 USD for fuel to drive her to the hospital
This one happened to me when I was two weeks in Liberia.
I had just parked my car in front of the Mona Lisa, a restaurant frequented by UN – Staff and other foreigners in Monrovia, and therefor an excellent hunting ground for beggars. On getting out I was approached by a well-groomed men of middle age. He made a good first move by mentioning that he was a friend of “the fat guy” in our unit. A good move because the fat guy existed, I was new in Liberia, and it never occurred to me to ask him the name of “fat guy”. He proceeded by building on his initial inroad by telling me that he had worked for UNMIL radio. As I said I was new and a greenhorn, so I even handed him my business card. I had swallowed the bait, line and sinker, and now came the hook. ” I am sorry to trouble you sir, but my wife is in the car and I need 10 USD for fuel to drive her to the hospital”.
At this point I finally realized what was going on. I wrestled my business card out of his hands, and got into my car.
5) The other white guy told me to come here if I had a problem:
A nice entertainment free of charge if you life in a compound where “white people” on short term assignments use to live is this one.
A knock on the door on Saturday morning. My question “Who is there?” is met by an unintelligible reply. I open the door and there is a women between fifty and sixty, not well dressed, and not washed either. She holds her right hand up and tells me that she is living in the Refugee Camp, and that something bit her in the hand. She adds that she must have the hand x-rayed. While I still wonder what all this has to do with me, she mentions that “the other white guy” told her that if she ever had a problem she could come here. This time I do not fall for the bait. Instead I just tell her that I am not “The other guy”, wish her a nice day and close the door.
6) I just need 5 USD to start a business
Played on me while I was waiting at a fuel station (Aminata on Benson Street) during a day when there was no diesel in town.
I am approached by a younger man in his mid twenties. He opens the game with “I like Russia”. This is the problem when you are wearing uniforms, they always have a national flag on it. But this guy needs to bone up on his geography. I am wearing a flag on my sleeves, but it sure is no Russian flag. He continues with the usual foreplay of how he wants to be my friend, and how he likes foreigners, especially Russians because they are such good people. Finally of course he gets past the foreplay and to the core. ” I am just about to open a business. You see, I do not want to beg, I want to work. So I decided to open a shoe-shine business. I just need 5 USD to buy the shoe polish to start my business”. I did not give him the money, and he still has not opened a shoe-shine business. The last time I saw him going for a Ukrainian police man. At least his geography has gotten better.
7) I need money to pay my school fees, otherwise I can not continue my education
Another classic, tried on me a few times.
A good approach, because all the foreigners in Monrovia know about the dire education situation, and encouraging someone to study is a laudable effort. And do you - a foreigner making so much more money than this poor guy – really want to shoulder the responsibility of him not being able to go to school ? If he were using the money to actually pay school fees that is. But the crunch comes if you then ask the “student” what he studies and where. This is normally met with embarrassing silence and stuttering. And at least two of the would-be students approaching me had cell phones so much more expensive than mine (an old Nokia 1100) that I saw no reason to give them anything even if they had been bona fide students.
Do you know Mr. Overbeck?
Quite an interesting approach I had forgotten completely about it until last week. After all who would not help a poor soul lured to Liberia by that nasty compatriot of mine, Mr. Overbeck.
Standing on the street in front of the office after a days work last Tuesday I was suddenly approached by a man with a nicely trimmed beard. “Do you know Mr. Overbeck?”, he inquired. I looked at him and something struck me as familiar. Was it his face, or was it the name Overbeck?
He continued “You are from Holland, as I see by the flag on your sleeve, so I think you must know Mr. Overbeck. He is also Dutch”. “You see, I am a research student from Botswana and I came here on a research assignment. Mr. Overbeck is my advisor, and he told me to come to Liberia, but I have been searching for him for the last two weeks, and I can no find him”
Suddenly it dawned on me. Of course! Mr. Overbeck! Same guy, same story! Now I knew that I had seen this man before. About a year ago he had tried to get some money from me with exactly the same story. “Excuse me” I said, ” how long did you say you have been in Liberia?”. “Two weeks” he replied, “Mr. Overbeck told me to meet him here”.
” I do not believe a single word you say” I told him, “In fact, you have tried the same story on me a year ago”. He looked at me with wounded eyes. “I am just trying to find Mr. Overbeck, sir, and I thought you might know him”. “Give it up” I said, frowning at him, ” I do not believe you at all, so move on !” He did.
” That is strange” said my Liberian driver who had witnessed the incident, “he said he was from Botswana, but he spoke just like a Liberian.”
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