When I arrived on Sudder Street, the backpack community and the majority of inexpensive guesthouses for tourist I had no problem attracting every street gal that was working the area looking for a handout. At one point I was sitting on the sidewalk with all of them massaging my head, arms, legs and even scrapping the dead skin from my feet while other tourist looked on giggling.
I felt very much at ease with all of them and eventually heard each of their stories about bad and lazy husbands, husbands that were drunk and set them on fire, or just a husband that had died and forced them to beg on the streets. The babies that they couldn't feed because they were going without milk and how they were tired being hungry. "Can you buy us some rice?" they would plead.
At first the story went that they all lived on the street and they pointed out spots where they slept at night. But, later in the evening I looked for them in these same spots and they were no where to be found.
I eventually felt bad for some of them and went through my backpack looking for things that I no longer needed and could certainly give to them. When I brought the stuff over they inspected it and than rather than dividing it up among themselves, a pair of nice leather shoes, sandals, a satin sheet and a purse that I just purchased in India they instead put it into a bag with very little excitement or gratitude for the items.
The gal with the bad sandals that could have used my sandals, wasn't wearting them the following day and I thought it odd. One gal however; saw the purse and claimed it as her own. She put her things into right than and there and threw back across her back and wore it with pride. That made me feel good, at least someone would use the gifts I brought.
But, the next day I spoke with her and it turns out she'd had a falling out with all the other gals because she took the purse without them all agreeing on it. Her aliance with them changed and her bond with me became closer and that's when I began to find out the truth behind some of their stories.
The sleeping on the streets was not the case and most of this gals begging on Sutter Street where the low end tourist reside were actually living in homes outside these areas and usually traveled here to work. Some had babies, families at home and husbands. The gal with the scars on her chest from the husband that threw hot oil on her, turns out it was an accident and she caught her sari on fire while cooking instead of the violent story she had me believe.
The complaints about not having enough food to eat and not enough to feed their babies and can you please just by me some rice to feed my children ploy all seemed valid at the time. But, than you realize that some of these gals do not look under nourished and if you do fall for this story only to realize that the rice you bought for them is than returned to the same small market for cash later when you are not around.
I remember in McCloud Ganj a small boy who along with his other mates certainly were street boys. He eventually walked me into a shop and pulled a couple items off the counter and put it in front of the cashier. "If you could just get these items for my small baby brother, " while he pulled a large containor of dehydrated powder milk and a few other food items for a baby. I asked the cashier how much the milk was and it was something like $20- just for the milk alone. You can bet if I had fallen for this scam the boy would have been back in there to return the items for cash and that is how he works the tourist that come through the town on a daily basis.
The gal with the bad sandals that could have used my sandals, wasn't wearting them the following day and I thought it odd. One gal however; saw the purse and claimed it as her own. She put her things into right than and there and threw back across her back and wore it with pride. That made me feel good, at least someone would use the gifts I brought.
But, the next day I spoke with her and it turns out she'd had a falling out with all the other gals because she took the purse without them all agreeing on it. Her aliance with them changed and her bond with me became closer and that's when I began to find out the truth behind some of their stories.
The sleeping on the streets was not the case and most of this gals begging on Sutter Street where the low end tourist reside were actually living in homes outside these areas and usually traveled here to work. Some had babies, families at home and husbands. The gal with the scars on her chest from the husband that threw hot oil on her, turns out it was an accident and she caught her sari on fire while cooking instead of the violent story she had me believe.
The complaints about not having enough food to eat and not enough to feed their babies and can you please just by me some rice to feed my children ploy all seemed valid at the time. But, than you realize that some of these gals do not look under nourished and if you do fall for this story only to realize that the rice you bought for them is than returned to the same small market for cash later when you are not around.
I remember in McCloud Ganj a small boy who along with his other mates certainly were street boys. He eventually walked me into a shop and pulled a couple items off the counter and put it in front of the cashier. "If you could just get these items for my small baby brother, " while he pulled a large containor of dehydrated powder milk and a few other food items for a baby. I asked the cashier how much the milk was and it was something like $20- just for the milk alone. You can bet if I had fallen for this scam the boy would have been back in there to return the items for cash and that is how he works the tourist that come through the town on a daily basis.
