In the United States I have long lived a life very far removed from homelessness and poverty, both from a physical perspective and a social perspective. I was raised in an affluent community, attended a university with a high level of affluence, and then moved to Springdale, a community where a piece of land goes for USD$1 million and most people that work there have a hard time affording to live there.
Needless to say, my direct association with homelessness and poverty has been minimal. San Diego in April 2007 provided me one of my first real experiences with it. I met a young man with the cutest puppy ever begging for money. At first I just walked by, then my conscience got the better of me. I was off to spend $20.00 on a dinner without a second thought. I went back, gave him some money, then I refused the hug he wanted to give me to show his gratitude. My pride was too great. Over my subsequent days there, I looked for him around the neighborhood, but I never saw him again. This was also the trip when my friend Tim and I saw a homeless woman being told by 3 SD police officers she could not use the outdoor shower at the beach. She was simply trying to clean herself, to give herself some dignity, and I am sure that the SD police department had more pressing matters.
Since my arrival in Georgia, poverty is something I am much more cognizant of as it is everywhere: homes lack running water and flush toilets, one of my neighbors has an outhouse when I live in a mansion and their entire house is probably smaller than my bedroom and bathroom, Gypsies begging for money seemingly everywhere I go, etc., however, last Sunday my experience with poverty was something I never would have expected. As I was walking to my friend’s home I walked past the church across from her house. As usual, there were a few women begging. After walking by them, I sensed I was being followed. Great, just what I wanted. When I turned around, I saw just who was following me: one of my students. She was there begging with her mother. It was shocking to see. She recognized me, and that is why was following me. I said hello, and continued on my way. I was not sure what to do or how to respond to this. What is significant to note about this student is that she is one of the mentally handicapped students I work with.
The rest of the day I was unsettled by this event. I had no idea what to do or who to approach about this. In America, I would be legally obligated to report this to school authorities. In Georgia, well, things normal in America are unheard of here. The first person I asked about this said I should just forget about it. The second person, who works for the Adjaran government, said that I must say something to the school. When I did mention it to school officials, they sort of blew the situation off. I was informed that she had been given clothes and food in the past, and that in her family begging was a primary source of income. I got the impression that I by bringing this situation I was meddling in what has an accepted practice. But should panhandling ever be accepted? Moreover, after telling the school officials I felt as though they didn’t want to know then they would be accountable to do something about it.
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