Street Boys of Egypt

I carry my camera in a small back pack; it dangling sloppily from my right shoulder. It is the middle of the hot, hot day.  We are in search for something cold to drink. Suddenly, a  group of young boys spot us and come running over. They are following us, pestering us to buy their cheap, ugly plastic scarab bracelets.

“Lady, lady, only $1 for you pretty lady” one young boy says to me.  He looks to be no more than 12 years old.

“No, no, what’s your name?” I ask in a friendly voice in hopes of distracting him from trying to sell me his junk.

“Mohammad”, he tells me, matter of factly.

“No thanks,  Mohammad.” My tone is friendly but my response lets him know that I am not interested. 

He steps away. But then he continues to follow me and he points to my back pack.  I have a charm attached to one of the zippers on the pack and I just assume Mohammad wants me to give him this charm. I dismiss him.  But he insistent. I acknowledge his concern.  He tugs on my arm and points more adamantly now.

“No, no, you can’t have it”, I finally tell him without even looking at him. He annoys me.

But then Mohammad and all of the others stop and surround themselves around something on the ground. My friend, Jonathan, stops to see that is so interesting to them.

“Bridget, your money fell out of your pack.  That’s what he was trying to tell you”, Jonathan shouts to me.

And sure enough, I had not zipped one of my pockets and a small wad of money fell out.  Mohammad tried to warn me but I ignored him, thinking he just wanted to take something, anything from me.  Now, these boys who live on the streets, stand guard over my money. I bend down and swoop it up as Mohammad beams with satisfaction and relief. And I stand there in admiration, shame and disbelief.