Kids here will pester you for candy the first, second, or how ever many times their energy will muster. They've learned from their parents and from stories about foreigners that carry huge bags of candy around Lesotho giving it to those kids that beg the best, the loudest of all the rest. My double standard forgives these kids for begging but banishes the adults who I wish could be to proud to beg. The worst, for no real reason, are those adults that beg for candy. Money or food, even a beer at the local bar, would be more acceptable than begging for candy. Maybe I am resistant to the idea of adults enjoying a moment of sweet bliss and sugar high.
Because I am constantly asked for just about anything (the limit seems to be local peoples' imaginations) I often joke those people away. Begging can't be taken serious anymore. Cynicism surely pops into your head. Don't think by living here I can't appreciate the dire problems facing the people I see daily. If it was possible for some quick fix to stop people from starving here or suffering from illness then it would have already been done. Quick fixes don't fix anything. Like rapping a plastic bag around a leaking pipe and taping it—you hide the real problems. Welcome to the dilemmas of food aid and international development.
Wonka's everlasting gob-stopper would be great if he could ever get is marketed. That would really get everybody thinking when WFP hauls up with bags of colorful candy and hands that out instead of beans, corn meal, and oil.
My new moral imperative informs me of the consequences of what constant charity can do to someone's mind—pride can permanently be replaced with helplessness. People here wait all day for someone to come with big plans and bags of money. When they leave so do the ideas of what that community could be because too much outside influence changes the faith of a community to recognize itself or to understand what is best for itself.