Beggars, and chosers

I met a group of school-aged children by the canal close to my home.

They were jumping off a pier into the water.

'Are you waiting for a boat?' one asked.

'No,' I said.

'Are you waiting for a farang?' another asked.

'No..I am just looking at the water.'

'Are you Thai?'

This boy called me 'Uncle', and gave me a sweet smile.

'No, a foreigner.'

'Can we have money to get home?'

The charm of the moment vanished.

'No,' I said, turning away.

He asked again, in the annoying way that kids do, when they don't get their way the first time.

'If you don't have money to get home, you shouldn't have come out,' I said, as I left the pier.

They looked at me as I walked away.

Later, in the market, a man on crutches saw me standing under a bridge, and hobbled towards me. He made good speed on that pair of sticks - perhaps the fastest he had moved that day.

He held out his hand for money.

'Go away!' I said sternly, and walked off.

I was waiting for a bus. Two Thais waiting for the same bus looked at me.

They might have wondered how farang deal with beggars who put out their hand whenever they see a white face. Now they know.

The market where I live has two full-time beggars. One has a gammy leg, and the other is mentally slow. The guy with the walking sticks is new.

He needs to find his own begging space smartly, or the others might get annoyed.

The one with the funny leg carries a tin begging-can on his travels. While he tends to stick close to the market, I have seen him in another village, 10 minutes' walk away. Have begging tin, will travel.

He must earn enough from begging, or he would not do it. He seats himself in strategic locations, such as where small roads cross at right angles with the footpath. Pedestrians must cross the road first then hop back onto the footpath if they want carry on. He sits himself right on the edge of the footpath, so you have to meet him when you cross.

The southern part of the market gets busy at night, as food stalls open for after-work trade.

The beggars know this, so move down to this part of the market when it gets dark.

During the day, they sit at the opposite end of the market, close to a busy bus-stop which serves students.

They sit on the sidewalk, along with the floral garland sellers, taking up valuable space. Once again, pedestrians have no choice but to pass them if they want to get anywhere.

The one with the tin can gives me a deep wai when he sees me. He presses his closed hands against the top of his forehead. If he shows me plenty of respect, he hopes I will be extra generous.

When I pass by without giving him a thing, he laughs loudly, as if I have just insulted his pride, or he is embarrassed for having bothered.

'Ha ha ha ha!

The one who is mentally slow knows better than to expect anything now. I stopped giving when I realised that every time I saw him, he was smoking a cigarette. If he wants cigarette money, he will have to go somewhere else.

At night, he gets a free meal from the same shop where I order food every night...only I have to pay.

The market does have one other beggar, a hobo type with long straggly hair. I rarely see him. He sleeps by a dirty canal, which is close to a savings bank, but does not get much foot traffic.

He will have to lift his act. I seldom walk down there, and nor does anyone else. If he's not careful, he might have a genuine reason for going begging.