Written By: Ola Eliwat
“This weather loves hot chocolate with marshmallows!” That was the message I sent my friend as I sat in the car waiting for my father, cuddled up in the warmest clothes I have and yet feeling my feet freezing.
I thought after the woman gave him the money he would come and tap on my window, and how much I hated that thought! But to my surprise, he just crossed the street and stood with his back to some car. I don’t know what he could’ve been waiting for. After a moment’s hesitation, I opened the car’s door and waved him over. He scurried to the car and came to a stop within a few feet from me.
I asked him what he was doing out there in this cold weather, but he didn’t answer me, or maybe he did but I was too appalled by his cold-stricken appearance to hear it. Then, I asked him how much he has to earn to be able to go home. He said, and these are his exact words: “They take 1JD”. I offered him a deal, that if I gave him the money he would go home, to which he gave a nod of consent, his lips still quivering and his eyes having a certain look of desperation, the only thing I could read in his frozen features. Before he stormed off, I asked him if I could take a picture of him. After he was gone, it occurred to me that I didn’t ask him about his name, his parents or who on Earth were those “They” he referred to, and I felt a stormy feeling of guilt for asking to take his picture and how that could’ve made him feel.
One dinar. One frozen, rain soaked dinar.
I’m not good, I’m not a hero. I bought marshmallows for 2JD’s and this little boy needed only 1JD to go home. A home that probably is not much warmer than the streets he was roaming. A home that he obviously needed to leave in order to collect 1JD.
One bloody, precious dinar.