It felt like an ambush.
I had just paid for a bunch of ripe yellow-orange plantains (“mzuzu” in Swahili) and while zipping up my wallet, there she was staring with restless, eager eyes. Sudden pleasure as well as sadness in those eyes.
“Pee-lease buy me bread. Me, very hungary!”
Familiar English pronunciation on London streets. Familiar females. Long flowery dress reaching ankles, long flowing black hair of Romani gypsies, wandering across this famous city; misfits, professional beggars.
“Get me bread pee-lease. Me, hungary!” she wailed like a repetitive police siren.
We strolled to the East European shop. She knew exactly where to find the loaf of bread. Scooped it like it was in the cupboard of her own flat. As I was about to pay, she laid her hand – jingling musically, with multi coloured bangles- on my shoulder, whispering loudly: “Pee-lease, I know you good man (good man?), buy me water, only 70p.” Seventy pence is not much, of course; however, that was not on the list of what she had initially requested.
Typical Romani gypsy behaviour.
Persistent, coaxing, flattering; rarely backing off.
I walked out; she followed, hand on my shoulder, (akin to a long term girlfriend), speaking about her five children. A huge number during these harsh economic times, packed with unnecessary wars, genocide, political lies and inhumanity. But for these Romani folks who moved from India in the 5th century -and like nomadic Maasais- spread across Europe, hardly uncommon. Not all work or conform to established norms.
The sun was ablaze on this Saturday August afternoon.
“Where is the father?” I wondered.
“He don’t carer. Him. Drinking. Too much. Shit man.”
I said the government helps single mothers (fact).
She said :” I have no papierre…no speak Inglish, good.”
I said the government has translators (fact).
All attempts to steer the conversation towards bureaucracy, towards normality, solutions and possibilities of the system; were rebuffed with pretence that she did not understand what I was saying; that right now all she needed was PESA.
“Pee-lease. Give me moo-ney for milk for my childrens. You, good man.”
There are various types of beggars in London – some sit on specific locations, others travel in trains telling stories or roam and play romantic flowers.
