The poor at my door

This evening Thomas* came to my door again AGAIN. It has been a while since he was here so I guess I shouldn’t be too upset but I certainly wasn’t too happy. What can I do for him? Is he lying again? What difference does it make? whether I help and whether he is lying?

I listened to what he said – that he had worked for thirty days, but that his manager had told him not to come back for seven days. Now, three days further down the road the family went without food again AGAIN. Why his father wasn’t taking part in the governments 100-days work programme that all the poor are part of – he was drinking. Why he didn’t have money after three days without work – they only paid sixty taka a day. Why he had been asked to not come back to the brick field where he had worked – don’t know.

I know the owner so without thinking much about it I called him. I didn’t get to say anything except that Thomas was in my living room. The owner asked me to give Thomas the phone and after a few minutes of talking to Thomas, the owner told me that Thomas had not been turning up for work, and when he had it was often late – but he could come back tomorrow.

Why he hadn’t been going every day – because it was hard work. Why he hadn’t gone on time – it was early in the morning or not enough time to eat.

There is no doubt that the manager is less than pleasant to work for, that they treat Thomas like a dog and that he probably can’t do things well enough for them, but the owner of the kiln has given other children the chance before and helped them learn to drive a tractor, helped them get skills that would help them get good work elsewhere. I am sure the owner isn’t easy to work for either.

I asked Thomas whether he wanted to become like his dad or take the abuse he gets in order to make sure he doesn’t. I also ask him to make sure he was at work by seven tomorrow and every day from now on, since I had risked my prestige by asking that he get his job back.

I didn’t tell him I was as surprised as he that that is what the brick kiln owner did when all I wanted to know was whether Thomas was telling the truth when he said he had been asked to not come back for seven days.

I wish I could choose which poor people come to my door; if that had been the way it worked perhaps Thomas would have had the choice not to be one.

*(Thomas’ real name isn’t that; he is no more than 15 years old.)