What if they're cheating us?

I was down at the pub the other day to catch another football match, and I was just sitting there talking to my mate, when in walked these four gentlemen. They did the customary stuff of ordering their drinks and such, and chose a table which was just right in front us, and started talking in the very distinct Scottish accent of theirs. There was this one among the four who, unfortunately, couldn't find a chair, and therefore he was just leaning against a wall close to the table, and was, despite not having a seat, appearing happy enough to just have the company of his friends. He did look a cheerful enough chap, with a simple T-shirt and track bottoms, and a quite out-of-place bandana on his head.

I did catch some of their conversation, involuntarily I must say, with them being so close to my friend and me. Much of it were nothing interesting, and the smell of smoke from cigarettes in the bar did well to put my mind off anyway. Sometimes they would talk about the game, sometimes they would talk about their jobs and such.

Towards the end of the football match, one of the three men seated at the table suddenly asked Mr. Bandana about the orange band that was on his right wrist (which I hadn't noticed prior to this).
"It's for the tsunami," was Mr. Bandana's reply (that caught my attention). "See, it says 'React. Renew.'"
"How do you know it's for the tsunami?" probed his friend further.
"Because look, it says, 'React. Renew.'"
"Are you sure it's for the tsunami?" repeated his friend.
A short pause.

"Well, I don't actually know..." and before he could finish,
"If you don't know if it's for the tsunami, then why did you buy it?"
Another short pause.

"Well, I don't know for sure if it's for the tsunami, but I think..."
"Do ya know that there are these fellas out there, who might be using the tsunami appeal to cheat ya money?"
"Aye, but that is not my problem. If there are these people out there, if there is any squandering along the line, then it is their fault, not mine. I've done my part. And anyway..."
"You know you might be giving your money to these chea'ers out the-ah?"
"Aye, but...that is not my fault. See, I don't know for sure that they're giving all the money to the tsunami, but I believe in what I was doing, and I believe, that by buying this band, that I was doin' somethin' for the tsunami appeal."
Short pause.

Mr. Bandana's friend did say something back, but that was as much as I can, and need, to remember from the conversation. At that moment in time, I felt like walking over to Mr. Bandana and patting his back. I felt like saying "God bless you, mate" to him. But all I did was smile quietly to myself, and knowing that my heart echoed his sentiment. It would not be very nice for a young man like me to acknowledge that I've been eavesdropping (albeit involuntarily!) to four senior men's conversation, given that none among the four knew me, and taking sides in their small argument by favouring Mr. Bandana, however noble it may seem at the time.

I actually have a personal first-hand experience regarding this issue, and I pray God forgive me for what I did, or rather didn't do. I was in Klang during the middle of 2003, paying a social visit to one of my close friends from college. We were sitting there in one of the shops enjoying the famous Klang "bak kut teh" for lunch, when we were approached by this small, dark, middle-aged man. I knew that he would ask us for money, but I'm the sort of person who would gladly let someone like this finish whatever it is that they wanted to say, before I decide whether to give them my donation or not. I had noticed the doubtful look on my college mate's face, but this man bowed slightly to us, and went ahead with his mini-speech. He showed us his tag (from an orphanage), and told us that should we donate, our money would be used to help those young kids from the orphanage. Then he proceeded to show us some pictures of the children from the file that he had with him, and this single particular picture of a baby lying on his belly and crying rather pitifully caught my eye...and melted my heart.

I don't want to sound too saintly here, but it did melt my heart. My hand started for my pocket on instinct, but my friend kicked me under the table, and shook his head. I looked at the man, who was smiling imploringly. I wasn't strong enough to exert my own will. I shook my head at the man, who did not even have a hint of a look of displeasure on his face. He plainly said "thank you" and walked away.

My friend then informed me that one of his brother's classmate actually did something like this to get some free cash off people, by pretending to be doing something for a good cause, and that I should not believe in these sort of "scams". But I still cannot forget this incident, and every time I think of it, I wonder to myself, just what harm could it have bring for me to disobey my friend and donated as little as RM2 to the man? If he'd had meant to cheat me, then it was not my fault, and good for him, I fell for it. But what if he really was from the orphanage, and that those kids, and the crying baby, really needed some financial help badly? I still hope that if the latter case were true, that God would forgive me. And had directed His help upon the man and his orphanage. I might still be really green towards the ways of the world, but this is perhaps the one time that I believe we should not err on the side of caution.

Every time you meet someone asking you for help of any sort, there is always this little voice inside telling you what to do. Learn to listen to it. If it tells you to go ahead, do. Even if you're cheated (hopefully not badly!), you will still have a clear conscience, that you only did what you believe was right. So go on and help, it won't do any harm will it?

Mr. Bandana, I'm with you. God bless you, mate...

40 pence for 12000 pounds...

I can still remember this small but meaningful incident which happened when I was in London during late September 2003. Having just got back to the UK from KL, and holding a new bank draft for 12000GBP which my dad afforded me, I was running low on cash and I really needed to bank that draft in for me to be able to make sure of the continuance of my survival. I had been in London for a couple of days then, staying with a really easy-going mate of mine, who's always been hospitable enough to house me whenever I'm in the British capital, and trying to look for a branch of the Royal Bank of Scotland around London Town. I tried asking my friend, but as he did not have an account with RBS, he was rather clueless.

So there I was, lingering around London Bridge for about five minutes, because I did remember there was a branch nearby somewhere. Then I decided to take matters into my own hands, or rather my own legs, and try to walk around the area and see if I can locate the branch. I walked for about half an hour, ultimately failing to find it in the midst of the labyrinthine which is London City. So I became a little desperate, and then, discarding my male ego (nah, it's not that!), I decided I should stop someone and ask for help. But everyone seemed to be on their way somewhere in a hurry, as is typical of this particular city, more so as it was then noon time.

So finally I spotted this big bloke, who was having a small stall selling newspapers to pedestrians on the street. I figured he seemed to be a nice looking chap, so I walked up to him and asked him, with full British courtesy of course, if he knew where the nearest RBS branch is. Well, he at first looked a little puzzled, with his thumb and forefinger to his chin, thinking, and then pointing toward Threadneedle Street (where the Bank of England is), said "I think it's over there, I'm not too sure but I think if I'm not mistaken it is over there!" Then before I could respond, he said, "Look, tell you what mate! Would you mind just standing at my stall here just for a minute and I'll go away and ask at those shops and see if anyone knows exactly where it is!"

So off he went, while I became a newpaper stall keeper for that particular minute or two! And I did have a customer, in fact, and she was smiling, albeit looking a little curious, probably suspecting that I was a little too well-dressed to be selling papers on the street, and gently placed her 40p on the table to have a copy of the papers. Before long, Mr. Kind-hearted came back, slightly panting, and said rather jovially, "Yeah mate! It is over there, just next to the Bank of England! If you'd just walk over to the street there you should be able to see it!"

I've got to say I was still a bit cynical at his extreme good will, lest he was expecting me to buy a copy or two of the papers from him or something! So I quickly bade him farewell and, again, much to my pleasant surprise, he even said, "Okay, good luck mate! And have a good day yeah!"

I was really touched. He didn't just guess where the bank was, he went through some trouble to ask for it for me, and without any hint of animosity in him. It is because of this incident that I'll never buy the story of people telling me that the English are snobs and racist. A Turkish barber here in Edinburgh told me last week that 98% of the English are racist. Well, if his "statistical" assessment were true, then I must've been really lucky to have met this WHITE English bloke who must, undoubtedly, be one of the rare 2%.

Humanity is still out there...there are still good people around.