Permitted Work
Yesterday Randy showed me some sort of passport-looking document issued here in China with his picture in it. He had just gotten it. It was his Chinese work permit.
I told him that I thought it looked like a passport, and then I remembered I had seen similar books in the possession and in the pans of some of the beggars on the street. I asked Randy if those were their passports. He said, no, those were their work permits, too.
Yup, even beggars are required to have work permits.
The ones I have specifically seen with their permits displayed are disabled people. There's a man, a really handsome man of about 40, who is paralyzed from the waist down, and rides a large tricycle that he powers with his hands (the pedals and chain have been moved up). I have heard from one of Randy's friends here that he has three children, and he and his wife who is also disabled both beg on our street. I think I have seen his wife, a wall-eyed woman with a pretty face and the legs of a polio victim. She can walk with a cane, but not far. They both have work permits in their pans.
There's an old guy with one leg that doesn't work. An old woman with a stump for her left leg. A young man whose face and neck appear to be healed burns, his limbs deformed stumps.
We used to see a dwarf who was either paralyzed or didn't have legs who spent his days sitting on a wooden platform on skate wheels. He had two sticks he used as oars to push himself around. When he was sitting still, Myles would wave and say, "Ni hao." But if he heard the wheels on the sidewalk, Myles would freak out and need to be picked up. We haven't seen him in a while.
But all of these people have work permits to beg in the street. When I learned this I asked Randy if the way they draw their disability. "Could be," he said.
The beggars are part of life here, as they are anywhere. Living with those people I describe above and others like them is not a big deal. They are nice and say hello to us even when we don't give them money. For the first two weeks I didn't hand out a penny. Then one day, my wallet full of 1's and 5's, I decided it was payday on Tai Zi Rd. Everyone that is nice to us regardless of whether or not we put money in their pans got paid that day and semi-regularly after that.
The ones that do not are the beggars who chase us down, nag us, shake a clapper at the door of the bar, or send children at us. I have had toddlers as little as Myles ask for money from me at 10 o'clock at night. Children waiting around restaraunts to take my leftovers (I have given them the food, rather than money, though). These beggars I rarely see in the daytime, either.
Myles has really taken the lead, too, on our charity. Last weekend I had given him two 1 RMB coins for his pockets. He stayed with Randy outside as I ran into the grocery. He saw one of our regular street "friends," a retarded kid, and, according to Randy, fished the money out of his pockets and gave it to him. No prompting on anyone's part. Now Myles is in charge of paying the people on the street. And Myles is just as particular as his dad and I. There is one old man who follows us, shaking his cup, sometimes even lurks at our front door sometimes. The other night, Myles yelled at him, hands in the air, "Can't you see we don't have any money?"
I told him that I thought it looked like a passport, and then I remembered I had seen similar books in the possession and in the pans of some of the beggars on the street. I asked Randy if those were their passports. He said, no, those were their work permits, too.
Yup, even beggars are required to have work permits.
The ones I have specifically seen with their permits displayed are disabled people. There's a man, a really handsome man of about 40, who is paralyzed from the waist down, and rides a large tricycle that he powers with his hands (the pedals and chain have been moved up). I have heard from one of Randy's friends here that he has three children, and he and his wife who is also disabled both beg on our street. I think I have seen his wife, a wall-eyed woman with a pretty face and the legs of a polio victim. She can walk with a cane, but not far. They both have work permits in their pans.
There's an old guy with one leg that doesn't work. An old woman with a stump for her left leg. A young man whose face and neck appear to be healed burns, his limbs deformed stumps.
We used to see a dwarf who was either paralyzed or didn't have legs who spent his days sitting on a wooden platform on skate wheels. He had two sticks he used as oars to push himself around. When he was sitting still, Myles would wave and say, "Ni hao." But if he heard the wheels on the sidewalk, Myles would freak out and need to be picked up. We haven't seen him in a while.
But all of these people have work permits to beg in the street. When I learned this I asked Randy if the way they draw their disability. "Could be," he said.
The beggars are part of life here, as they are anywhere. Living with those people I describe above and others like them is not a big deal. They are nice and say hello to us even when we don't give them money. For the first two weeks I didn't hand out a penny. Then one day, my wallet full of 1's and 5's, I decided it was payday on Tai Zi Rd. Everyone that is nice to us regardless of whether or not we put money in their pans got paid that day and semi-regularly after that.
The ones that do not are the beggars who chase us down, nag us, shake a clapper at the door of the bar, or send children at us. I have had toddlers as little as Myles ask for money from me at 10 o'clock at night. Children waiting around restaraunts to take my leftovers (I have given them the food, rather than money, though). These beggars I rarely see in the daytime, either.
Myles has really taken the lead, too, on our charity. Last weekend I had given him two 1 RMB coins for his pockets. He stayed with Randy outside as I ran into the grocery. He saw one of our regular street "friends," a retarded kid, and, according to Randy, fished the money out of his pockets and gave it to him. No prompting on anyone's part. Now Myles is in charge of paying the people on the street. And Myles is just as particular as his dad and I. There is one old man who follows us, shaking his cup, sometimes even lurks at our front door sometimes. The other night, Myles yelled at him, hands in the air, "Can't you see we don't have any money?"
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