Kennedy
I first met Kennedy after another long day in the city where I had once again been unsuccessful in most of my endeavors. And I was in a foul mood.
I was on my way home and peeved that I had to make yet another stop. Why couldn't there be fast food drive-thrus like the "civilized" country I had come from? As I gathered my purse, cell phone, and list, Kennedy approached my car. I had already shooed away the men selling socket wrenches, DVDs and talk time. I didn't have time to deal with this kid too. I'd always managed to dodge him before. This time though, he was there before I even got out of the car.
"Madam, ground nuts?" he asked in a nearly inaudible voice.
"No, I don't want any."
"Only 5000, madam." I did the math in my head. That was about a buck for what looked like 3-4 pounds of peanuts.
"No, I don't want any," I repeated a bit more sternly.
"Madam. Please." He said it with such a sad, pathetic look on his face.
"No, I'm allergic to ground nuts." That wasn't really true. Just intolerant, not allergic. And I don't really like them anyway. Thinking I was safe, I stormed off into the Castle Supermarket.
It was nearly dark when I reemerged loaded down with groceries. In a country where the average worker earns 10,000 ZMK per day, I'm sure I had just spent 100,000 ZMK ($20) without a second thought.
I had already reversed my car out of the parking space when he showed up at my open window.
"Please, madam, I need money to buy notebooks for school."


