African Damaged Goods

African Damaged Goods
Bolgatanga, Ghana West Africa
Sunday, September 2, 2007

This woman sits in the streets, the rains come, the world passes her by, she stops being a person, she becomes an object, she is African Damaged Goods.

This women is difficult for me, there is a small dysfunctional hook in my brain that needs to save women. I know this exist, I am fortunate; I know where the path leads.

She sits, mumbled, jumbled, wrapped in cloth, eating rice with her fingers, scraping the gourd bowl. She is nuts, crazy, over the edge, I am happy someone gave her food, I wanted to give her money, she does not ask, I do not force a person to be a beggar, they have to make the choice, I am worried. The worst of the worst, do not ask for money, they are over the edge, they need approached.

Orphans, and street children, small urchins I have not found in Africa, they grow up to be big urchins, not my worry, I do not think about children. However, I do worry about the certifiable crazies walking around naked, confused, mumbling, talking to the Gods, the stars, and I pray not to me, too dirty to touch, to much to endure.

Orphans have no parents, they will survive, this person has no mind, she has stopped being a person, she is now, African Damaged Goods. Hell, I do not know what she needs, I cannot save her. I saw her the first morning after a huge rain, lying at this junction in the road. What does it feel to be in the street, wet, raining, and not have sense to climb into a hole, or maybe she is afraid, only the street will allow her to sit, there is no safe place for her.

What does she need, a plastic bag to cover herself, a blanket, money, what does she need? I have a meter of cloth, I was going to make it into a shirt, I will give it to her, I want her to feel warm, I feel cold.

African Damaged Goods