The Shoe-Shine Boy

"Brother don't you cry
We're going to be alright
Open up your suitcase when you get there tonight"
 - We Can Always Come Back To This, by Brian Tyree Henry


  When the little boy asked to shine by shoes, I was so accustomed to being accosted by requests from strangers, I said no simply as a reflex.

  I was sitting at an outdoor cafe with two friends. The square in front of the Presidential Palace in Quito is a popular tourist spot. I've been told on many occasions to watch for pick-pocketers.
  Aside from petty theft, expats like me are often seen as opportunities for commerce, therefore a moment before the shoe-shine boy approached me, a man tried to sell me little wooden toy cars and a woman held up an armful of colorful scarves. I had shaken my head and said, "No, gracias," to each of them, returning to conversation with my friends as the vendors ambled away with their wares.

  Then, the little boy came back. "Por favor," he said, pointing at my brown lace-up boots. He looked at me with such sad, worn-out eyes for such a little boy. Eight years old, maybe? So young to be out working.

  (Confession: I've never had my shoes shined. Something about someone else kneeling before me and polishing my leather shoes feeling uncomfortable to me, as though I'm the rich and royal white-privileged gringa, taking advantage of having not been born into poverty. However, as many people here rely on street jobs such as shoe shining, perhaps, in all honestly, I should simply get over it.)

  The boy's left shoulder drooped, his small hand clenched around the handle of his worn wooden box of polish and rags. Black grease smudged his face. It was 2:00 in the afternoon. I wondered, had he gone to school in the morning (for here, public schools have half days because there are more students than schools and teachers) or had he been working all day, eyes downcast as he scoured the streets for shoes suitable for shining, his low, tired voice asking and asking and receiving more rejection than affirmation?

  The boy stood there, doggedly pointing at my shoes beneath the cafe table. I reached down into my purse and pulled out an apple. (Not some magic trick or chance; most mornings I drop an apple in my purse as a snack). I handed the apple to the boy and in a flash he was gone. Just grasping the shiny fruit and saying, "Gracias," as he turned away before I could think to do anything more.


  I keep thinking about that little boy. Specifically, how I didn't really see him the first time he came by. Ironically, the very reason I was there in the touristy square that day was to look for invisible people. After hosting two Christmas parties for women in prostitution, my friends and I had learned that some of the women worked in that square, so we had ventured there with Valentine's cards and chocolate cookies I made the night before. Usually (after much practice), a working woman is easy to spot by how she stands and dresses, but among the many people milling about the open square and sitting on benches, it was difficult to tell who was who. Finally recognizing a couple of women from the party, we had asked them to direct us to others (awkward when we got it wrong). Until then, the women had been invisible. I had been in that square countless times to visit favorite coffee shops, yet had never known the women were there among the crowds, had never seen.

  So it was with the little boy. Many of the Casa Gabriel boys had worked like him, often receiving beatings when they didn't bring home "enough" change from their long day of work. If I gave them money, was in, in the long run, helping or hurting? In the past year, the government had put up billboards actually asking people to NOT give handouts to children working and begging because they should be in school, thus to give them money out of pity was enabling the parents of the kids to continue sending them out for a day's worth of coins instead of a life's worth of education. A hard decision to make when one is hungry, certainly, however too often the money was going to supply an addiction of drugs or alcohol, not food. With the number of kids on the streets, for the government to say, "Find another way. Education first", was an unheard of step towards trying to break the cycle of kids who grew up to have no more options than their parents did because they'd never gone to school.
  Yet with all that aside, I sadly admit that with the daily, exhausting barrage of requests (entertainers and salesmen on every bus and street corner, plus approaching me in parks and restaurants) I had become somewhat numb. I can't say yes to everyone, so instead, much of the time, I've simply said no.

  The shoe-shine boy reminded me to start saying yes more often. Maybe that yes would just be with fruit or snack bars (to keep with the government's request against monetary gifts) but it would be something.

  Whether they are shoe-shine boys or working women, may they not be invisible. May I remember how privileged I am, and give them consideration, give them what I can instead of a blanket shake of the head. May we all be seen. May we all see.