At Some Point, I Stop Seeing People

He says something unintelligible in a language I don’t understand.

But it was clearly a plea for mercy.

I say “no” or I don’t react at all.

I keep walking.

A little girl tugs my sleeve and motions to her mouth.

I pull my sleeve away and shake my head.

She follows. . . beseeching me.

I quicken my pace.

Her mother urges her on.

The little girl appears to be the designated breadwinner of the family.

But she can’t keep up with me.

“Where you from?”

Asks everyone on the street.

I don’t answer.

I’m told the price is always higher for foreigners, especially Americans.

Everything is a negotiation so you can’t give them any information.

The local men say things to the women in our group.

“You so beautiful”

“Sit there, I want to stare at you”

“Shakira”

They blow kisses and wink.

The women look away and don’t respond.

They keep walking.

This place has a well known scam culture. 

You are told to harden your heart.

A walk through the market becomes a gauntlet dodging shopkeepers and their “best price for you” shtick.

They warn that if you stop for the beggar, or the tout, they will swarm you.

Hands out.

Speaking loudly in a dialect you don’t understand, but you know what they want.

So I don’t stop. . .

I don’t look. . .

I don’t respond. . .

I keep walking. . .

And at some point,

I stop seeing People 😞