Saddest Thing Ever

While on my way home from a dinner at my in-laws, I crossed the saddest scene ever on Hamra. A cart with turmos had fallen over. You know, the yellow beans they sell on a carton dish, with cumin, salt and chunks of lemon? (Some call them lupini beans.)

And in between the yellow beans and lemons, strewn over the cobblestones, sat an older gentleman, grey haired, in his sixties, if not more, crying.
He was dressed very decently; dark pants, striped shirt. And there he sat, while the police looked on, and the traffic tried to navigate around him; crying.

I don’t know how his cart had fallen over. Maybe it had tipped over when he tried to navigate the side walk. Or maybe in a scuffle with the police. This type of commerce is no longer allowed in Hamra, and there was a police car next to him.

Anyway, there he sat, in between his turmos beans, his head in his hands. Crying. A man old enough to be your father. Or your grandfather. That a man at that age still has to walk the streets at night, trying to sell beans at 2,000 pounds a dish. Somehow the scene broke my heart. Maybe it was because everyone was hurrying home, it was dark, and with the thought of warm, well-lit house waiting for you, this man in the dark, under the street lamp, crying over his beans, really did it.

I stopped and got out of the car to give him money. And who do I spot there? My hubbie on his bike. Also giving him money. And so were several by-standers. They all stuffed some bills in his hand. He got up, and the police escorted him away, leaving his beans on the street. And while I walked back to my car, I still saw some people hopping out of their car, giving money, and driving on.

I hope he made his money tonight. I think he did, probably twice as much as he would have selling beans.

The Lebanese can be so good at times.