COMPASSIONATE MORNING WALKS

Most philosophers get bright ideas in the morning hours while on the walks, or on ‘shit-pots’. For me both situations had been productive and helpful to my creativity. But one summer sunny day in suburb of London I went out for the morning walk. As I entered the Hendon Park in North West London – there is in the front a small Rose Garden- I heard sobbing sound of someone. Close beneath a small tree, there is a bench and behind that bench a small plate reads: This tree was planted in the memory of Mrs….. who died on ……”

On the bench was a young Afro black man bent on his knees sobbing and covering his face with bare hands. Crying he says “ won’t live without you, Mom.. me habnobody in this cruel world ..no one is mine now ..I am ready to join you Mom..why didn’t wait for me..(howling sound).

I put my hand on the crying man; the man stood up, tears rolling down his cheeks –“she was my mom left me alone in this world – me gona commit suicide” and louder the sobbing continued. If I left him unattended and next day read in the media that he did what he said – my conscious would not let me live in peace.

“ you must have friends? Where do you live..”
“Main, don’t have no friends; no place, and no money..”
“Don’t you know anyone whom you phone to come to take you..”
“Oh, yea, a nom. but no change to put in that f….ng machine..”

I took him to a tele booth and gave him some change ( about 5 pounds sterling) and waited outside.
After a few minutes, he came out and said: “me friend gona come to get me in half hour…” but that he needed some more cash to go by in this lonely world surrounded by the f….ng white peoples.”
“Wait here, I w’d get you some cash”, and I rushed home to collect – had only 20 pounds in house – and ran back to the Hendon Station to meet my young friend from the Third World, reminding to myself : a friend in need is a friend in deed. The Workers of the Third World Unite!

The one ready to commit suicide was smoking a cigarette ( made of hashish I guessed), and was holding a beer can, coaxing the office goers in front of the Tube station. He was asking for small change to make a call to a doctor for his sick mother.

Should one not be compassionate to others in need of help? Should one to tell others of the story lest they be deceived? But then, how would one discriminate between the needy and the cheeky?