The Passage to India

The next morning we woke up early. Our plane left at around 7:00 o'clock a.m. and took us from Egypt to Germany and then onto India. The trip only seemed to be starting. I felt that familiar feeling in the pit of my stomach that I was about to experience something novel and exciting. And there was a slight feeling of apprehension, India was a far cry from the modernity of England and I didn't have the comfort of reading about it before hand from a textbook like I had about the Land of Pharaoh.

The adventure begin as we grouchily entered the airport. For there was an army of men in blueish-gray track suits, with vacant and hungry looks on their tan middle-eastern faces. They swooped in on the foreign travelers, insistent that they take your bags to the security check point, a mere 100 meters away. The first man, with a slightly unshaven face, easily took our bags with barely more than a nod. Since we were by now quite used to first class service, we assented happily, although Jeff told me that he was down to his last 2 Egyptian pounds (which is about 40 cents).
After passing through the security gate (in which they scan your bags before you check in), two men with particularly desperate looks on their faces, raced up to our cart and despite Jeff and my refusal to give up our cart (because we had not money for tips) literally pushed me away and walked our baggage the last 50 meters to the first class check out line. Somehow they didn't believe Jeff when he told both the large and burly and the scrawny and angular one, quite frankly, that he did not have any money left. Undeterred they waited for us as we checked in our bags, determined to get their 50 cent tip.
With sheepish looks we again told them that we really and truly did not have any cash to give them. They countered with a slight vehemence that we go to the ATM to get more money. This was something Jeff was resolute against. He would have to withdrawal a large amount of money from a country that he no longer needed currency and on top of that, pay for the fee to use the ATM. It would have been highly wasteful. Yet, even still they dogged us.
Jeff told told the larger and the smaller man that we would go into the first class lounge, to put down our carry ons, and we would try and come up with some money. They doubted us, and with a whine in their voice said that we wouldn't come out and that we were cheating them. Awkwardly, again we gave them our assurances that would do our best and that we were not just trying to get rid of them.
After entering the lounge, Jeff began a thorough search of his bags, looking for any spare change that he could give them. Triumphantly he pulled out 500 rial from the country of Oman. He smiled, and told me that this would be perfect. He thought that it was worth about 20 dollars and that I could go exchange it and give the two very persistent men their tip.
Timorously I walked out of the door, to be greeted by two shocked and stony expressions. They evidently had only waited around to prove that we had lied to them. They quickly jumped up, eagerly expecting what they by now had imagined into a large tip. I told them, somewhat defensively, that I had to go to the money exchanger before they would be paid. So I strode up to the money exchanger's window and confidently asked the 500 rials to be changed into Egyptian pounds. The money exchanger looked at the banknote and with an early morning ridicule said in broken English, "This is worth nothing. Nothing!" He clearly thought I was an idiot.
Abashed, I tried to explain to the two men that that money was the last chance, the last option, and verily I had no other money to give them. With a great deal of grunting, dirty looks, and probable Egyptian swear words under their breath, they demanded that I at least give them the Oman rials. With a genuine, feeling of guilt, pity, and helplessness I handed it them.

And it was with that, that I truly had to do deal with the fact that there are those who are the haves, and there are those who have not. It was no longer some distant, cold or sterile idea that I could imagine with my limited experience. As I walked back into the first class lounge, it was at hand, it was up close, it was warm, and terrifyingly alive. For days--even to this day-- those two men haunted me with their piercing eyes, and persistent pleas for the 50 cents I did not have to give them. This was the tone that was set for the passage to India.