The Humanity Project 2

This is part 2 of a two-part piece. Here is part 1.

**

Stars is easy. People is hard.

We were listening to Terry Pratchett’s A Hat Full of Sky in the car. Amina and Sina were leaning forward in their backseats trying to listen over Rawy yelling rather firmly that he did NOT, in fact, want the story.

But it was such a good story that, after cajoling him failed, we all just vetoed his wailing protests.

The bit about stars and people was the conclusion of Mistress Weatherwax’s longish chastisement of Tiffany. They had just managed to kick out the hiver, a bodiless parasite that had invaded Tiffany’s mind and was slowly taking it over. As Tiffany was recuperating, she was having a hard time knowing what parts of her mind were hers and what were the hiver’s. Wrapped up in all that was a rather complex inner conversation about what it means to be a witch. Whether it was about pointy hats with sparkling stars or getting down-and-dirty delivering babies, milking cows, and caring for old peeps on their deathbeds. Tiffany kept thinking all the latter wasn’t witchy enough and good old no-nonsense Mistress Weatherwax was whipping her in shape.

It was in fact the heart and soul of it, she lectured. Stars is easy. People is hard.

**

Heart-and-soul is what the Humanity Project efforts are all about. I believe that in my bones. But because it’s people work, it quickly gets entangled with the thorny realm of people scruples. I recently got pricked by one of them thorns in some of my interactions with Palestinians.

Here’s a breakdown of a typical interaction. I get a WhatsApp message from an unknown number asking for assistance. I respond with my condolences for all that they had lost and ask how I can help. Often the trouble is with paying the rent. I ask if they have Vodafone Cash. Vodafone is one of three main mobile phone carriers in Egypt. Vodafone Cash is an online payment system that people can use even if they don’t have a bank account. Many Palestinians in Egypt aren’t able to open bank accounts and so most monetary donations are often – so I’ve learned – done either in person or through Vodafone Cash. Still, often Palestinians themselves don’t have Vodafone Cash (I wonder if maybe there is a residency requirement for setting it up?), but they would know some other Egyptian in their vicinity who does. That Egyptian becomes the cash mediator. I transfer the money to the mediator via Instapay, take a screenshot, and send it to the Palestinian who then sends it to the mediator as verification of the transfer. I have done this enough times now that I know the drill.

Recently though, one atypical interaction got me wondering for the first time if I’m being scammed. It was from an unknown number from Palestine (with a +970 country code). That was with a Palestinian in Gaza asking for help with food. His kids were starving and he couldn’t get food because what little food there was, was extremely expensive.  I felt for him but wasn’t quite sure how I could help seeing that I was in Egypt and he was in Gaza. But he kindly explained.

There is a guy in Egypt that I could transfer EGP to. Then he (the Egyptian mediator) sends it to some office in Gaza where the Palestinian can cash it out as Shekels. And use it to buy food. There were one too many details that didn’t quite add up – like the very process of how he gets the money, or the EGP-Shekel exchange rate, or the price of a kilo of cucumbers. I didn’t want to seem insensitive asking too many questions but the whole thing was a bit sketchy. But I also know that for Palestinians in survival mode, sketchy’s the name of the game. This episode of This American Life does a good job of capturing just how depressingly farcical things can get.

Still, red flags were instinctively raised. And just as instinctively, guilt immediately followed. I think because the whole interaction was with a Palestinian, I experienced it as morally stickier than I otherwise would have. So I suppressed the doubting part and transferred the money. And wrote up a little message to share with friends and family so others could help too if they could.

The guy was so grateful, he sent a little video of his grandson – a scrawny little dude sitting in a lonesome chair surrounded by rubble - shyly saying “thank you khalty (aunt) Dina”. And then his wife sent a video walking me through he destroyed apartment. That snuffed out any shred of doubt I had about them being real. And I was so freakin relieved that my red flags didn’t trip me up into cynical disengagement.

But then sometimes them red flags are harder to ignore. Like the time with Hanaa, a Palestinian woman in Egypt trying to find help with rent. This whole incident is still raw. Like the other interaction, it also had a hectic sketchy vibe to it. But again, initially I suppressed the nagging feeling. Since I couldn’t actually afford to fully sponsor her rent, I tried exploring other ways to support. Did you work in Gaza? I can try to help you find a job. She said she didn’t because she didn’t need to. All she needed now is rent and then she’ll go back to Gaza. She had mentioned a daughter. I asked how old. I might have clothes and toys that she can have. She politely declined. All she needs is rent. I shared her plea on the Humanity Project group and said people should contact me if they are up for divvying up the rent. Someone DM-ed me saying they can sponsor her so I connected them and thought that mission accomplished.

But then right after, Hanaa texted me again. Could you please loan me anything one sister to another? When I asked about the other person, she said it’ll take them a couple of days to help. I decided I would just donate a portion now and let the other person know just so that all parties are on the same page. I asked Hanaa for the Vodafone Cash number and she sent me a screenshot of a card with the number. I was about to transfer when it suddenly occurred to me that I could call that number. Just to check who that person was. So I called. But was greeted with a message saying that number doesn’t exist. I told Hanaa the number isn’t working and she immediately sent me another screenshot of another number. I tried calling that one. Same thing. My doubts were swelling but so was my guilt.

I then decided to call the other person who had reached out willing to help. She answered and I asked if she had experience with this type of interaction before. She said yes though never through Vodafone Cash. The other time she had personally met the family and handed them cash in their hand. I unceremoniously started balling with this stranger over the phone and shared with her my doubts about Hanaa. She calmed me down some and encouraged me to meet with the person first. That was a good idea.

I texted Hanaa.

I won’t be able to transfer the money till we meet. Let’s meet tomorrow at 11 am at Tahrir Square infront of the Mogama’. There’s a metrostop there and if you ask anyone they’ll guide you. Also, can you send me a picture of yourself so I recognize you when we’re there?

Hanaa went completely silent. She was texting and ringing me nonstop for two days before that point. But I never heard back from her since. That was maybe 2 weeks ago.

I’m of two minds as to what happened. She (or he, for all I know. I never actually talked to her) was an impostor, likely Egyptian, using Palestinians’ plight to make money. A trauma pirate. Or. She’s actually a Palestinian in need and was offended by my request to meet her in person. I doubted the other guy in Gaza at first too, but he turned out to be legit. She could be legit too. I don’t know. And I don’t know how I can know.

I felt a rather unsavory brand of fatalistic skepticism growing in the shadows of my increasingly foggy and jagged moral landscape. And with it came guilt again. Another disagreeable beast. But being skeptical was a luxury that people who needed help couldn’t really afford. And who the heck was I anyways to decide who was legit and who wasn’t.  I was suddenly paying too much attention to the tickings of my internal clockwork. It was draining. Disorienting. And worst of all distracting.

**

That was where my head was at when we were listening to Terry Pratchett. And I found Mistress Weatherax’s lecturing of Tiffany’s own brand of skepticism particularly relevant and therapeutic. It helped me shake it off. It’s ok to be wary. Inevitable. But I shouldn’t let it spoil my spirit. With slightly thicker skin, I scanned the Humanity Project group again.  Found another request for assistance. A mother with a 10-month-old needing diapers, formula milk, and baby clothes. Baby just had heart surgery. So, I grabbed Beano and the stuff and headed to the National Heart Institute in Giza.