Why I Don’t Give Beggars Cash Anymore

For the longest time, I believed that a beggar who used to sit outside the Khoja Matatu stage was living a tough life. Every morning, he sat on the same stone, wearing the same tired jacket, holding the same sign that basically said, “Help a brother out.” My heart? Soft. My wallet? Even softer.

Every day, I gave him something small. A 10 bob coin here, a 50 shilling note there. Sometimes I even shared some of the mandazi I'd been carrying for 10 AM tea with him, because generosity is my brand.

But then… came the Friday Night Revelation.

I was walking to grab fries from a...