Because  I  Can:  The  Ethics  of  Giving  

By:  Princess  Chukwuneke,  FCRH  2015  |  Major:  General  Science  

 

 

Abstract:  

In  this  essay,  I  describe  my  experience  with  reciprocity  in  rela6on  to  the  poor,  the  sick,  

and  the  homeless.  I  also  highlight  how  these  experiences  helped  inform  my  understanding  of  

my  personal  and  social  obliga1ons  to  the  poor.    

When  I  was  eight  or  nine, it made me uncomfortable that my mother frequently gave

money to beggars on the roadside. I didn’t understand why she had to be the giver. There were 1

so many other people in Lagos who could donate to the poor. I would often mock her, saying that

she was trying to replace Florence Nightingale. I also found it silly that she would give her hard-

earned money to people who didn’t work and showed no prospect of ever returning her favor.

Her actions also bothered me on a physical level. Being in the same vicinity as poor, dirty, and

sick beggars embarrassed me. She would give the beggars money where they gathered at a

clearing opposite my school gate, making me nervous that someone who knew me might see us

associating with the poor. Before long, I became not only irritated with her gesture, but also

angry at its recipients. How could she freely hand these strangers money and then respond in the

negative when I requested for something that cost far less? Wasn’t I her child? Shouldn’t I be

valued first above anyone or anything else? I selfishly thought that since I was a gift from God to

her, she should care about my needs before the needs of others. More importantly, I believed that

if the poor couldn’t offer her anything in return, they didn’t deserve her money or attention.

The Oxford English Dictionary defines beggar as “one who asks alms, especially habitually; 1

one who lives by doing so.” Because this word is used frequently in Nigeria, this is the definition I apply throughout the essay.

As I got a little older and began to pay attention to the teachings in church, I was positive

that I had discovered the reason behind my mum’s actions. Surely, she was just following Jesus’

command to treat our neighbors as ourselves and spread His love around. My mum was

following a set of instructions from God, so who was I to question her behavior? But one day, I

wanted to make sure she understood exactly why she was giving, so I asked her: “Mummy, why

do you give to beggars?” She smiled at me and said, “Because I can.” I couldn’t believe what I

had just heard, so I asked: “So this has nothing to do with being a Christian and loving your

neighbor?” And she replied, “I’m glad that Christ’s words align with my actions. It shows that

I’m doing something right.” That answer did not sit well with me. What was right about dragging

me along with her on the embarrassing beggar stops? What was right about these people calling

my mother,“mummy?” Why did my mum make promises to see them again every week? What

claim did they have on my mum’s arduously-earned money? My anger burned up again. Giving

tithes and offering in Church made more sense to me because I felt that tithes and offerings were

thank-you messages to God, who in return provided more money to the giver. But these people

on the streets weren’t giving my mum anything. And since my mum had all but admitted that her

actions weren’t tied to a Christian duty, I stayed conflicted about them.

My view of the poor remained stagnant within the boundaries of my naïve understanding,

and I refused to change its status. I looked at the poor only from the perspective of a rich girl

who felt that her mother’s wealth should serve the family and never anyone else. I thought that

one should only give time, love, money, or even support to those who reciprocate in kind. If I

gave out birthday cards or gifts to others, my understanding was that I would receive material

goods from those people at some point. If I cleaned up the house when my parents were away, I

did so because I expected praise from them when they returned. This system of reciprocity was

ingrained within me. Many Nigerians who got top-paying projects or jobs seemed to receive

them as a favor for something else they had done for their employers. Government jobs were not

always given on merit, but on who had done what for whom. In my classes, boys didn’t just call

girls ‘cute’ as a compliment. Usually, the two involved in the exchange would be a ‘thing’ a day

later. Birthday invitations also only went to those who had been nice to or were friends of the

celebrant. Nothing ever went for nothing, and this system of exchange is exactly how I perceived

the world.

I took my grudge against the destitute right into boarding school. I’d watched my mother

toil daily through the stress of the abominable Lagos traffic, the stress of her 12-hour office job,

the stress of taking care of a home with a relative with schizophrenia and a husband who retired

early for health reasons. How could she then give the money she worked so hard for to people

who did nothing except sit down all day? Because she can, she’d said. What did that even mean?

When volunteering opportunities opened up to me in my first two years of Junior Secondary

School, I refused to volunteer. I had put lepers, orphans, street beggars, and the homeless into

one big box, which I labeled: Do Not Help. Little did I know that a year later, I would be boxed

in along with them.

In my third year of Junior Secondary School, my world changed when my mother lost her

job. I felt for the first time what it was like to be in need. I knew the pangs of hunger and the

anxiety of wondering if I would be homeless, but I remained caged in the shame and fear of

telling anyone about my situation or asking for help. This experience taught me a lesson about

humility and has since then informed my understanding of my personal and social moral

obligations toward the poor, the sick, and the homeless. I’ve learnt that in life, I will always be

somewhere on a ladder. But contrary to what my younger self thought, my stability is not

guaranteed. I may not always remain on that rung. I may fall or even end up at the very bottom

of the ladder. Regardless of where I am on it, humility means that if I am able, I can always

extend a hand to the people around or below me as a support or to pull them up from where they

are. More so, that I should never expect anything in return. I am in a better place since my mum

lost her job, but the lessons I learnt along the way still direct my actions. Now, if I’m faced with

an opportunity to assist the helpless, I ask myself if I conceivably have the adequate resources to

give. If I do, then, why not? It’s never as simple as that, and I often still struggle with putting my

time and energy into things that will not be profitable to me. However, I’ve built a workable

system for myself, which is the best that I can do as a human. And I do my best to live by it. I

should help those in need or those suffering who are too afraid to ask for help or who live each

day without expecting anything from anyone. I should challenge this system of reciprocity

wherever I find myself. I should help, as my mum said, because I can and not for any other

ulterior motive.