Not many years ago, I was shopping near an urban market. Along the street, on the edges of the sidewalks, people place tarantines to sell a wide variety of merchandise and products from the countryside; extending the activity of the market, two or more blocks around, beyond the buildings where it works. Within the market facilities, those who sell there are officially designated as consignees: they are qualified as merchants. Outside, on the street, other vendors are located; but, they are assigned another typology, they are called informal economy workers. Perhaps this is due to the fact that the activity of these informal workers is more difficult to control and obtain their taxes. I walk through that sector; Suddenly I heard a kind of barely audible but intense screeching. I searched with my eyes and could not locate where the sound came from. When I look down, I see a disabled lady, with crutches, who was less than a meter tall; but... With that trickle of her voice she shouted, well that's what she intended, since, with a lot of effort, she could barely hear her trickle of voice. The poor, helpless woman was selling handmade bags, the kind typically used to carry groceries from the market. With great effort she also aspired to sell her product; because hardly anyone could hear her in the midst of the bustle of a place like that: with so many people at the same time offering her merchandise loudly.
The situation of that poor lady shocked me. I forgot what I had to do. I stayed like two hours prowling and snooping around her; without losing sight of such a little lady; she did not give up on her efforts. As I suspected, in all that time no one bought from her. I went up to the little lady and asked her to sell me three of her bags and walked away. After a few months, I saw the little lady again; This time, she no longer sold anything, but instead, with a metallic pot that clanked against the edge of the sidewalk, she begged for alms. Just like on that occasion, when she sold her bags, no one paid her the slightest attention, no one even looked at her and she was still there banging on her bowl and begging for mercy from one of us, with her little voice . I gave her some money and left. I have never been back to that place. But, once in a while, like today, I think about those events. It never ceases to amaze me, the tenacity of that poor woman. She didn't give up, she fought, she didn't complain, she tried again. But she faced two great miseries, which she could not overcome: the first, given by her physical condition, really helpless of her; the second, presented by the indolence of those who surrounded her at that time.
