People ask me for money, on average, 12.31 times per day. I took a tally last week, because I was curious. The mean daily score was 12.31. Old, young, maimed, healthy, men, and women alike cry “Boss! Money. 10 Taka! Boss!” raising cupped hands to foreheads in the traditional Muslim greeting. I can’t speak for every westerner in Dhaka, but I have gone through three charitable stages since I arrived in August. For the first few weeks the guilt was a constant source of depression and anxiety. People asked for money and my limbic system flared, signaling an onslaug
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