Kadija was her name; she called me Madam. Kadija begged on a street in Dhaka, Bangladesh where I lived and worked.

The first morning I stepped out of my sixteen-story high-rise, walked past the two guards dressed in matching army green outfits with small square hats, and put my foot onto the unpaved road, she came running from her lookout point, calling to me with her gravelly voice.

“Maaaadaaaam,” she screamed from across the road.

Read more courtesy of Pology.com

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