Vignettes on continuity and change in Yerevan

“Assalamu alaykum.”

Nobody had ever approached me in Yerevan and greeted me that way before.

Quite instinctively, I responded, “Wa alaykum salam.”

He was an ordinary-looking man, perhaps around my age, perhaps a bit older. He was balding and wearing dark clothing. A woman in a bright hijab accompanied him, pushing a stroller with a cute toddler. We were about to cross Teryan Street, heading toward the Swan Lake corner by the Opera in central Yerevan.

“I am from Falasteen. Please, would you help …”

I placed my hand on my heart and bowed slightly with a regretful, empathetic expression. That is how I respond most of the time to those who ask for money. I grew up in a society where begging was widespread and often a racket. It’s rare that I can bring myself to give money to strangers on the street. I am always wary, and in a city like Yerevan, I imagine I most likely will run into the same people — as I have over the years come across those who tell the same story and try to sell the same scam. Now, I didn’t know this family at all or whether they were running a scam. But all the same, I couldn’t bring myself to help them.

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