November 7, 2022

“I don’t recall how long I have been a hawker, but I know there isn’t a street in this city that I haven’t passed through hundreds of times. I have gone into every neighborhood while daydreaming. They have called me different names since I remember; the children call me the “old man” and the women call me “the hawker man.” And sometimes, they even call me the Cheerful Hajji. The names don’t matter to me; selling my products does. I’m happy when I see an old man and sell him nail clippers; he prays well for me, or when I sell a pencil to a child, and they run to the end of the street in happiness. Differentiating and recognizing people is not hard for me; I have been going through these neighborhoods for a long time, and I can separate the good from the bad ones.”