You won’t hear about it in the news because it isn’t news. It’s just what’s normal here.
Every day, or nearly so, the clanging sound of metal hitting metal lets me know that someone’s at the gate that surrounds our home, bringing vegetables or fish or charcoal or wooden carvings to sell. It happens often enough that the sound elicits annoyance from me as I leave the stove, or my book, or the couch to answer the call. And often enough, the people are so desperate to sell that if I say “not today,” they’ll plead with me, lowering the price with every word. But occasionally — at least once a week — someone comes to the gate with nothing to sell, nothing to offer at any price. They’re coming, very simply, to beg for food.