By Waceke (21STARS)

The white lorries had camped at the chief’s office for a week now

Nothing was to be distributed till our leaders arrived from Nairobi

With our dry lips

Cracked feet’s

Wounded body

Empty stomach

Dying livestock

We waited

Waited for the sound of the choppers

The shutter of the camera

The black tinted cars

Movement around the chief’s camp

The long meaningless rallies

We Waited to say ejok noi to our “angels”

We had been starving for a miracle

My Grandmother has lived throughout these shenanigans and has heard sad stories for days

” Sisi akiwa watoto mana siku moja chakula hapana kupewa kwa sababu hakuna camera”

We hated such stories, they made us feel less in our country

She spoke with too much sadness and tears always rolled down her cheeks.

” Wao manakuja kusaidia saidia kila siku sisi hapana omba omba”

“Manatafuta pesa na sisi”

” Sisi iko na mifugo manafaa kukaa chini uko Town matafute solution”

” Dada Nadi, Baba wote manakufa sababu hakuna chakula”

Once she starts lamenting mum sends us away to search for water

” Bibi Acha kuongea hivyo mbele yao hawapendi”

With solemn faces we leave

Asking ourselves questions

” mbona tulizaliwa huku “

” Town wao hukosa chakula like us “

” jua ya uko ni same na ya huku “

Our leaders migrate to town once we elect them leaving us to die with our problems.

Leaving us with no-one to lament to but the seasonal visits from the TV stations crew.

We are always under the water in our country’s hierarchy

Maybe we are not God’s favourites

Maybe, just Maybe one day we will produce enough to satisfy us.

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