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.
