Next Life

In our next life, we wish to be rich. No, wealthy to be precise is the correct word. There is nothing noble in poverty. It withers away the day and night, for the invariable sauerkraut of greens. We want to dress nice, without having to sacrifice our meals. We want to travel the world and get enlightened like you. But you see poverty grounds you. It keeps you rooted to one place.

It is never easy when we get back home. Our wives and women would ask why we no longer loved them. It is not our fault. Our minds are always out there in the factory trying to see if we can get that promotion from a janitor to a supervisor, from a cleaner to at-least something better. There have been rumours of job cuts and our pay checks being reduced. We carry that fear every day to bed whenever we go back home to where we can lay our heads.

So we turn to our wives for comfort, but they are always lamenting. That doesn’t worry us anymore because poverty makes you deaf to such unnecessary clutter of noise. It sickens that we have to murder our own. We kill children out here. Crude weapons are used, and with each life an underwhelming sense of despair engulfs you further. We were afraid that we could not give them the life they deserved. Afraid that their lives would be a little bit like ours. Scary it is right?

Our wives and girlfriends would cry. They would say that perhaps God would provide, but we don’t tend to think that things in heaven are easy. But sons have to perish. Poverty makes you an executioner.

Our friends tend to say that we should be more confident, but we ask, “Confident in what?”

Then they would say, “you guys are too sensitive.” They would rant on and on about how women like guys who are bold and courageous. So we went down that path. We wanted to be great like our forefathers. We wanted to be confident, but then we remembered the craters in our trousers. But again poverty strips you off any decency and grandeur you had.

We wanted to be doctors, astronauts, pilots, and those fancy careers one would dream of as a kid. It was where our hearts resided. They said that the youth are just studying for the sake of it. Teaching was only what we could afford. Disenchanted and annoyed we caned the children a little bit harder. Children of nowadays do not perform, but who cares? After all didn’t their parents dump them with us? Poverty makes you aloof.

And what about God? If he is there, I bet he is tired of us. He hides when he sees us, he turns his face away from us. Simply because all we do is always beg. We really do want to thank God, but as soon as we do thank him for the gift of life and free breath, we go back to our delirious ways of begging. I guess he is tired of hearing us beg the same things over and over again.

Our pastor would say, “Thank God for the gift of life son,” but we would tell him, “let us pray for a job first. Our siblings, children, and wives slept hungry again.” Poverty literally makes you a beggar. At times we think of how the Israelites felt when they were promised the land full of milk and honey.

And to the upper echelons, we are sorry we loiter your streets of Kitisuru, Karen, and Runda. We will leave as soon as we are done scavenging your garbage. We hate us too. Yes we hate the stench. Don’t be too hard on yourself, just don’t call the guys from Babylon yet. Give us a five minutes head start. Because the scarcity makes us anathemas.

P.S: Ladies and Gentlemen, the online Bookstore is still up and running. 88,000 Acres of Bad Shit and Boonies are still up for grabs on Maktaba.amwadeghu.co.ke Purchase a copy to keep this heaven running.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *