In these streets, all I see
The cartpuller from the Countrybus, his dilated veins almost bursting under the weight of his cargo
Cans of KEG, some local brew
Beads of sweat on his brow and his shirt is almost drenching, he has to earn a living.
Behind the squeezed stores, the ones displaying phones and other electronics
Half of which is counterfeit, I only see beautiful and sweet-looking girls paraded with inviting smiles and beckoning hands
Tempted to stop but I know they’ll tear me apart, in my world if men are hyenas then these women are vultures
Can’t blame them though, they’ve to earn a living and this economy with it’s hard-eating recession doesn’t give a shit about gender
It’s the only thing treating all people with equality, the landlord waiting and the child growing and still no ring on the finger.
I see the rude matatu conductor delicately hanging at the matatu door, he’s looking out for the corrupt traffic cops and the equally corrupt but ruthless city council officers
Needs to drop off some suicidal passenger, don’t know why everyone almost seems to be in a rush but maybe it’s just earning a living.
I see a half-naked girl with her funny bag that resembles a cunning hare in folklore on her back, obviously a student
She’s swaggering along the pavement, shaking her tiny buttocks with this air of defiance
Earphones deeply tucked in her ears, she must be listening to some Cardi B
Maybe she’s headed home from class or it’s now she’s going to class, or maybe she has skived class and now headed to meet some guy
If so, hope it’s just a boy or some young man
Had enough of these old old men, flossing and tossing money around our young girls
Just like mama would to catch a stubborn chicken, sprinkle some maize grains around the yard.
At the Tom Mboya statue, the late brilliant politician that was assassinated in 1969
Some young couple kissing, they don’t care about PDA
On the other side I see some old lady twitching in shame, probably wondering what’s wrong with these millenials.