By Noel Ihebuzor
From their human anthills, cages and hovels, out of these inhuman holes, out of the dark damp cramped cages they call home
They crawl out with subdued rage and hovering hope
At the first suggestion of light
upon a new day
on empty bellies and in unwashed bodies,
on cracked tired broken shoes
they stream forth like angry ants in search of little change but
praying for the big change
In this existence denied of meaning, devalued and wasting
As they scurry to places to sell their hands and feet
They leave behind temporarily a jungle maze
full of the living and the heaving of
empty living but hollowed souls
sucked into the hole of hell by want and still in want
Late in the evening, they crawl back insatiate to their dark damp cramped holes
To rest fatigued souls and aching soles
Every day repeats this same ritual of pain with no gain
Hearts always full of hope, their horoscopes full of hope, for men look in the mirror and see what they want to see…images in mirrors are never neutral
This same cycle and the circle remain unbroken, imprisoning,
crushing and slowly closing in
A vegetating existence has slowly cooked and numbed the soul
Emptying it of meaning and thinning it like the soles of the tired shoes they wear
Poverty soars and flourishes, sours lives, wears hope thin, souls tired and soles worn out
Men and women, adolescents and adults, drifters and hopefuls,
they trooped here from now dimly remembered villages,
their minds and feet seduced by the lure of glory
the haste for gain
Now their souls sad and weary, weighed down and confused
reduced by pain, held by down as if by weights of lead and waste
Rain storms of regret have erased all,
washed away all rainbows from these empty spirits
regret rears strong, sears and cuts deep like a shearer’s knife
the mud filled streams of poverty wash down and away
clearing and carrying away the struggling and clambering feet, limbs and lives
the slopes are steep and slippery and false
on this faulted journey to the portals of plenty and affluence
the streams become torrents, and the torrents rage and
drag down and away
the storms of ruin gather and billow
dirt, dust, rust and rot mingle
dearth and the death of living
the dance of the death in place of life
like the stagger of the club footed , ungainly, clumsy, ugly and pitiful
help comes on millipede feet, fortune just as fast and hope dies just as slow
poverty walks and stalks in tatters and foul rags
time is also a millipede, hope a stunting dwarf
despair blooms and flourishes widely like wild untamed poisonous mushrooms
announces her presence loudly in the echoing rumbles of empty stomachs
fading hopes, festering wastes, dirty deaths, dirt and garbage
priests and pastors, imams, preachers and prophets
conduct their rich rituals as they dispatch the departed
and console the living with tall tales
Life in the crowded spaces of the living is full of rage, red in the tooth,
raw, rough, tough
Human waste runs open, in open drains,
scattered pipes and pumps yawn empty,
cheap card board and brown zinc habitations
sprawl and lean dangerously before habitants who have since stopped to care
The smell of alcohol mixes with the stench of poverty,
mixes with the smell
of airless spaces with exposed excreta, vomit and waste
In noisy cheap bars, cheap perfumes on easy prostitutes
male and female
Hang heavy suffocating with the damp clammy odour of fear that sits heavily on this place of violence that violates
Scantily clad child mothers parade their wares unheeding before
lrogressively inebriated future clients, with dimming eyes and failing judgments
as the venom of booze slowly creeps all over, dulling senses and stirring lust
The flesh trade is fast and flourishes, a lot more than flesh is sold in those short exchanges
Poorly clad children, issues of many such a trade sit around abandoned,
strong glue has fried their brains and slowly freezes their lungs
They observe, hear, see, soak in and absorb all the rituals of pain, shame, want, cruelty and neglect
The streams of life that waters the living flow away and distant
rough and raging torrents of mud dredges rush openly and scar this place of want
rich in misery, eroding living and corroding the soul
And the place goes on
one big dance of opposites
full but empty
alive but dying
urban yet a jungle
more animals and less human
all ready to pounce
They trooped here in droves in search of hope
hopelessness and dope now bind many
in their rage the gun and knife now become a few
and for many the rope calls and ultimately unbinds……
let the sky open like my eyes and see,
may the sky unblock her ears to the cries of pain and shame,
heaven, reach out and wipe away their sighs, their pain
as they hover stunned by the lies of smooth tongues
sky loosen their bonds
bind those who tie up others with their inaction and truthful lies
heaven, unbind these bound tongues, bind those of the binders and wasters
heaven, open a window for these trapped souls
so that sun may shine
sky, open your sides and send showers of calm, of hope
of renewal, to reborn, recreate
let your waters of life wash away the gloom and doom, loosen their grips and unbind
the victims, wash away greed, remove need
let the seeds of hope flourish, hope and possibilities as twins and triplets
let new habitations spring up, homes for humans and hearths for hearts
women and children will be fine
and songs and dances may explode in every throat richly
and tired feet may again dance in nimble and rediscovered elegance of souls filled and fired by fine wine
**** I visited Kibera, Nairobi for the first time in 2004 and returned there on a number of occasions. The intense poverty there never ceased to shock me…and this song of despair and hope, written in 2004 was one of my responses to the strong emotions Kibera stirred up in me.
