We passed through Masaku streets in the dark. We heard a quavering voice from a young, hopeless soul.
We were never brave enough to go rather than to listen to a word of that hopeless creature.
We stood as he started to speak, “I was born in the west in a family of two. My mother was my father and mother at the same time. I never saw chalk that writes on board, a fork that eats fried meat, a key that opens a big house, and a television that shows reports on an initiative like msaada kwa wote. We were all created by God, but my situation never proves that to me. The only hope I had was my mother, the worst begun when death took my mother and left me alone. The only hope I had was gone.
Life is hard when no one is there for you when the only friend you have is you when the best thing you can do is crying, but the bravest thing I think I ever did was continuing my life when I wanted to die. My mother once told me, when things go wrong, I should not go with them. That was the only say that keeps me going. Now, here I stand, having nowhere how on where to go. My stomach is already crying for me while I am in tears for the world. Mama, the world you left me in is full of torture; just come for me.”
Nothing can cure the soul but senses, just as nothing can cure the thoughts but the soul. Tears are words that you need to write on.