Madame, Can You Buy Me Some Lunch?

I am in a rush…
I’ve waited till the last minute, which seems to be my forte, to get to converting money.
Saturday afternoon. My cousin picks me up, he is heading to Westlands, has some afternoon plans I have planned to piggy-back on. We go via the Chiromo route and head to Westlands, cutting across Waiyaki Way at Kempinski. That back route to Westie which back in the day, pre-Kidero closing the roundabout at The Mall, you only ever saw when you were in a jav that was trying to evade traffic.

Do You Look Poverty Straight in The Eye? Or Do You Avert Your Eyes?

When walking home, there is a dirty and desolate-looking man coming your way. He is limping. His right foot is covered by a plastic bag. A dirty plastic bag that has been trudged through mud. His clothes may have been of varied colours once, when they were still dignified, now they are all the colour of dirt, of dust, of poverty, of homelessness. They are the same colour as the sack that is weighing him down. The sack he carries over his shoulder. This sack that likely contains his life’s possessions. Everything he owns, is on his back. The clothing he wears and the sack he bears.