I’ll Come Back Someday, My Village People.

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I’m writing this letter to you my village people, I left a few years ago to find a better life in the city,
You offered to escort me to the local bus station, with love, hope and enthusiasm, you waved goodbye at me,
As I boarded the famous king’ang’i travelers matatu, I could hear you voices, wishing me luck as I fought my way into the congested vehicle,
I opened the windows just to get a glimpse of my native land for the last time, the sun was rising in the east, it was beautiful,

As I left the land of my ancestors, a long chain of thoughts was escalating in my mind, I could see the young boys and girls running to school, barefooted,
One boy was holding two pieces of firewood in his right hand, while on the other hand, he hanged a lunch box,
He wore a torn blue short, a yellow shirt and his feet had deep cracks like the ones a new bicycle tire,
On his back laid a blue handmade bag which he used to carry his books, determined to write a future for his coming generations,

Although the sun had risen up, it was still early for anyone to be awake, but that didn’t hinder the little boy from facing his dreams,
As our Journey commenced, the picture of the little boy kept appearing whenever I closed my eyes,
It reminded me of the days of my childhood, how we used to run from home to school, to avoid the burning whip of our deputy headteacher,
How we strained to keep quiet in class, the phobia of finding our names on the class monitor’s death list,

How we struggled to speak in the white man’s language, in fear of being punished by the teacher on duty, for conversing in our mother language,
Life was not easy when we were younger, we used to fight regularly for no reason, just to see who’s the looser in our class,
We loved competing in races, we would run for about five rounds in the field and whoever came last would be nicknamed a “warthog
Now it’s been a decade and half, things are not like they used to be though we’re trying, I’ll come back someday my village people.

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