Auma

She was tired of being the hopeless face on prime time news, of having almost one meal a day,
And no otherwise, ways and means to get food, shelter; maybe a pair of jeans because here only dream is to have without begging.

She was excited about being thought equal, wearing trousers, being not only seen but also heard. About the light switches and running water. So she thought up a plan. An exit strategy, a road map, that started with a bus ride to the city.

But she wasn’t ready, for the clever city rats that nibble away a hard day’s work, for the rabid city dogs that bite their own just to get ahead, for the smart city cats that have beautiful fur and sharper claws.

It was there she learned about hard work while cleaning the glass ceilings till she could see right through them, polishing the marble floors till they shone reflecting her face on a backdrop of affluence, wiping down the counter tops till they sparkled the only light she thought she would ever have.

That was where she got sense and saw what lies below the city skyline,
behind the Mic and camera, and found out that designer perfume can sometimes come with a designer stench.

In time she became wise enough, to know the value of a shilling, the power of believing, that man or not, rich or poor, you can only put on one pair of shoes at one time.

So this is the story, of a poor one’s life, pain and tears and inflation. Of being a girl in a city with big dreams and little means and a rare happy ending.

Amare Poeta