The Plight Of an Urban Poor

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The Plight Of an Urban Poor

Time check, it’s 4 am. Because of the morning drizzles, he hasn’t left to escape the wrath of the beast. The unforgiving mosquitoes, rain drops through the holes aloof, and the loud moans from the neighbor next door made the night go unnoticed.

The land lady has unsuccessfully been hounding him for a week now. She has just arrived, on  the usual time so he stealthy tiptoes through the backdoor, steadily navigating the stinky filthy ghetto gutters.

On the muddy Kampala street, he patiently awaits the would-be customers; standing on tenterhooks, his eyes raving anxiously to monitor the city street authorities preying for his merchandise.

It drizzles on, his soft drinks will not be needed. At least not in this freezing cold weather. It’s a bad day at office already, so he makes his way back home in frustration; speaking in tongues to his unsanguine self.

Dear wife waits on empty stomach since sunrise. She is getting tired of the adversity. Their once blossoming rapport will soon be a fairy tale. She sardonically turns turns away through the cold night.  Until he can put bread on the table, he wont have a piece of the cookie again.

Dejected, his temper begins to flare, at the slightest of provocation. With a bruised ego, he ponders on the next move as the candle flickers. He eventually gets his mind made up. Darling wife will be on the first bus early morning, back to the village until things get better.

On her way, through the wind screen, she stares at the beautiful Kisoro terrain with utter disarray. The cool breeze from the lush green flora massages her now pale stony skin. She curses her ancestor for letting her live under a shit hole regime. With better governance, may be her seemingly lost marriage with childhood sweetheart would be a dream come true.

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Don Herman

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Contact the lead Editor, Kiberu Sharif by phone on +256 703 702 193 or by email address on sharif@talesfromkampala.com