Tororot Save Mombasa!

Yesterday, the 26^th June, was the International Day against Drug Abuse and Illicit Trafficking. The day is an important one especially to Kenya. At the Coast of Kenya, drug abuse is a big issue. And from what has been reported in the media, illicit trafficking is also a big issue. It is so unfortunate that so many young persons have had their dreams go up, quite literally, in smoke. Mothers and wives are the hardest hit. Drunken husbands and wasted sons are every mother’s nightmare.

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his glazed, drunken eyes

barely open to the world shut before him;

his bony palms, arms jutting from the shoulders

like a marionette controlled by an amateur

the slow, sluggish mutterings of a disjointed being

held together by the buckle of an oversize belt and jeans

a torn t-shirt, worn out by cold weather and misery

teeth, like the face of a toothless character, stained

foul breathe stinking to the high heavens

you will find him in dark alleys

chanting incantations to the wall,

or as his body would direct

talking to stray malindi cats

at one time he was found sitting inside

a scrap car, humming an engine sound

shouting to the cops and cursing the other drivers

he also walks around with his abbot physics book

talking about ohms law and electrolysis

evidence of a fertile mind wasted

i just look at him, follow him around,

those eyes once had that spark

fixed on a shining star

his palms and arms once had vigour,

flowing with warmth and life

he once talked in rapid sentences

linking ideas into a philosophy

that was stringed in his want of change

he once was conscious of his being

or of what he wore or of his mouth

he once walked on the clean pavements

like the rest

but now, i look at him

he is living dead, shackled by cocaine,

his arm, injected  so many times, is dark

when he has his senses, he tells me,

“aisee, mihadarati si nzuri nakwambia,

niulize mimi, hata usijaribu, mimi miaka 9 nimeshindwa”

“friend, drugs are not good, just ask me,

never try them, i have tried leaving it for the last 9 years”

then he walks away, enters his “car”

and drives away

and something like a hot coal burns in my oesophagus

i feel like to scream, and under my breath,

i mutter: “Tororot save mombasa!”