Good Neighbours

He was robbed—again—

Inside the manyatta he calls home

He has a big black gate written ‘mbwa kali’ (fiery dogs)

And ‘trespassers will be shot’

We never knew him, he never knew us

But he knew (just as we knew) that somebody lived

Beside where we lived.

From his askari, we were told that

Two gun-toting youths pressed their pistols

On the guard’s bald head and frog-marched him

To the compound.

They locked the gate and proceeded to loot our neighbor

Senseless.

We felt sorry for our neighbour

And told him to pull down the wall

So that through the hedges we might peep

And help in case of danger

And may be ask him what his name is

But here in Nairobi, a good neighbor

Must remain aloof.

C) echoes of the hills/Salem Lorot 2013

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In response to Poets United's prompt of Verse First  'Fences'

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In the village where I have grown up, fences united us, never barricading our existence. Our gates were from a thorn tree which could be pulled or pushed by visitors before they entered our homes. That was until I came to Nairobi. I saw metallic gates, broken glasses on top of perimeter walls and electric fences. At a sprawling posh residence of Karen, I have heard of people being robbed yet their neighbours never heard of it. Times have changed. Fences, figuratively speaking, have ringed our hearts from each other. It is as if we are saying, 'Don't worry about me, I am by myself'. Which is quite ironical. Aren't we interdependent? Aren't we interconnected? Where is "Ubuntu" in all this? Just a thought.