Written like a civilian

So I was going home then my eyes met with a family of three. The father stood holding a large sack of whatever contents with a green stove to the side.
The daughter heavily resembling her mother’s features held something I can’t recall. Her hair was braided and tied to a ponytail. We looked at each other.
Her mother looked on speaking to the father. She sat on the floor. They looked fine to me. They were possibly waiting for a cheap means to go home.
Something nudged me to photograph them; I was too late, the vehicle sped off.
You know sometimes I get despondent with the situations of my country and continent.
Sometimes I get tired of reading Africa news because everything is ugly. Sometimes I don’t glance at the newspapers because it’s always largely glaring at me, “CORRUPTION.”
Sometimes I glance over at people with jobs having no customers and imagine the writing on the wall, “doomed, try somewhere else.”
You know sometimes if you continue to slip into drainage pipes in the CBD with the knowledge that the leader of the area could have, should have done something…you get used to helplessness and become helpless no more. You design your character for Suffering Endurance.
Sometimes I look at my mum and she’s usually frustrated by everything the media says and hear myself replying that “nothing’s gonna change, forget it”

But then the world is in existence of two supernatural forces: good and evil. There is no consequent middle. So then if I choose to remain silent, it isn’t for the good, right?
You know I’ve always wanted to be an activist. But I’m just scared of like getting you know like harassed and jailed?
I guess it then becomes Pretensious Suffering. And still fails to fall in with good.

I’ve always wondered why people bribe and extort public money meant for public good. Some inherent greed of malice and discontentment…I don’t know. Maybe if I suffered heavily for the 18 years of my life, I might know why people steal?
No. I remember I once talked to someone and we both agreed that everyone’s suffering is equal. It’s just the way you look at it. My down and your down are different in content but similar in its deeper meaning.

I think when I’m finally a qualified advocate, I’ll hang a medium-sized photograph of happy African children in my office.
So that if anyone intends to coerce me into bribery or whatnot, I’ll direct them to that photograph and tell them,

“I’m an advocate because I’m fighting for the rights of the incapable voices. This is a selfless walk that I have taken.”

Then we see what happens.









All photo credits to Tumblr.


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