Mr. Mkubwa

Last night my four kids and I
Slept hungry, on the aisle
Yes sir, that aisle that your Passat passed by
You dint see me, your tints hid my crying.

Oh and did I tell you my son goes hunting
Yeah, he just turned 13
Hunting? I meant fending.
You see I still use this language
That my mother taught me in the village

Sons went hunting, girls stayed cleaning
But I heard a word that you had invented machines
And you needed people to be working.
Problem is a thousand and more beings
Ran from all over, for your one machine.

Who was I to be left behind?
I carried what I could find
Child on back, hope in mind
I had to work at the machine
My children needed to eat.

I came here and the tall buildings caught my attention
Shifting focus for a mention, ‘What a construction?’
Then my babe burped, I shook, had to continue my mission
My daughter, on the glass, fascinated by her reflection.
My sons taken by your automobiles’ emissions.

Long short, I came short
No machine, vacancies fort
‘Mama, wewe taka nini hapa?’
‘Kazi hakuna, kazi kwisha, kwenda kabisa.’
You have to be kidding me
‘Unajua nimetoka wapi?’

So here I am, here we are
My sons, my daughters and I
Fathers of my sons and daughters of my mothers
We still sit by the aisle
Waiting, just waiting..
Maybe one day you’ll roll down your tints
And wink at us.
Throw us your ‘bakshish’ cuisine
How we will rejoice!

Ama I send you an sms Mr. Mkubwa
I heard u have just zero rated mobile phones
But wait, how do I get you number?
07.. ama +44 ending with a saba?
Aaii, lakini Mr. Mkubwa, onge bamba
Access denied!

So meet me at the aisle
Today, tomorrow, next and next..
I promise, Mr. Mkubwa, I’ll be waiting.