The Two Tribes

Yes They Are Just Two

Victory is sweet. Very sweet. Even in a dream. It’s still sweet. Okay, two gigantic men shield my. They are on a mission to go away with my phone. And perhaps my pancreas as a rider. Who knows, people in this town are chasing strange things. I am this confident about it. They might take the phone but not the pancreas. I am like David. Only without the sling. My stars are bright. I find this raised ground and peach there. With gist I swing down with double kicks landing on either of their faces. If you grew up watching Van Dame do his 180° you can relate. I wake up. The last time I engaged in a physical is long time ago. Longer than I can recall who exactly won. Speaking of which, how many of you watched our Kenyan Zarika beat that Mexican?

During the day before that ‘fight’ night, I had had fears. Not necessarily fears of losing a phone. There are a bunch of theorists who relate what is going through your mind to what you dream. However no one on Google or from YouTube university has statistically proven that.

All of us want to be victors at least at something someday. It might not show on the forehead but we all harbour plans for victory. We hunger to succeed. In essence life itself is a battle to succeed. All of us are facing and pursuing different battles whether openly or silently, we all fight. The only thing most us have succeeded at is hiding our battles such that in real life we don’t appear as struggling.

Which is why in church yesterday, they preached about compassion and helping the needy and that area of mission of giving back to society. It’s what I call social good. I sat in that service asking myself, who specifically, is the needy?

We are all needy. Perhaps I am wrong on this. Well, you will argue, “who told you I am needy?” Since I am at that point in life where arguing is a lesser hobby, I will live you with; you are not needy but our needs vary. Go seat yourself in a committee and come back decided if we still need to dispute over this. When you raise discussions around the aspects of the needy mostly and often, we substitute the word needy for poor or poverty unfortunately. Our attention shifts to the chocolate city of Kibera. Because to us, definition of poverty is Kibera. That someone emerging from Kibera, has been through hell and back. That there is nothing worthwhile to write home about Kibera after poverty. How many of you have visited Kibera? On my virgin visit, some boys realised I was over staring at the graffiti on the walls around Laini Saba. They immediately confused my love for art with being new. To them, I was an outcast. Some strange rich kid coming from a far rich land. Concluding that I was not one of their own, they marked me and rounded me and took my phone alongside some loose change. Let’s not just dwell here. Come on, who wants to remember how they lost their very first hand set; a Nokia 1200, with a flashlight flickering way into the future?

That incident did not necessarily blind my perception of Kibera. If anything, I have visited again and again. On my next visit, I want to visit Kennedy Odede’s works. How many of you know Kennedy Odede? He is what will pass for the success story of Kibera. He runs a Social enterprise called SHOFCo (Shinning Hope For Communities). Disclaimer; he is not my personal friend, but I have been his silent fan for a long time now. I follow his works online.

Why did he have to pop up amid a discussion on tribes? Kennedy Odede with his SHOFCo initiative had to come up because recently I read about him in the business daily and some blog and I loved his definition of poverty. His elaboration on poverty is what researchers will call first hand experience. He’s like a primary data for poverty. A first witness of a kind. That’s why he’s fighting it like a monster.

The class system has taught us stratification and shovelled us into this stupid categorisation of the; first or upper class, Middle class, low class (who pass for third world citizens).

We all thus look at life as a ladder with a sole objective of moving through the classes. The upper first class waits as the ultimate price. It has nipped our associations from the bud. We first ask, “where do you live in this town?” silently and untold, we don’t want to be friends with chaps who hail from kibera! Kibera is home to third world citizenry and third world citizens are poor and poverty is to be avoided because it stinks.

Where I am seated I see two tribes only. I see the tribe of the privileged rich. Then I see the tribe of the unfortunate poor. Forget this middle class hype. It bubbles and dies. It’s hideous. It belongs of us people who don’t want to accept the reality of fate. So say with me, “you are either poor or rich!”

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