Masoka
The Demise of the Zambian Street Kid
Masoka was born to a happy rich family
At age 15 he had to his name two brand new cars, a
motor bike, bicycle, an iphone and ipod among other un-necessaries
His home…a hill mansion in the matter of festivities
Then Masoka happened…
His parents lost to the greedy and un-satiated thirst
of death
Solemn celebration held for them
Property properly grabbed and wiped clean all assets
that were to Masoka’s name
And what does he do
He gets high to get by
Profanes the holy to find comfort
Reality too harsh to survive sober
The self professed holy pointing fingers professing he
is cursed
A good for nothing
He wanders around barefoot
Half dressed…dressed in half nakedness treading the
chilly days of Lusaka
Finding comfort out of the thin warmth of a cardboard
So he spends his nights
His life cannot square that of a pauper
It is by no means better
Gruesomely spiced by the ridicule of the privileged
He has no vision no future no hope
He lives by the minute of the hour
Those available to help…sadly only do so to appreciate
their privilege of a better life than his
They help to realize their humanity
Appreciate and accentuate their status and
organization
“It
is good publicity to lend a helping hand
It
will make our organization known”
So I heard one of them say
As the sun broke down on what seemed a tranquil day
Its rays beamed amiss on Masoka
The evening’s air swept by
Masoka retired to restful quiet in the drowsing murmur
of the second hand cars that roam Lusaka
He wandered far away from the accustomed haunts of street
boys
Sought a desolate place that was in harmony with his
spirit
Under the Mandahilll bridge
He laid himself down on the ground, disposed upon his
back, with his hands clasped upon his breast
And thus he would die in holy calm.
