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.