Though Kimana is abounding in beauty it is also a place littered with stinking trash that is never removed. A place where children are often damp with urine and dripping with snot and chase you with endless shouts of "how are you?" and their dirty fingers reach to touch your skin to see what it feels like. A place where young girls have their most precious and sensual parts cut off by crude knives in as a ceremonial welcome to an adulthood bereft of sexual pleasure. Where women are without rights Americans would consider inalienable, and men have the right to marry more than one wife.
It is a place where roads are often impassable because of rain, and dangerous because of disrepair. A place where four months ago a bus full of 26 women heading to a church conference met head on with a truck that took the lives of 14 people, leaving 5 area pastors instant widowers. A place where breaking down is so common it goes without mention. Where gas and kerosene are carried carelessly in plastic zip lock bags, and two years ago six people died in house fires when on one day the fluid meant for cars was accidentally sold for lanterns.
Kimana is a place where latrines are stinking holes in the ground covered in excrement and buzzing with flies and toilet paper is rarely found. Where hands of welcome are offered everywhere and are universally covered in God knows what, but must be shaken nonetheless, and those same hands prepare food tainted just enough some days to make you puke til you pass out. A place where drunkards wreaking of moonshine plaster your face with their breath as they babble. Where water can contain sickening elements and rivers are hop scotched by women with babies strapped to their backs and jugs in their arms.
A place where officials are ubiquitously bribed and favors are rarely done without expectations. It is a place where you sometimes feel inexplicably defensive and irritable. Where sob stories are contrived for listening white ears. Where everyone who approaches you seems to do so with a hidden hope: a child they want you to sponsor, a trip they want you to pay for, an item they want to overcharge you for. A place where cynicism is a daily sensation. Where it is only honest to admit to at some moments thinking the place is a shit hole. Or worse even: God forsaken. A place that forces the precarious conclusion that all men may be created equal, but all countries are not, all societies are not, and all communities are not.
It is a place where roads are often impassable because of rain, and dangerous because of disrepair. A place where four months ago a bus full of 26 women heading to a church conference met head on with a truck that took the lives of 14 people, leaving 5 area pastors instant widowers. A place where breaking down is so common it goes without mention. Where gas and kerosene are carried carelessly in plastic zip lock bags, and two years ago six people died in house fires when on one day the fluid meant for cars was accidentally sold for lanterns.
Kimana is a place where latrines are stinking holes in the ground covered in excrement and buzzing with flies and toilet paper is rarely found. Where hands of welcome are offered everywhere and are universally covered in God knows what, but must be shaken nonetheless, and those same hands prepare food tainted just enough some days to make you puke til you pass out. A place where drunkards wreaking of moonshine plaster your face with their breath as they babble. Where water can contain sickening elements and rivers are hop scotched by women with babies strapped to their backs and jugs in their arms.
A place where officials are ubiquitously bribed and favors are rarely done without expectations. It is a place where you sometimes feel inexplicably defensive and irritable. Where sob stories are contrived for listening white ears. Where everyone who approaches you seems to do so with a hidden hope: a child they want you to sponsor, a trip they want you to pay for, an item they want to overcharge you for. A place where cynicism is a daily sensation. Where it is only honest to admit to at some moments thinking the place is a shit hole. Or worse even: God forsaken. A place that forces the precarious conclusion that all men may be created equal, but all countries are not, all societies are not, and all communities are not.
No comments:
Post a Comment