Sen Isaac Mwaura: The grounds are getting wet and Ready, Calm In The Coronavirus (COVID-19).

Isaac Mwaura

By Isaac Mwaura

Walking slowly in the village, at a distance… some few kilometers from the metropole. Brushing through the evening breeze, as the trees swing n sway calmly, as if in canopy unison.

A farm worker passes nearby but a meter’s length, in the era of social distancing.. with a jembe by the shoulder…. and a limp of a long days work, for the reality of starvation is true, from the corona and the orders of the coronated…

The grounds are getting wet and ready, after a long dry dusty spell. Soon the light of the metropole appears, ushering the evening calm…
Under the light, the people exchange goods and products, in a typical, carefree bargain of the Kenyan markets….for nowadays every coin counts, in these hard times of the curfew and before the police begin to crackdown….

See the long winding dilapidated earth roads, and the genuinely smiling people, the abadoned shopping center, for the tarmac is no more….
A people left to their own devices, adopted to fending for themselves and theirs….. oh how admirable is their resilience, in the midst of this transient storm of the Corona…

Hear the women’s conversations, about the mundane issues of this world……….how cool is the breeze that brushes our brows, as the promise of rain beckons yonder….
Nothing compares to this moment of simplicity, not even the civilized concrete jungle in the west. Nothing compares to home… sweet home, Kenya, Africa…

And in the Western jungle, see the phoney mechanical faces of the masses exploited, slaves of capital and capitalsm, the yearning for a burden so light, if only to chance at survival…..

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How slow are the watches, and the fast walk, if only to avoid lose of heat in winter, when breathing spews out some smoky vapour, as if puffing out a cigar, far in to the horizons of the winds of corona…

Sen Isaac Mwaura
Senator Isaac Mwaura

Hear the screeching trains, look at the grounded frozen cars…..how muddy is the tarmack road, what a concoction of ice, frost and salt….in the jungle of the corona..

Oh how heavy the feet ache, as we walk on the concrete of the jungle, see the gaze of the condescending racial gait and the correspondent diminished stoop, separating the unrepentant local accent, in the backgrounds of imagined pure pedigree accent…the stratification in the corona…

Pay as you go is the norm of the jungle, in the small print of the individual contract by society, eschewing the ethos of multi-culturalism, discouraged by snapshots of lands far away, and informed by a picture unto charity…..

All this now gone in a whiff, a little cough, some little heat… and a slight head ache… Ouch how painful the body joints ache, and the face mask shall come alive, and the distance is hereby increased, from the hand to the handshake…
It is simple thus we are told, to stem the crown curve of the corona contagion….
Yet a thousand lives are snapped each day and counting, without respect to age, color, status, race and creed….

From Tokyo to New York, Mombasa to Wuhan. The little crown of the corona reminds us, that after all is said and done…we are one and we are the ones…

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That our difference is our imagination, for what unites us is much greater, than the divisions of our separation…

That when all said, done and gone… what remains is the humanity within us….
The breath that we all share, for sharing is caring….a coronavirus generation… And stories we’ll live to tell…

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