Musings - Urban SHADE

Bahari

Bahari Bessie Sarowiwa She’s big, she’s blue, she’s bold. She’s Bahari. For many years Bahari gave life to many and offered refuge to many more in Tudor Moroto, like a mother. She’s watched us grow up and was always there when we needed her. We played with her when we were kids and learned to swim in her cool waters. She gave us a place to relax when the heat was unbearable. She provided food for us when our parents came back with nothing. She liked having us around and never complained. But not anymore. She has changed. She doesn’t seem happy these days and the glow that she once had is no longer there. The beautiful blue she once had is now more of a blue green. And the cool breeze she would give us when heat was unbearable is now just hot air and a stench. The food she shared with us has dwindled and it appears that all the fishermen catch now are plastic bags and used diapers. The places we would go to play with her are now places we warn visitors about because they never know what they may step on. All the people that relied on her for their basic needs are now struggling to even get through the day. It breaks my heart. How did we end up here? Bahari, did we do this to you? That’s what everyone is saying. That our actions are what made you this angry. We cut down the trees that fed you and kept you clean to build houses. You were nice to us but instead we paid you back with food and sewer waste. You’re now threatening to leave us. Please don’t give up on us, Bahari. We’re trying to do better. We’re learning from our mistakes. It might be a little late but it’s the least we can do.

Musings

Battered and bent, but still standing

Battered and bent, but still standing Desta Ali Down the long, steep, steps of Susan’s Bay stands a tall, green five-storey building. It looks weathered and worn, but it stands stubbornly and quietly. During the day it is virtually empty, but I’m sure it houses more than hundred people at night. There is a lot of cracks in its concrete; its roof is made of rusted metal sheets. The building tells a story of time. Every time I look at it, I hear it say, “I have survived many floods, yet I am still standing. I am a survivor.” It almost makes me fall in love with it, because it reminds me of myself, standing tall in the midst of trials, keeping my head high, and trying very hard not to crumble. The glasses on the windows are broken, yet the bars are still holding on, almost as if fighting hard to maintain security. The top floor of the building is unpainted. That means it has been added recently to create more space for more people. The bottom floor is incomplete and wrapped with tarps and more rusted metal sheets. It was possibly built as a garage but is now being used as an accommodation for a desperate family. This tells a story of greed, because someone has decided that making money from rent is more important than the safety of people. I admire the building for all it has gone through and all that happens within its walls. But I also feel sorrow and dread. I know it’s only a matter of time before it crumbles. The land it is built on is a coastal land and not meant for buildings. I am sure its foundations were not made to carry that much weight. I always ponder how many more floods can it survive? How much more erosion can its foundations take? My only hope is that when that day arrives, it will happen during the day, when no one is home.