We struggled, stumbled,
studied and graduated
but with no papers
Our mothers walked naked
and whisked their feet
on the scorching ground with no sandals
they sold all they had—
land, clothes and chickens
Oh, poor women!
They paid our tuition
to the community transformers
Guess, we were transformed—
men in suits stood before
our exhausted parents
and said two weeks were enough—
their helpless children would get
the transcripts
of course, we got them;
a package of lies and empty promises
We have cried
opportunities have slipped
But who cares?
the men in charge sit in air-conditioned
offices and belch as they scratch
their potbellies—
Concocting another colourful lie
Now that they have killed our future,
with their bureaucracy and hypocrisy
we await their call—
we’ll attend the burial
Today, joblessness and dejection
are our identity (ahh, beggarly creatures)
but those people laugh—they got fat jobs
we don’t
we grumble and cry
they don’t
we miss opportunities
they don’t and they won’t
they suppress us with power
we enjoy
they blush
we groan
Our parents curse
those lucky men smile
They’ve buried our future with lies
but we’ll talk
we’ll demand what we deserve
and unfold the hypocrisy
and selfishness that the community
transformers all along have harboured
No kind words—
all we need is our transcripts.
By Muwanguzi Godwin
(Graduated with a BA in English & Literature–education Gulu University)
