Within the great depths of poverty lurks a form of a constant worry.
Though insentient these worries are, great waves of shadow-cloaked nightmares arise simply at the thought of them, draining all contentment in everyday households steadily each day. It is an ever-present issue that neither civilian nor government care to challenge - for what might happen if we upset what little faith we have left?
Though prosperous many have been, only very few can change a seemingly predetermined fate. Many of us rejoice at the thought of lavishly clad walls, shiny currency and booming industries - yet, we never once stop to offer our sincere apology to those suffering so that we can continue practicing our self-actualization. Surely, we are still a sentimental species?
Far off, in Malindi, a wave gently caresses a bright, glittering beach: a withered man, with grey hair on his head, walks with a slight limp towards the spot the wave lapped over, as though he might catch it if he only exerts himself - even if it capsizes the very heart within him. The bag slung over his shoulder is full of all sorts of strange ephemera, and it is with both care and disgust that the man fills it each morning with plastic waste, in hopes of aiding a losing cause.
He stops, footprints trailing behind him, eyes softening. "Oh, dear," he whispers.
With aged hands, skin hanging to his brittle bones with effort, he gently scoops up a rusty locket; he can imagine the golden color it must have had once upon a time. Inside is a cut-out picture of a young boy: he looks scrawny, but is surely handsome in the eyes of his mother. His eyes stare at the sky as though longing to swim in its cushioned clouds.
The old man frowns. Flickering his eyes slightly upwards, he sees words carved into the golden locket; a life without sacrifice remains unworthy of love.
With a heavy heart, he places the locket on the ground once more, for another soul to find, perhaps. Poverty affects all kinds of people: at the end of the day, our solution cannot be plain ignorance. If we turn a blind eye to the destruction we, consequently, end up losing the very thing that makes us human: the instinct to care and fight for others.
Though a calamity it might be, the poverty that many drown in each day is, in fact, reversible. With time and effort and simple acts of kindness, the task of renewing a wonderfully diverse place is, in fact, not impossible.