First day in Kampala so full of sights
That flicker on in my eyes though I’ve turned out the lights
Saw smiling business men, sat in orange dust
Selling scrap metal, odds and ends, eggs and rust
Some sold garments and worn out odd shoes
While others joked through steaming traffic selling the news
A naked boy at the road side, taking a bath.
As a stray dog strolled by, picking its path
through women crouched at fires poking smouldering embers
I began to see a community who’s individual members
lived rich and full lives, undeniably tough.
but vibrant and complete, and I I new it wasn’t enough
to think of poverty in the same way anymore
because my view of poor changed right then as I saw
these grinning men selling old tyres and meat
As children dashed by in tiny bare feet
Chasing and squealing they ran with glee
As their game tore through alleys, wild and free.
The new view included women sat laughing in doorways
Poverty is wrong, its unjust but there are more ways
to count the richness of life than possessions alone
and perhaps the poorest places are where this is best shown?

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