Neighbours

Sky dark, moon bright, cool evening air brushing my face. I love the feeling of cruising home on a bajaji in the evening. The traffic minimal, the city pensive, the flickering lights mysterious. Daylight Dar wouldn’t have been able to recognize her twin sister.

The bajaji slows down to cross an intersection near my apartment. Neat rows of bodies lay on the ground. Every time.

A few weeks ago, I noticed while flying by that street corner on another bajaji. Curious and confused – while homelessness is a major problem scattered around the city, rarely did I see such congregations. The next time, it struck me that all were women. Vitenge wrapped around frail shoulders, providing a false sense of protection from the nipping night air. And everything else that lurks in the night.

How stupid of me. Being much more vulnerable to (sexual) violence, of course the women would band together. While some sleep, others keep watch. While some took care of the children, others begged. While men roam, women gathered.

A familiar sadness settled on my shoulders. Maybe one day I’ll have enough courage to go over with some wali na marahage and offer a bit of warmth. What else can I do?