I am so hypocritical. I’m the biggest hypocrite you can encounter. I am sad about it. I thought I had a heart. I’m realizing that even as my heart pumps blood at 72 beats a minute, every hour, every day, I’m the most heartless person you could ever meet. I observe and pretend to be heartbroken but I move on with my life as if nothing is happening. It is hurting. It is painful. It is heartbreaking (if you do have a heart). We all claim to have been heartbroken, what breaks your heart? The fact that the most handsome/ beautiful person doesn’t love you back? Or is it the fact that you’ve lost your parent, relative, friend and they are now six feet under? Does your heart break when you are fired from work, your business fails or when your application letters are rejected? Oh yes it does and so does mine. All our hearts break, have been and will be. It’s nothing new.
My heart breaks for one more thing. Seeing the needy, street children all helpless and I can’t do anything about it. Won’t do anything about it.
As I’m walking in the CBD running various errands, I see a mother and child, on the ground under the hot sun. A manilla paper is scribbled something about the deteriorating health condition (mostly of the child). A few twenty, ten and five shillings are scattered on it. I pass quickly not wanting to look as it will cause me ‘trauma’. I’m too young, I don’t want that. I tell myself that my heart has been broken.
Rounding another corner, an old man with a stick and a badly injured leg, looks infected pleads with me to give him some shillings. Again I fasten my pace and disappear among the throng of people. My heart breaks.
On my way to the stage, a young boy walks up to me. A small bottle of glue perched on his lips firmly held by his teeth. His hands are stretched out to me. He doesn’t need to mouth anything as we both know exactly what he wants/needs. I’ve heard tales of street boys stealing from people who refuse to give them something. This time I practically run. In the matatu, sitted next to the window. I recount how my heart was broken just a few minutes ago.
How many times can this one heart be broken? Or is it replaced as it breaks? Is it’s purpose to break? It can’t be that strong. I feel pity for my breaking heart. I want it to stop breaking. I want to help mend it.
This is where my deep-seated hypocrisy sets in. Pay very careful attention 😢
Each time I see a person in need I convince myself that I understand what they are going through. Do I? I don’t even have the kindness to extend several shillings to them. I tell myself that they won’t use the money wisely. They will buy drugs. Drugs that are meant to ease their hunger. Still I tell myself that it is not right. Yet I don’t buy them food. They are too many plus they are annoying. I can’t help everyone. Have I helped anyone?
I was watching news the other day and I saw a police officer who in his spare time, volunteered to help these people. I was touched. I wanted to go out immediately and offer whatever I had to reach the one who needs it most. I didn’t. Life continued. Several years ago, I watched another inspirational story where a young man was helping the street children. I wanted to join forces with him as soon as possible. Never did. Few months have passed since I watched Ross Kemp’s documentary on the plight of street kids in Kenya. The country I live in and pretend to love. I watched a movie after the documentary. I told myself that my mind had been opened.
I don’t have anything to be proud of. If I can’t help out now that I have little, is there a miracle that will come about when I amass wealth? No. These are not the Jesus days. I want to do something but I’m afraid I’ll be judged. And this is just top of my very long list of excuses as to why I don’t offer help.
Second is I’m hypocritical.
Here I sit, going about my life as if I’m caged. Never been to a children’s home, rehab center, never visited the sick in hospital. I have done nothing. Worst thing is I don’t even remember them in my prayers. All I think about day in day out are my dreams and how to get to them. And I pray about them every single day. I fantasize my bright future. Everyone else is in the subconscious. Only activated when I hear or witness them. Sad? Indeed.
I am selfish and hypocritical.
People have sacrificed their lives, wealth and everything in their man power to aid others. You’ve heard of Mother Teresa. Here I am, I won’t take some time off my ‘busy’ schedule to simply give them hope. Mere hope. It won’t even cost me a penny. But no I continue to sit and on cold days, I lay in bed covered in thick duvets curled up as if I’m still in the womb. Meanwhile someone else out there is dying of the cold. Not my problem, my sleepy eyes close due to the warmth and comfort I reign in.
Self absorbed and totally hypocritical.
I have pretended for so long, that I care for a people yet deep down I know I won’t take any action. Can’t. They won’t skip my mind when I’m having expensive lunches out with my friends. Or planning roadtrips in the context of following #TembeaKenya ujionee trend.
When was the last time you offered someone a plate of food? Place to sleep? Water? Even your jacket to keep the warm? It’s too expensive?
Let’s cut out the hypocrisy and save our community.