From Mjengo to More

Today, my hands ache.

My back complains.

My bones - they whisper of labor and long hours.

But deep in me,

A quiet flame burns.

I am not just lifting stones —

I am lifting my future, brick by brick.

Every wheelbarrow I push,

Every calloused hand,

Is proof that I’m still showing up

When life gives me every reason not to.

Some days I work,

Not because I’m strong,

But because hunger doesn't pause for pain.

But I remind myself:

“This is not my end.

This is only a chapter.

And chapters turn.”

I may be covered in cement,

But I carry the dreams of a clean, quiet office.

I may sleep on a cold floor,

But I lay my head with hope.

Because I know...

I was never meant to stay here.

One day, this mjengo will be my metaphor.

I’ll tell stories of how I served 

the same way I studied —

With discipline. With fire. With vision.

And until that day,

I’ll tie my shoes,

Lift the shovel,

And whisper to myself:

“This pain is temporary.

But I am eternal.”

By Wabwire Elias