Tag: youth empowerment

Daughter of The Mountain

I met her on an afternoon
when the sun burned low,
spilling gold across the earth
as though the day itself leaned close
to let slip its quiet confessions.

She was slim-thick,
a flame held steady in the wind,
with a presence that filled the space
more surely than height or breadth could command.
Her skin bore the quiet radiance
of fertile Kenyan earth after rain,
luminous, alive with the memory of rivers.

Her beauty was the beauty that stays,
like a song remembered long
after the singer has gone.
Her eyes were wide, dark pools,
holding the innocence of unspoken dreams,
and the fierce pride of the hills,
green and ancient,
keepers of stories older than memory.
When she looked, it was not merely at you,
it was into you,
as though the soul were something
she had always known,
and only sought to confirm.

Her laughter was small, quick,
yet it carried,
like the delicate chiming of cowbells
drifting from a far valley.
Her movements, precise, almost shy,
the way a swallow folds its wings before flight,
yet within them was a grace
no stage could rehearse.

She was not made of ornaments or excess
but of silences,
of natural songs,
of that soft balance between fragility
and unyielding strength.

To call her beautiful
would be to simplify what was infinitely complex.
She was the outline of twilight
against the ridge,
the fragrance of tea leaves
crushed between fingers,
the silence of evening rain on tin roofs.
She was the Mountain itself,
its promise, its mystery,
its unbroken spirit made flesh.

And in her presence,
I felt the world pause,
as though even time leaned in
to watch her pass.

@doddyokelo

The Price of Exposure

You’re probably going to hate me for this,
for saying what your conscience whispers
when you sign another “volunteer” form
with a smile that smells of we value young people.
You’ll roll your eyes, perhaps, and sip your latte of hypocrisy,
thinking, here comes another entitled youth,
but entitlement, dear boss,
isn’t wanting to eat after working all day.

You strip me, layer by layer, of what I call wealth,
my knowledge, my wit, my sweat, my small fire.
You harvest my brilliance like cheap sugarcane,
sweet in your tea, but I can’t even taste it.
You call it capacity building, I call it theft,
a robbery wrapped in an MOU,
my “voluntary spirit” framed for your annual report,
while my rent notice glares at me like a sermon.

You say you’re driving the SDGs, how noble of you,
yet “No Poverty” only applies to your side of the table.
Number one for the world, zero for your interns.
You speak of “empowering youth” in PowerPoint slides,
but I am the unpowered socket,
feeding your lights while mine flicker out.
Your sustainability is built on our hunger,
your progress paved with our unpaid hours.

You call it exposure, and oh, what a beautiful word,
it sounds almost like opportunity, until you taste it.
Exposure doesn’t buy food; it buys silence.
You frame my effort as experience,
but experience doesn’t buy groceries, does it?
You say, We’re giving you a chance to grow!
but even weeds grow, sir, without applause.
You’re not nurturing me, you’re grazing me.

You post us on banners, smiling youth in motion,
while your pockets jingle with the funds meant for impact.
You call us family, until invoices arrive.
You teach us leadership, yet lead us nowhere,
preach partnership, yet practice servitude.
You love to say the youth are the future,
as if tomorrow is a fairy tale
where our unpaid labour finally blossoms into paychecks.

But I am not the leader of tomorrow, my friend,
I am breathing, burning, now.
I can lead today, even with pockets empty
and dignity frayed at the edges.
You can’t buy me with a sweet smile or a promise,
I’ve had enough candy-coated lies to rot a generation.
Respect is currency too,
but even that you spend carelessly.

Every “volunteer opportunity” feels like déjà vu,
different desk, same exploitation.
We bring innovation, you bring excuses.
We bring ideas, you bring coffee orders.
And when the impact stories roll out,
you wear our work like a medal,
while we wear exhaustion like second skin,
our dreams taxed by your benevolence.

So here I stand, unapologetic, yes, but sober still.
I’m not asking for charity, just fairness.
Pay us for our time, our skill, our sweat.
We can’t build a better world with empty pockets.
You call it volunteering; I call it slow bleeding.
You say it’s for the love of service,
but love without respect is labour without pay,
and we, the youth, are done being the invoice you never clear.

@doddyokelo