Luckily it passes for me

HE IS ALONE, LYING ON A WORN WICKER BED, in the small tin shack he calls home, on the dusty outskirts of Nairobi. The light filtering through the loose planks casts yellowish streaks on the dirt floor, while a hot wind rattles the thin walls. He is an elderly man, weakened by various health problems, and his strength is at an all-time low: for days, he has barely been able to take a few steps. He has run out of blood pressure medication, which he cannot afford, and in a weary voice, he explains: "My heart feels like it's pounding in my head." His children are still of school age, but they are often forced to stay home: the family cannot afford the government fees required to attend school. These costs are high for anyone, but they become unsustainable for those who earn a living from informal and uncertain jobs. End-of-year exams begin next week, and each child must pay a fee of around 60 euros to take them.

RIGHT NOW THEY'RE ALL HUDDLED AT HOME IN THE LITTLE SPACE THEY HAVE, and Mr. Robert explains to me: "You know, I can't do anything for my children, and they can't do anything for me because they don't work and there's no work. We're sad, the situation is sad." Perhaps this is the real sadness: not being able to do anything for each other. We told each other that everyone can always do something: a smile, a hug, a handshake, but the problem is doing what the other person needs in that moment.

IN THE END, ROBERT DOES WHAT HE CAN FROM HIS POOR BED: he calls a friend, who calls other friends who buy medicine and pay for exam registration. I don't know if this is right, if this prevents rebellion against those who govern without considering the needs of citizens, if this prevents "young people from getting busy."

I KNOW THAT THERE ARE PEOPLE WHO FULFIL THEIR LIVES BETTER THAN OTHERS. Who have everything in order inside and around them. Methods and answers for everything. Sometimes I envy them a little, but luckily that passes.

Pierluigi Conzo
NP January 2026