A Rural Piece of My Neighborhood

Today.

The neighborhood kiosk lady perched in front of the seemingly abandoned plot of land to the left of my flat - you know those tiny shops that peddle petty household goods under a makeshift shack by the gutter, and indirectly live there because there's a plot of land that is either wrapped in civil litigation or the owner has run out of money needed to develop it further. Yes, that type of kiosk!

This young lady's baby could not stop crying. Today, it seemed louder than usual. That baby was wailing at the top of its' lungs. The shriek filled the noon time desolate streets. You could hear him 10 houses away cutting through the noise of the air conditioners. This baby wanted to be heard, screeching its tiny lungs out. This was not new to me. I often hear the wails everyday and wondered, "Yes, I'd cry too, it's too damn hot or cold or rainy or cloudy or undetermined" or whatever weather or climate it was. But today there was no power (light), so the baby wailed, from the heat, the dust from the motorists speeding by aimlessly pretending to get on with their day, the dismal state of the economy, the fact that his mum has to do this for a living...the possibilities for tears were endless. This baby cried.

I walked over to his mum to inquire of the baby's gender. To my astonishment, discovered that this wailing toddler is in fact...male. Puzzled, I thought only women cried, loudly too from the travails of being born in a world where your gender immediately classifies you as inferior, a sub-class, and having to shoulder that prejudice in every facet of this misogynistic world. I assumed men bore the brunt of life and left us to act emotional. I looked into his eyes and I could read everything he was upset about, and in my stare I agreed with him completely.

"This is my life now and for that there is simply no joy."

When I came back home hours later, he was still crying. Somehow, so was I.

---#AnitaWrites #ObservationsfromaSingleLife #ThirdWorldProblems