They spend their lives moving,
No permanent shelters to call home,
No permanent relationships,
All they have is each other.
Milk and blood serve as their staple food,
It is what moulds them to the people they are,
People who survive the harsh weather conditions
and manage to walk miles and miles everyday.
They use cattle's and camel's skin as their clothes
and lay on the same. They are poor people but very
creative. Without a bed or a mattress, but with a piece of
skin laid on the ground, there they find peace.
Livestock's urine is no filth to them,
'cause it is what they use to shower.
It is as precious as a baby to it's mother,
As gold to a peasant, and as life to a dying man.
Education is not in the picture,
With poverty and ignorance taking the lead
'cause they have been neglected.
Many promising lives going to waste.
They are men and women of valor,
Survivers in the battle of life,
Representation of the real African
beauty and culture.
Without permanent settlements,
their hearts harbour all the memories
they create together in their lives
as nomads.
©awanjo
A