Life Packed in a Tuktuk: The Burden of Starting Over

One early morning, while jogging to my place of prayer for my usual devotion, I saw a Tuktuk on KFA Road carrying household belongings. A downgrade, perhaps, a move from Mlimani to Kaptembwa, Weavers, or Pondamali: the low edges of the town where life is harsh, and even a week’s bread feels like a luxury.

The sight was unexpectedly painful. Atop the Tuktuk was a mattress that seemed to carry all the tears, frustrations, and silent pain of Nakurians: shapeless, formless, foamless, colorless. The Tuktuk moved too fast for me to make out any stains, if you know what I mean. There was a stove, cartons of possessions, a large, worn suitcase with no zipper or wheels, and a skyplast mtungi of grey I have yet to name, its tone the result of soaking up too much sun in some …