Packaging Poverty. Selling tears

Enough of these images, painful and cold, A story of Africa that’s tired and old. Children with flies on their innocent faces, Their lives reduced to poverty’s traces.

A mother’s home, called a “dirty hut,” As if her earth walls aren’t worthy enough. But her house holds her heart, her dreams, her fire— Not a symbol of shame, but one to inspire.

Do you hear the music? The strings full of sorrow, Composed to pull pity, to sell tomorrow. But Africa isn’t a stage for despair; It’s a land full of promise, of love, of care.

How dare we reduce a continent’s pride To snapshots of struggle, of pain magnified? How dare we ignore the voices that fight, That build, that heal, that bring forth light?

Enough of this pity dressed up as aid, Of tragedies packaged and progress delayed. Poverty is not a product to sell, Not a story to stage for donors to dwell.

Instead, let’s show the brilliance, the power, The women, the men, who rise every hour. The leaders, the builders, the hands that create, The voices that shape their own futures and fate.

It’s time to stop framing Africa’s face In stereotypes that diminish its grace. Let’s tell the truth, let’s change the view— Honest and just, and long overdue.

No more pity. No more shame. No more exploiting their pain in our name. Africa is rising—strong, bold, and free— A story of hope, of humanity.

Keith Kibirango

Dedicated to the Localisation Agenda