By Haniya Shah
They deemed you slaves to the numbers,
Of the algorithm which thus encumbers,
Your shoulders with the responsibility,
Of taking cuts to your minute salary,
For the sake of self-professed gentry,
Propped up by killer technology,
Invested deep in foreign warfare,
Ensuring for us lower taxi fare.
No, you are so much more,
Of easy transportation’s core,
For those of us who have no drivers,
And from A to B, matatus take hours.
One of you told me,
About your family’s history,
How your great grandfather,
In the days of colonial fodder,
Took up ‘Mau-Mau’ as his moniker,
Against the usurper, occupier,
And was buried alive for his efforts.
It was strange and excellent,
The story of resistance and resilience,
Told within a twenty minute Uber trip.
Another one of you lamented,
On the lack of implemented,
Safeties for hard workers like you,
Whose labour is no less true,
Than those who build houses,
Or he in parliament, who espouses,
Minimum wages and labour laws,
And to uphold them an oath to all,
And yet the coin for fuel,
Is more than what is due,
On the phone screen, at the end of the trip,
On the Uber application, afterthoughts for a ‘tip’,
But what do you expect,
From Uber who married Flyntrex,
And helped fund Armageddon,
In a far off land, whose name is forbidden,
Lest its executioners we offend.
